Lyssandra pulled Miriel firmly back into the corridor and shut the cell door, cutting off the vulgar sounds. Miriel slumped in her captor's grasp, trembling. The image was burned into her mind, an unspeakable violation of everything she believed about her friend.
"Shall we continue?" Lyssandra asked, her tone sickeningly cheerful.
No answer came from the trembling Saintess so she simply kept walking, confident Miriel would follow.
Like a sleepwalker, the traumatized girl did, stumbling slightly on the rough stones. Her steps were heavy, her heart a lead weight.
They stopped before another cell. This one was silent. No moans or grunts, just the faint scratching of metal and the murmur of a solitary voice.
Lyssandra pushed open this door as well, revealing a surprising sight. The cell was larger, and dominating the space was an empty chest of dark, polished wood. Before it knelt Nekari.
She wasn't restrained though. Her eyes, usually bright and alert, were wide with avarice, gleaming in the torchlight as she caressed the chest's lid, murmuring to herself. Her voice low and intense, completely unaware of the audience at the door.
"Just look at it… so much…" she breathed, tracing the intricate carvings. "Enough to buy… anything. A mansion in the capital. Finest wines. Jewels. I could be a queen!" A harsh, greedy laugh escaped her.
"Those fools… thinking they're my 'friends'… thinking we'd split this?" Her lip curled in a sneer. "Please. The squire is weak, the elf is a useless fop, the bear is too stupid to see past his own muscles, and the Saintess…" She snorted. "She'll probably give it all away to 'help the needy'. Stupid shit."
She patted the chest lovingly. "No. This is mine. All mine. I'll take it and disappear. They'll never see me again. Let them rot in this dungeon." Her eyes narrowed, calculating. "Or… maybe I'll 'save' them. Be the hero. Make them grateful. Then steal it while they sleep."
She threw back her head and cackled, a sound devoid of warmth. "I'll be rich! Rich! Finally!" Her fingers clenched, nails scratching at the wood. "I won't be a fucking 'adventurer' scraping for copper anymore. I'll have it all!"
Miriel watched in numb horror. The woman she knew – the fiery catfolk who had fought beside them, who had cracked jokes even in the darkest moments was gone. This creature before her was a stranger, consumed by a cold, selfish greed Miriel had never suspected.
Nekari continued her solitary, venomous monologue, completely absorbed in her fantasies of wealth and betrayal.
The saintess didn't move or speak. She just stared, her belief in the goodness of her companion shattering like fragile glass. The silence from the her was heavy, a profound sense of loss settling over like a shroud.
Lyssandra watched with predatory intensity. "See that?" she whispered. "Not quite the truehearted friend you thought, hmm?"
She gestured for her to step back. "Come. There's more."
Lyssandra led Miriel further down the corridor, the silence broken only by the faint echo of dripping water. They stopped before the next door. Lyssandra didn't say a word this time, just pushed the door open.
Inside, huddled against the far wall in the shadows was Rolfe. Gone was the stoic, towering figure of the bear beastkin. He was curled into a tight ball, his huge body shaking visibly. Bruises, fresh and dark, mottled his fur where his clothing was torn.
His face, usually stern and composed, was a mask of terror. His eyes darted wildly at the sound of the door, locking onto Lyssandra with a look of pure, primal fear.
"NO! Please!" he cried, his voice raw and cracking. He scrambled forward on hands and knees, crawling towards Lyssandra's feet. "Mercy! Please, mercy! I beg you!"
He threw himself prostrate before her, pressing his forehead to the cold stone floor. His entire body trembled uncontrollably. "Please… not again… I'll do anything! Anything!"
Lyssandra remained motionless, looking down at the groveling bear. Rolfe reached out, his hands fumbling blindly. Finding her foot, he pressed his lips against the it, kissing it desperately. Tears streamed down his bruised cheeks.
"I'll serve you! I'll fight for you! I'll…" He trailed off, sobbing. "Just… spare me. Don't need them… don't need the others… just me is fine. Please."
He licked her feet, a pathetic, submissive gesture, his tongue leaving a wet trail. He was completely broken, utterly terrified, his courage stripped away.
Behind Lyssandra, Miriel watched in stunned revulsion.
This was Rolfe? The unwavering protector? The one she'd seen shield them all, absorb blows meant for others? Now he was kissing their captor's feet, begging for his own life while offering his companions as sacrifice.
Unhiding contempt flickered in Miriel's eyes. She felt a sick churning in her stomach, not just at Rolfe's betrayal, but at the sheer cowardice he displayed.
'How could he?' The thought echoed in her mind, hollow and accusing. 'How could he abandon us like this?'
Rolfe remained oblivious, his focus entirely on Lyssandra's feet. He didn't see Miriel's presence, didn't even hear her sharp, indrawn breath. He was lost in his own terror, a shell of the warrior he once was.
Lyssandra allowed him to kiss her feet for a few moments before kicking his head. "Enough," she snapped.
Rolfe flinched, curling back into a ball, whimpering.
Lyssandra closed the door, a cruel smirk on her lips. "Shall we see the last one? Your… lover, I think?"
Miriel's face flamed a deep crimson, the heat rushing to her cheeks like a tidal wave. "He is not! We are not… Hanry and I…" she stammered, unable to meet Lyssandra's eyes.
"We are friends! Comrades! Partners in the Void!" she insisted, her voice gaining strength. "He is a good man. A noble man. He would never… He would never betray his honor! He is a squire of House Marcellis! He swore oaths! He fights for justice! He…"
Her words tumbled out in a desperate rush, her faith in the man a beacon against the horrors she'd witnessed. "He is strong! Brave! He will not falter! Not Hanry! Not ever!"
Lyssandra's smile widened. "Such conviction but did i say it was Hanry?" she mused. "Although, such faith in your pure, noble squire. It's almost touching. Well, Saintess, let's see if your 'not-lover' lives up to your praise."
She strode towards the final door, the one that held Hanry. Miriel followed, her steps hesitant, her heart hammering with a strange mix of dread and desperate hope. 'Hanry will be strong. He will resist. He is different. I just know that.'
They stopped before the heavy wooden door. Lyssandra grasped the handle, her eyes glittering with cruel amusement. "Are you ready?" she asked softly. "Ready to see your champion's true colors?"
Miriel squared her shoulders, lifting her chin. "Yes," she said, her voice firmer than she felt. "Show me."
Lyssandra turned the handle and pushed the door open slowly.
'What?!'
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