"Kill them… Kill them all. They took her from you," a whisper hissed, harsh as gravel. "Make them pay. Tear them limb from limb."
"No… Go away," James groaned through clenched teeth. His voice filled the clearing, fragile and fierce. His body trembled, muscles twitching under the strain.
"Oh, you don't need me now?" The voice snarled, wild and bitter. "If it weren't for me, you'd have died long ago. Who taught you to survive, ha? Me. Who brought back your grandfather when he was dying? Me. Me. Me! And now you have the nerve to say you don't need me…? You are nothing without me."
"Where were you when Ember died?" James roared, rage cracking his words. "Nowhere. Nowhere at all."
A thousand layered murmurs answered, drifting like a storm on the edge of hearing. "Then don't come back to me crying when they try to kill you. Oh, and I heard them—their little ploy. Oh you foolish soldier, wake up and face reality; there are no heroes in this broken world…"
"What ploy?" James croaked, bewilderment cutting into him.
"Kukukuku… So you need me now, do you?" The voice laughed, distant and echoing. "You'll find out soon enough."
"Fine. Go then; you weren't much help anyway," James barked, voice ragged.
"Hey… mate, you—are you alright?" A new voice pulled him back to the surface.
James's eyes slid open. Shapes swam into focus: he felt the rough flow underneath his skin; the place smelled of moist rot in front of his giant steel bars lined up in rows.
Clank! Clank!
The chains at James's wrists and ankles rang, a cold, metallic rhythm. He strained, trying to flex his fingers.
Damn it, my Sar wouldn't flow—my body is far too strained. He twisted his head and stared at the black iron bars that boxed him in.
"Bloody hell, mate—ya scared me! You were twitching like a lunatic," a gruff, jolly voice called from beyond the cell. Its speaker had a thick southern drawl; the words came rough but warm.
"Thought you were possessed. Reckon once the ghost was done with ya it'd come for me. What a relief—ya alright, eh? Hahaha!" The man laughed, the sound echoing off stone.
"Look at ya—locked up proper, aye…. What'd you do, slaughter a whole damn village or something? Hahahaha!"
"Ah—shut up, cook," a croak answered from the shadows of the cell. "Some of us are tryin' to sleep here." The voice was rougher, threaded with iron.
"What's the point? After tomorrow you'll be sleeping forever." He barked another laugh from the Southern man.
"You bloody psychopath," the other man muttered under his breath.
James said nothing. He tested the chains again, jaw tight. The echo of that whisper—the one promising power and blood—still throbbed at the edge of his thoughts, but for now it was only noise beneath the clank of iron.
"Can it, all of you," a new voice barked. It was a stiff, commanding tone—one of the guards making his round in the night. He wore a khaki uniform with dark straps at his waist where a baton hung; his shoes were polished, and a long, dark coat dragged behind him as he walked.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of his boots striking the floor echoed; with each step there was a boom, then a shriek as if the cellmates were being attacked. The walk echoed in a steady rhythm as he approached James's cell; he then came face to face with him.
"So this is the monster that killed over thirty people and a helpless woman. How horrid a creature you are," the man said. He was a young lad as well—barely in his mid-twenties, too young to be working as a guard in a prison.
"Oh my… The world has gone to shit, mate. You killed more than thirty people in the same day? Truly a beast of a man," the southern man muttered, his voice flat, trying on no particular emotion.
"Oh, you shut the hell up, Cedric. You're also here for murder—when will you stop spouting your snide remarks?" The younger guard snapped. "You are no better than him."
"What? You're hurting my feelings, mate? What do you mean we're the same? I only killed one person… hahaha." Cedric laughed, stepping away from the bars of the cell, knowing what would come if he didn't.
"What do you mean, 'killed'?" James's voice boomed, ringing with confusion. "I killed no thirty people. It was him—that man Seth."
"Don't try to lie to me." The young guard spoke, his face flashing with rage. "The innkeeper told me everything—how you kidnapped his worker, and when those mercenaries tried to rescue her, you killed them all, including the girl."
"Listen to me, damn it—you've got it all wrong! Why would I… why would I kill the woman I love?" James's voice was laced with fury, so much so the steel bars bent under the strain.
"You, filthy animal! Have you no shame? Soiling the memory of a kind woman by claiming you loved her? Does that give you the right to kidnap and kill her? What—you sliced off her head because she didn't love you back, is that it? Ha!?" The guard's voice boomed, echoing through every crevice of the prison.
"You damn fool! You are blind to the truth even if you hear it!" James barked.
"No more," the guard snapped, flicking his baton. A steel plate flew forward, clamping onto James's mouth and silencing him. "I am done listening to you," he said, turning away.
As James lay there, most of his bodily functions restrained, he remembered something his grandfather once told him:
"Listen, James. There are things in this world that are simply improbable. Look at that swordsman training, for example. No matter how sharp a sword you forge, the blade will never cut smoke. Look at that glass of water—no matter how razor-sharp your teeth are, you can never chew water."
Those words reverberated in James's mind like some stubborn, catchy tune.
"But… is that truly true? Look at the magnificent wonders the ability to wield Sar has brought us. Do you think those rules still apply to people with the highest order of Sar refinement?"