(1710)
The stone walls trembled faintly as the heavy door slammed open, splintering silence with violent force. Cold wind rushed into the dim chamber, scattering the torches and sending shadows reeling across the floor like frightened animals.
Luxien Draxen moved like death wrapped in elegance—silent, swift, merciless.
In less than a breath, he was beside her.
Maya barely had time to flinch before his hand wrapped around her throat—cold, impossibly strong—and lifted her off the floor as though she weighed nothing. The chains clattered as they released her, her feet scraping the wall as she was pinned roughly against the ancient stone.
A choked gasp clawed out of her throat as her hands flew to his, scratching, pulling, fighting—but there was no give. His grip was iron. His presence—overwhelming.
Her vision swam as her eyes locked onto his. Pale silver, glowing faintly in the dark, and seething with something she couldn't place.
Anger?
Confusion?
Fear?
Behind him, his guards froze mid-step, stunned by the sight of their master's fury—not at the prisoner, but at them.
Luxien didn't turn his head. His voice was low, cold, and vibrating with authority.
"Get out," he said.
No one moved.
His voice dropped further, into something deadly.
"Now."
In a blur of motion and whispered terror, the guards disappeared, leaving only their scent and shame behind.
Silence fell like a blade.
Maya gagged softly, her fingers trembling against his wrist. Her face burned with fury and oxygen-starved desperation.
Luxien didn't loosen his grip. Not yet.
His eyes bored into hers, unwavering. Studying her. Searching.
"What are you, really?" he asked, and his voice was no longer just cruel—it was desperate beneath its icy calm. "What are you hiding in there?"
Her eyes fluttered. She wanted to answer. Wanted to curse him. But all she could do was drag at his arm with the last of her strength. Her fingernails broke against his sleeve. Her feet kicked weakly against the wall.
Still, he didn't release her.
Because he was trying.
Trying to read her.
The way he had read generals before battle. The way he had peeled memories from men's minds like bark from trees. It had always come easily to him—seeing the fear, the weakness, the truth.
But with her…
Nothing.
She was a locked vault. A shadow behind glass. Her thoughts, her soul—walled off from him by something older than magic.
He pressed harder, his jaw clenching. The silver of his eyes brightened, flared, cracked—but her mind didn't open.
It resisted him. She resisted him.
Even dying in his hands, she was still fighting.
He could feel her hate like static. Not the hate of prey to predator—but of equal to equal. It was the same hatred he'd seen centuries ago in another pair of eyes.
And then, for a moment—just a flicker—he saw flames.
Not real ones. Not around them. Inside her.
A flicker of something ancient glowing behind her pupils like gold through ash.
It was gone in a blink, and Maya let out a weak, splintered cough. Her nails scraped his skin one last time before her hands dropped, limp.
Only then did he lower her.
Not gently.
Her back hit the wall hard, and she slumped to the ground, gasping like a fish pulled from water.
He stepped back a pace, breathing heavily even though he had no need for breath.
His hand trembled slightly as he clenched it at his side.
She coughed again, and through the rasp of her voice, she laughed.
Just once.
A bitter, broken sound that shouldn't have survived the pain she'd endured—but did.
"You want inside my head?" she whispered, her voice like cracked glass. "You'll die trying."
Luxien stared at her. This girl—this human—should have been screaming. Pleading. Begging for mercy.
But she glared up at him through her damp hair and bruised skin like a queen dragged through the mud.
Like she remembered something he didn't.
For the first time in centuries, Luxien Draxen took a step back from someone smaller, weaker, and bound.
Because she unnerved him.
And worse still…
She fascinated him.
Luxien stared at her like a man circling the edge of a cliff, unsure if he was about to fall—or jump.
Maya coughed again, a dry, scraping sound, and spat blood to the side. Her back remained slumped against the wall, but her eyes never left him. There was something steady in her gaze, despite the trembling of her limbs. Defiance flickered faintly behind the exhaustion.
He should've walked away.
He should've let her break.
But instead, he crouched.
The folds of his long, dark coat gathered like smoke around him as he lowered himself to her level, his pale, black-veined hand resting on his bent knee. He didn't touch her again. Not yet. Not physically.
But his eyes? They stripped her layer by layer.
"You weren't supposed to survive the culling," he murmured, voice dangerously soft. "You should've burned with the rest of your village. And yet here you are, snarling at monsters. Screaming curses. Laughing through pain."
She said nothing.
He tilted his head. "Are you possessed, perhaps? Cursed? Is that what coils inside you like a serpent in warm skin?"
Maya lifted her head weakly, blood on her teeth. "I don't know what I am," she said, hoarse. "But whatever it is… it's the part of me that wants to see you suffer."
Luxien's expression didn't change, but something in his stare narrowed.
He leaned closer, and the scent of him hit her—cool earth, dried blood, something old and bitter beneath it all. His voice dropped lower, barely above a whisper. "I've torn men apart with my bare hands. I've razed entire provinces because a single human dared to look me in the eye. But you… you're not afraid. Not enough. Why?"
Maya blinked slowly, breath shaky. "Because you're already dead," she said. "And I don't fear ghosts."
Something flickered in Luxien's chest.
He should've struck her. He wanted to. But his hands stayed still.
The hunger inside him stirred, not just for blood—but for answers.
"Tell me your name, again." he said, his tone shifting. It wasn't a demand, but something stranger. A curiosity laced with frustration.
She stared at him. Her lips curled faintly. "You burned down everything I've ever loved. Yet, you have the gall to ask my name again?"
His voice hardened. "Tell me."
She inhaled deeply through her nose, then exhaled with a bitter laugh. "Maya," she said. "Maya Montrose. And if the gods are listening… that name will be the last thing you ever hear."
He reeled internally at the sound of it.
Maya.
The syllables rolled off her tongue like prophecy. Like déjà vu.
Something deep within him pulsed again. An echo. A memory not his.
That name didn't just sting. It resonated.
He stood suddenly, rising like a shadow uncoiling to its full height. His back straightened as if someone had yanked a string. He turned away from her, walking to the other side of the chamber.
Maya's body sagged in exhaustion, her wrists and ankles aching, but she didn't stop watching him. Didn't dare.
"Why can't I read you?" he muttered, facing the wall, half to himself. "Why do you feel like something I've known before… something I've lost?"
Maya frowned faintly. "Maybe your kind's finally decaying from the inside," she said. "Maybe your power's dying."
He turned back to her sharply, eyes flashing silver.
But there was no anger in him now. Only obsession.
"Maya," he repeated, letting the name settle on his tongue like a foreign fruit. "There's something inside you… something that remembers. That fights me."
She gave a weak shrug. "Good."
He moved toward her again, slowly this time. Kneeling once more, he brought his face close enough that she could see the faint black webs of decay tracing the edge of his cheekbone, creeping along the skin beneath his eyes.
"Then tell me, Maya Montrose," he whispered, voice a breath against her ear, "before I peel your soul open—what did the stars make you?"
Her jaw clenched.
And still, she didn't answer.
Not with words.
Only with a glare that burned hotter than any torch in the room.
He held her gaze for a long, long time.
Then, at last, Luxien stood again and stepped back. The silence stretched so tight it could snap.
Without a word, he walked to the door and raised one hand. The lock clicked from the outside. No guards returned.
He didn't look back when he spoke again.
"Clean her," he ordered the shadows. "Dress her wounds. And move her to a proper chamber."
A beat of silence.
Then, colder: "No more chains."