Elias pressed his forehead against the cold stone of the cell, humming a low, trembling lullaby that seemed to curl around the darkness like a wisp of smoke. The song was a fragment of an old ballad—The Lantern's Lament—the kind that had once coaxed a crowd of listeners to weep and then cheer in equal measure. Now, it was his only companion, a thin thread of warmth in a place where the air itself seemed to have been drained of light. Olaf was taking his sweet time that was for sure.
The darkness deepened, and for a moment Elias wondered if the world had ever been brighter than this pit. Then, a faint, blue‑tinged shimmer pulsed against the far wall. Olaf drifted back into view, its surface dim but undeniably present. The sphere hovered just out of reach, its inner light flickering like a candle in a draft.
"About time you showed up, little sphere," Elias whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. He lifted his voice, letting the melody rise a fraction higher, as if coaxing the hidden spirit back into the world. "You know, I was about to start a solo act with only my own echo for an audience."
Olaf responded with a soft, resonant chime, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the stone itself. In that instant, the cell door creaked open just enough for a gaunt guard—a man with a scar that ran down his cheek like a river of ash—to peer inside.
"Hold still," the guard muttered, his eyes darting between the two prisoners. "I'm just checking to make sure you're... not trying to—"
Elias raised his chained hands, his fingers moving as though plucking invisible strings. "Ah, my good sir," he said, slipping into his most charming tone, "I'm merely rehearsing a piece for my own funeral. You see, I intend to go out with a bang, and I need to make sure the music hits the right note before the final curtain falls."
The guard blinked. "Your funeral? That's—"
"It's a tradition where I come from," Elias continued, a grin widening. "A song that lulls the soul into sweet remembrance. Care to listen? I promise it's all in good taste, no blood or curses—just a little… melody."
The guard hesitated, then, perhaps out of boredom or curiosity, stepped back into the cell, leaning against the cold stone. He allowed his eyes to close, the faint light from Olaf reflecting off the bars and painting his face in pale amber.
Olaf drifted closer to Elias, swelling with a gentle inner fire. Its glow brightened, and a soft, humming resonance seemed to rise from its core, harmonizing with Elias's voice. The bard's words wove through the air, a layered enchantment of baritone and falsetto that carried a thread of ancient, forgotten magic.
"Close your eyes, let the dark unfold,
Silver dreams, soft and cold.
Hear the strings, they call your name,
Fall to rest, forget the flame.
Breath grows slow, the night is deep,
Lay down your sword, surrender to sleep.
Silent shadows guard the keep,
Hush now, hush now… drift and sleep."
Elias crooned, each syllable a key turning in an unseen lock.
The guard's shoulders slumped. His breathing slowed, each inhalation a whisper of a world beyond the cell. As his eyes fluttered open for a heartbeat, a spectral violin materialized beside the guard—a translucent figure of blue light, its strings shimmering like frost on a winter pond.
The ghostly violinist raised its bow, and a delicate, crystalline note rose, echoing the bard's melody. The resonance grew, a tapestry of sound that seemed to wrap around the guard's very essence. Slowly, the guard's head tipped back, his mouth opening in a silent gasp as the music pulled him deeper into reverie. He collapsed against the iron bars, a soft thud reverberating through the stone.
Olaf bobbed up and down with glee, its aura pulsing in time with the music. It floated toward the guard's belt, its stubby arms slipping under the heavy leather of the sash. With a deftness that belied its glow, Olaf tugged the rusted ring of keys free, lifting it between its translucent stubs before tossing it like a pebble into Elias's waiting palm.
Elias caught the keys with a flourish, his grin widening into something almost predatory. "Well, that was… refreshing," he muttered, slipping the metal clink into his own lock. With a practiced twist, the shackles on his wrists fell away, clattering to the floor.
He turned, eyes alight, to the cell opposite his own. The iron gate that held Thorne—once a shining knight, now a bruise‑brown silhouette—creaked open as the lock gave way. Thorne's head snapped up, his dark eyes focused, a thin line of sweat glistening on his jaw.
"About time," Thorne rasped, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he cracked his neck, feeling the stiffness of the stone press against his shoulders. "Let's carve a way out."
The two men slipped from their cells, the dank corridor stretching ahead like a vein of darkness. Their footsteps echoed, a hollow metronome that seemed to synchronize with Elias's lingering notes. Ahead, an immense door loomed—its surface etched with runes that pulsed with a faint, violet hue, each glyph a knot of Velthra's formidable sorcery.
Elias pressed a hand against the door, feeling a low thrum beneath the cold metal, a vibration that resonated deep within his chest. The sound was a sour note, a discordant echo of the magic that bound it.
"Give me a moment," Elias whispered, more to the door than to his companion. "Doors like this don't open to steel—they open to song."
Thorne stood a few paces behind, his eyes scanning the hallway. He saw the faint glow of torches flickering farther down, heard the distant clang of armor—guards had been alerted by the earlier commotion. He tightened his grip on the hilt of a rusted sword he had salvaged from a fallen guard earlier, the blade's edge catching the dim light.
The first guard rounded the corner, a hulking figure with a skull‑etched helm, his spear raised. He barked, "Intruders! Seize them!"
Thorne pivoted, moving like a shadow born of steel. He lunged, his sword slicing through the guard's thigh with a sickening crack. The guard staggered, dropping his spear, but Thorne was already upon him, slashing his forearm. The stone floor was painted with blood, the sound of steel meeting flesh a brutal rhythm that matched Elias's humming.
Elias's voice rose, his song building in layers. He sang of ancient doors, of winds that sweep away the dust of ages, of chords that can shatter stone. The spectral violinist, still hovering nearby, added a mournful counter‑melody, its strings resonating with a haunting, lilac timbre. The two sounds intertwined, creating a harmonic lattice that seemed to vibrate the very air.
Thorne, fighting with feral precision, kept the next wave of guards at bay. He parried a spear thrust with his blade, then swung his sword in a wide arc that caught the torso of another guard, sending him sprawling. "Hold!" he shouted, voice gravelly, "I need the door open, bard!"
"Just a second," Elias replied, eyes narrowed as he searched for the precise interval that would unbind the runes. He altered the pitch, slipping into a high, piercing note that cut through the din of battle like a knife through silk. The door's runes flared, a violet light rippling outward, each glyph trembling as if in pain.
The spectral violin answered with a sudden, sharp trill, a note that seemed to draw the darkness from the stone and throw it back against itself. The runes flickered, then shattered with a burst of blue light, shards of enchantment scattering like fireflies. The heavy door groaned, its iron hinges whining under the strain of an unseen force.
Elias pushed, his voice now a triumphant chant, and the door swung open with a thunderous crack, releasing a rush of cold night air that swirled around the corridor.
"After you, knight," he quipped, bowing with a flourish that was half mockery, half reverence. "The night's waiting, and I'm sure it's eager for a new song."
Thorne stepped through first, his sword still dripping crimson, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond. The corridor opened onto a courtyard bathed in moonlight, the sky a tapestry of stars that seemed to pulse in time with the lingering notes of Elias's melody.
Alarms began to wail from the tower above, a shrill chorus that cut through the night. Torches flared as guards surged forward, their silhouettes blurring against the stone walls. But the pair had already moved, slipping into the shadows of the outer walls.
Olaf hovered ahead, its amber glow cutting a path through the darkness. It bobbed and weaved, leading them toward the western gate—a massive iron portal that stood ajar, a thin sliver of freedom beckoning like a promise.
As they reached the gate, a final guard—a towering woman with a scar across her left cheek—raised a massive battle‑axe, her eyes narrowing at the sight of the escaped duo.
Thorne stepped forward, raising his sword in a silent salute. "You think you can stop us with a single blade?" he growled, voice low as thunder.
The woman swung, the axe arcing in a deadly curve. Thorne met it with his blade, the clash sending a shockwave of sparks flying into the night. He pushed forward, his movements a blend of disciplined knightly training and the raw, animalistic fury he'd honed in the dungeons. With a deft twist, he slipped the axe from her grasp, sending it clattering to the ground, and drove his sword into her chest with a final, decisive thrust. She fell, eyes wide with surprise, her breath a whisper on the wind.
Olaf surged brighter, its light now a beacon that illuminated the courtyard. The gate swung fully open, revealing the world beyond—rolling hills bathed in moonlight, a river glinting like liquid silver, the distant flicker of a village's hearth.
Without looking back, the two men ran, their silhouettes merging with the night, the sound of their footsteps a rhythm that matched the lingering echoes of Elias's song. Behind them, the fortress erupted in chaos—alarms, clanging metal, shouts—and then, as if the very walls had inhaled a deep, final breath, a deafening silence fell.
Elias glanced back one last time, a soft smile brushed his lips, his heart beating in time with the world's quiet hum.
"Looks like we finally found the right key," he whispered to Thorne, fingers brushing the hilt of his sword. "And maybe, just maybe, a new song to write."
Thorne nodded, the weight of his armor gone, his eyes reflecting the distant dawn. "Let's see where the road takes us."
Together they vanished into the glow of the first light, the echoes of their escape forever etched into the stone, the air, and the melody that now rode the wind—a testament to a bard's charm, a knight's steel, and a sphere of light that refused to dim.