My consciousness flickered like a candle in the wind. One mont I was with Jackson Harding—the living legend who'd killed Nigel Reyes with barely a gesture—and the next, darkness pulled at the edges of my vision.
"You need to leave," I managed to say, my voice barely audible. Blood filled my mouth with each word.
Jackson's weathered face creased with concern. "You're in no condition to be left alone."
"They'll sense you." I coughed, red spattering the floor between us. "Too dangerous."
The Heavy Falling Space technique had ravaged my body worse than I'd anticipated. I'd pushed it beyond any reasonable limit to defeat Nigel before Jackson's arrival. Now I was paying the price. My ridians felt like they'd been scorched from the inside out, and my organs were failing one by one.
"I can handle whatever cos," Jackson said, his voice firm.
I shook my head, imdiately regretting the movent as pain lanced through my skull. "Not about you. About the cause. If they know you're involved..."
Understanding dawned in the old master's eyes. If the Veridia City Martial Guild discovered that the legendary Jackson Harding had resurfaced and allied with , they'd throw everything they had at hunting us down. We'd never get close to saving Isabelle.
"You're right," he conceded reluctantly. "But how will you—"
"I'll manage," I lied. We both knew I was monts from collapse. "Just need... to rest."
Jackson's eyes narrowed, clearly weighing his options. Finally, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small jade bottle.
"Two drops," he instructed, placing it in my trembling hand. "No more. It will keep you alive but won't restore your strength. When you're safe, I'll find you."
I nodded weakly, clutching the bottle. "My father," I whispered. "You'll tell ..."
"Everything," he promised. "But first, survive."
With one last concerned look, Jackson traced a character in the air—one of his Nine Secrets—and simply vanished. The air where he'd stood shimred briefly, then settled.
Alone now, I uncorked the jade bottle with shaking fingers. The liquid inside glowed with an ethereal blue light. I let two drops fall onto my tongue.
Bitter coldness spread through instantly, like ice water in my veins. Not healing, as Jackson had warned, but a temporary stay of execution for my failing body.
I struggled to my feet, using the wall for support. My legs threatened to buckle with each step as I made my way toward the door. Nigel's corpse lay where it had fallen, his face frozen in an expression of terror.
The corridor outside was rcifully empty. I had to find sowhere to hide, to recover. I knew Nigel's death would draw attention soon. Very soon.
I made it three more steps before my legs finally gave out. I collapsed to the floor, my body betraying despite Jackson's dicine. The darkness that had been hovering at the edges of my vision rushed in like a tide.
Just before consciousness slipped away entirely, I heard footsteps approaching. Soft, asured footsteps that stopped beside .
I forced my eyes open one last ti. A familiar face looked down at —Erson Hols. His expression was unreadable.
"Hols," I whispered. "You ca back."
He knelt beside , his voice low. "I saw Jackson leave."
With the last of my strength, I reached up and grasped his sleeve. "Isabelle," I managed to say. "Find her. Tell her..."
The words died on my lips as darkness claid completely.
* * *
I drifted in and out of consciousness. Voices floated around , distorted and distant. I was being carried. Moved. My body registered the sensation of motion, but I couldn't open my eyes.
"...still alive?"
"...barely..."
"...worth the risk?"
The fragnts of conversation made no sense to my addled mind. I tried to speak, to ask where I was being taken, but my mouth wouldn't obey. Jackson's dicine kept alive, but just barely.
Ti lost all aning. It could have been minutes or hours later when I felt myself being laid on a hard surface. The cold seeped into my back, jolting closer to awareness.
"Is this him? The one who's been causing all the trouble?"
The voice was unfamiliar—cold, authoritative, with an undercurrent of barely restrained fury.
"Yes, Guild Master Bancroft."
That voice I recognized. Erson Hols. Why was he talking to soone from the Guild?
I forced my eyes open a crack. Bright light assaulted my vision, making wince. As my sight adjusted, blurry shapes resolved into figures standing over .
Erson Hols stood to my right. Across from him was a tall man with silver temples and a face carved from stone. He wore the distinctive robes of the Veridia City Martial Guild—not purple like Nigel's had been, but a deep, midnight blue edged with gold. A Guild Master.
"So this is the infamous Liam Knight." The man—Bancroft—studied with cold eyes. "He looks half dead already."
"He is," Erson confird. "He used a forbidden technique to kill Nigel Reyes. The backlash nearly killed him too."
Bancroft's eyebrows rose slightly. "Nigel Reyes is dead? You're certain?"
"I saw his body myself," Erson replied evenly.
"Interesting." Bancroft circled around , examining like I was a specin on a table. "A re nobody manages to kill a purple-robed master. The council will be most displeased."
I tried to speak, to move, but my body remained traitorously still. Only my eyes could track Bancroft's movents as he completed his circuit and faced Erson again.
"You've done well, Hols. Bringing him directly to was... unexpected."
Erson's face remained impassive. "It seed the most efficient course of action."
Bancroft smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Indeed. And much appreciated." He gestured to soone out of my field of vision. "Kill him."
My heart lurched painfully in my chest. This was it, then. After everything I'd survived, I would die helpless on a table.
"Guild Master," Erson stepped forward. "If I may—he killed Nigel Reyes. Don't you want to know how? A quick death seems wasteful."
Bancroft paused, considering. "You make a fair point, Hols. But he's too dangerous to keep alive."
"With respect, sir," a new voice interjected. A younger man in dark green robes stepped into view—an assistant, perhaps. "The High Council specifically requested information about this man. They expressed... interest in his unusual abilities."
Bancroft's face darkened. "The High Council can find another test subject. This one has caused too much trouble." He turned back to , his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Do you know how many resources we've wasted hunting you down? How many plans you've disrupted?"
I still couldn't respond, couldn't defend myself. Could barely keep my eyes open. Through the fog of pain and weakness, one thought remained clear: Erson Hols had betrayed .
"Sir," the assistant persisted, "killing him without the Council's approval could be seen as... problematic."
Bancroft's mouth tightened in irritation. He glared at for a long mont before turning away.
"Fine," he snapped. "Put him in a cell. Maximum security. We'll let the Council decide what to do with him." Content presented by *.
"And his condition?" the assistant inquired.
"Keep him alive—barely." Bancroft's voice was cold with controlled rage. "I want him to suffer every mont until the Council arrives."
Erson cleared his throat. "There's one more thing you should know, Guild Master."
Bancroft turned, eyebrow raised. "Yes?"
"He wasn't weakened when I found him," Erson said carefully. "He was already on the brink of death from using the forbidden technique. That's the only reason I was able to bring him in."
The implication hung in the air. Under normal circumstances, I would have been too powerful for Erson to capture.
Bancroft studied Erson's face for a mont, then laughed—a short, humorless sound. "You expect to believe that this half-dead nobody is so powerful that only his own technique could defeat him? Not even Nigel could subdue him?"
"Nigel is dead," Erson repeated simply. "I believe that speaks for itself."
The Guild Master's smile faded. He looked back at with new intensity, as if trying to see through to whatever power I supposedly possessed.
"Interesting," he murmured again. "Perhaps the Council's interest isn't so misplaced after all."
I felt my consciousness beginning to fade again. The brief surge of awareness was ebbing, darkness creeping in from the edges.
"Take him away," Bancroft ordered. "And Hols... stay close. I want a full report on everything you know about him."
"Of course, Guild Master," Erson replied smoothly.
Hands gripped my arms and legs, lifting from the table. As they carried out, I caught one last glimpse of Erson's face. His expression remained unreadable, eyes carefully blank. But for the briefest mont, I thought I saw sothing there—a flash of... what? Regret? Determination?
Then darkness took once more.
* * *
I woke to the sensation of cold stone against my cheek. My body ached everywhere, but the pain had dulled from excruciating to rely terrible. Jackson's dicine was still working, keeping alive despite my injuries.
Slowly, painfully, I forced my eyes open. I lay on a stone floor in a small cell. Three walls of solid stone, one wall of shimring energy—so kind of barrier formula. Beyond it, a dimly lit corridor.
I tried to move and imdiately regretted it. Fire shot through my limbs, and I collapsed back to the floor with a groan.
"He's awake," a voice called from sowhere out of sight.
Footsteps approached. A guard appeared on the other side of the barrier, peering in at with detached curiosity.
"Not so powerful now, are you?" he sneered. "They say you killed Nigel Reyes. Hard to believe, looking at you."
I didn't bother responding. Speech would waste energy I couldn't spare.
The guard laughed at my silence. "Guild Master Bancroft has sothing special planned for you. Said to keep you alive until the Council arrives." He leaned closer to the barrier. "Three days. Think you'll last that long?"
Three days. In my current condition, it seed unlikely. But I had no intention of dying in this cell. Not while Isabelle was still a prisoner. Not while my mission remained unfinished.
The guard lost interest in my silence and moved on, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
With monuntal effort, I managed to push myself up to sitting position, back against the wall. The simple movent left gasping in pain. I closed my eyes, focusing inward on my damaged ridians. The devastation was extensive. I needed ti to heal—ti I didn't have.
"Is soone there?"
A woman's voice—faint, barely audible. But I knew that voice. Had dread of it every night since we'd been separated.
My eyes snapped open. "Isabelle?" I croaked, my voice rough from disuse.
Silence. Then, "Liam? Is that you?"
My heart hamred painfully against my ribs. "Yes," I called, as loudly as I dared. "It's ."
A sound like a stifled sob reached . "They said you were dead. They told you'd been killed trying to rescue ."
"Not dead yet," I managed. "Though not for lack of trying."
"I can't see you," she said, her voice stronger now. "Where are you?"
I looked around, trying to orient myself. "Cell. Not sure which one. Where are you?"
"Block C, cell seven," she replied. "I've been here for... I don't know how long anymore."
I dragged myself closer to the barrier, ignoring the pain that flared with each movent. "Are you hurt?"
There was a pause before she answered. "Yes. They take blood samples every day. Sotis other things." Her voice grew quieter. "They're using for sothing, Liam. Sothing terrible."
Rage burned through , temporarily overpowering the pain. "I'll get us out of here," I promised.
"How?" The word was barely a whisper, fragile with lost hope. "You're captured too."
Before I could answer, footsteps approached again—multiple sets this ti, walking with purpose.
"Quiet," I whispered urgently. "Soone's coming."
Three figures appeared outside my cell. The guard from earlier, the assistant in green robes, and Guild Master Bancroft himself. His cold eyes studied with calculated interest.
"So you can still sit up," Bancroft observed. "Remarkable recovery speed, even with your injuries."
I said nothing, conserving my strength.
Bancroft smiled thinly. "Not feeling talkative? That's fine. You don't need to speak to be useful to us." He turned to his assistant. "Move him."
"Sir?" The assistant looked confused.
"Move him," Bancroft repeated. "To the cell across from the Ashworth girl."
The assistant's eyes widened slightly. "But sir, the regulations clearly state that prisoners of his classification should be kept isolated—"
"I'm well aware of the regulations," Bancroft snapped. "I want him where he can see her. Where he can watch what we do to her every day. Breaking his body is too simple. I want to break his spirit as well."
My hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into my palms. The pain helped focus, kept the rage from consuming entirely.
"Yes, Guild Master," the assistant bowed slightly and motioned to the guard. "Prepare for transfer."
Bancroft knelt down, bringing his face level with mine on the other side of the barrier. "You've been a thorn in my side for too long, Liam Knight. Before the Council takes you for their experints, I want you to understand the futility of your actions." His voice dropped lower. "You ca all this way to save her. Now you'll watch as we drain every last drop of her precious blood."
He stood, straightening his robes. "Enjoy the reunion," he said with mock pleasantry. "It will be brief."
As Bancroft walked away, the barrier formula flickered and vanished. The guard and assistant entered, grabbing roughly by the arms and hauling to my feet.
Pain exploded through my body, but I bit back a scream. I wouldn't give Bancroft the satisfaction.
They dragged down the corridor, my feet scraping uselessly against the stone floor. We passed several empty cells before turning a corner.
"Stop here," the assistant directed.
They paused outside a cell identical to the one I'd been in. The guard deactivated the barrier formula, and they threw unceremoniously inside. I landed hard on the stone floor, unable to catch myself.
"Barrier up," the assistant ordered. The energy field shimred back into existence across the entrance.
As they walked away, I raised my head with imnse effort. Directly across from was another cell. Inside, a figure sat huddled against the far wall.
Isabelle.
Her once lustrous hair hung limp around her too-thin face. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her skin was pale, marred with bruises and puncture marks where they'd taken blood samples. But her eyes—her eyes still held the sa fire I rembered.
Those eyes widened as she saw . "Liam," she whispered, moving closer to her barrier. "What have they done to you?"
I tried to smile, though I'm sure it looked more like a grimace. "Nothing compared to what I'll do to them when I get out of here."
She pressed her palm against the energy barrier separating us. I dragged myself forward, inch by agonizing inch, until I could press my hand against my own barrier, directly across from hers.
Only a few feet of corridor separated us, but it might as well have been miles.
"I thought I'd never see you again," she said softly.
"I promised I'd find you," I replied. "I always keep my promises."
Her eyes filled with tears. "But now you're trapped too."
I looked at her—really looked at her—taking in every detail of her face, storing it away like precious treasure. Despite everything they'd done to her, she was still beautiful. Still strong.
"This isn't over," I told her, conviction burning through the pain. "Not by a long shot."
Bancroft thought he'd broken by placing across from Isabelle. He thought watching her suffer would destroy my spirit.
He was wrong.
Seeing her again, even like this, hadn't weakened my resolve—it had strengthened it. Every mark on her body, every sign of what they'd done to her, only fueled the fire burning inside .
I pressed my hand harder against the barrier, ignoring the painful shock it sent through my damaged ridians.
"Three days," I whispered. "In three
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