The words caught in Ysabel's throat, a desperate gasp barely audible above the frantic pounding of her heart.
"I escaped—" She whispered. Her eyes, wide with a terror that transcended words, met Aleric's unwavering gaze.
His eyes, though, held no pity, only the cold, calculating assessment of a man who had witnessed too much darkness, heard too many lies. The deep lines etched around his eyes spoke volumes .
"Humans are remarkably cunning," He stated, the words hanging in the air like a threat. "Sydren is a vast distance from the Lair of Fallen. How long have you been a fugitive?" He leaned closer, his gaze relentless, piercing, leaving Ysabel feeling utterly helpless.
Ysabel's head shook.
"I… I don't know," She finally managed, her voice a fragile whisper, barely audible. "I just ran. I ran until my legs gave out, collapsing again and again, losing consciousness, losing all sense of time. I can't even recall most of it." Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision, each drop a searing burn against her skin.
"Believe me," She pleaded, her voice cracking, the desperation raw and exposed, "even if I wanted to explain how I got here, I can't. I simply… don't remember." Her tear-streaked face, pale and drawn, was a contrast to Aleric's impassive mask. The fragmented memories were as disorienting and terrifying to her as they were to him. The sheer trauma of her escape was etched onto her very being, a visible testament to the horrors she had endured.
Hector, his fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, finally broke the suffocating silence. His eyes, shrewd and calculating, assessed Ysabel's every trembling feature.
"What you've said makes no sense," His tone devoid of compassion.
"But I can't definitively say you're lying. You're certainly skilled at appearing believable." He shrugged.
Ysabel's hand clenched around her cup, her knuckles bone-white, her gaze snapping to Hector, a spark of defiant anger igniting in her eyes, a desperate attempt to fight back the crushing despair that threatened to overwhelm her.
"I'm not lying!" She insisted, her voice rising, a desperate plea laced with the raw edge of fear. She looked to Elvin, a desperate hope flickering in her eyes, a silent prayer for a shred of understanding, but he remained lost in his own thoughts, his expression unreadable, offering no comfort, no solace in the face of her torment. Defeated, she slumped, her shoulders collapsing under the weight of her grief and exhaustion.
She took a shuddering breath, a ragged gasp that tore its way from her chest, deciding to lay bare her soul, hoping that the raw honesty, the visceral pain of her memories, would somehow break through their doubt, their ingrained skepticism.
"I lived in Sydren my entire life," She began, her voice a low, trembling whisper. "I tried to live a peaceful life, avoiding trouble, especially for my mother. I even worked at the castle, doing extra chores, but was eventually dismissed." A bitter, self-deprecating smile touched her lips. "I worked extra shifts, saving every coin, dreaming of a different life, somewhere far away… But fate had other plans. My friends, Simon, Elana, and Jerod—we went to the Filoa forest to gather berries for jam. I loved making jam, selling it at the market. That's where we found him—a dying soldier."
Her voice cracked, the memory of that day a fresh wound, raw and bleeding. She inhaled deeply, fighting for control, but the tears flowed freely, hot and unstoppable. The image of Simon and Elana, their faces etched with fear, returning to their village for help, haunted her. She prayed they were safe. King Dalton's soldiers had arrived, offering a brief, fragile hope… but then Commander Tahl…
Ysabel violently wiped at her tears. The terror, the shock, the sheer, brutal savagery of that day were seared into her very being. Her face was ashen, her eyes wide and haunted. "He killed the soldier," she whispered, her voice barely a breath, a wisp of sound lost in the suffocating silence. "Then he attacked us. He killed Jerod… while we were trying to escape."
Ysabel didn't know how long she'd been crying; her eyelids felt heavy, her body screamed with exhaustion. When she finally looked up, her vision blurred with tears, she wanted to curl into a ball, to find solace in the rough blanket of the tent she occupied. The silence stretched, thick and heavy with unspoken accusations, with the weight of her trauma pressing down on her like a physical burden.
Aleric finally broke the silence, his voice calmer now, though the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed. It was a controlled anger, a simmering intensity that hinted at a deeper understanding beginning to form.
"What you said still doesn't answer my question, Ysabel." His gaze held a depth she couldn't decipher, a flicker of something that wasn't entirely disbelief. A hint of something else... something akin to… curiosity? A subtle shift in his demeanor, a crack in his hardened exterior.
Elvin spoke, his fingers pressed together as if he were piecing together a puzzle. His voice was thoughtful, measured, offering a glimmer of hope in the oppressive atmosphere.
"I think there must be something else."
Hector's brow furrowed, his skepticism still evident, a wall of doubt between him and Ysabel's desperate plea for belief.
"And what is it?"
"Well,"
Elvin began carefully, his voice laced with a cautious hope, "I once read an old tale, a legend, about a place that guides you to where your heart belongs. A place that… chooses its own path. A place beyond logic, beyond reason…"
Hector waved his hand dismissively. "Just a folktale."
Aleric murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough for everyone to hear. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but the words carried a weight of significance. "Hmm, the fallen kingdom… once had such a place."
A subtle shift in his posture, a subtle acknowledgment of a possibility he hadn't considered before.
Hector's mouth gaped open.
"What? You mean Vahlkiro?" His eyes shifted to Ysabel, who stared back at them, equally bewildered.
Elvin spoke with a newfound certainty, his voice carrying the weight of his conviction. "If Ysabel truly stumbled upon that place, it would be a matter of historical record, sir Aleric. And if so, the Lair of Fallen may have guided her, not sought to kill her, as we first assumed." A new possibility, a new interpretation of the events, a potential explanation for the inexplicable.
Aleric frowned, his gaze settling on Ysabel, a mixture of doubt and dawning comprehension in his eyes.