The air deep within the roots of the Whispering Hollows did not breathe.
It festered.
King Aelroth descended into the abyss, a single torch flickering in his grip.
The orange flame cast long, dancing shadows against the inner bark of the ancient tree, illuminating a dungeon that was never meant to hold the living.
There were no guards down here.
No jailers to slide plates of moldering food through rusted iron bars.
They weren't necessary.
In the farthest, darkest cell, a figure sat hunched against the damp, fibrous wood.
Heavy, enchanted chains bound his wrists and ankles, bolted directly into the heartwood of the Hollows.
The metal was etched with ancient elven runestones, glowing with a faint, pulsing blue light that kept the prisoner's authority forcibly dormant.
Yet, it was not enough.
A slight, rhythmic humming leaked from the chained figure's lips.
Pluck.
His pale fingers grazed the strings of a lyre crafted from bone.
Pluck.
With every note, ripples of an invisible, suffocating miasma rolled through the corridor.
It was a terrifying, soul-eroding presence.
Even dormant, his aspect was an anomaly of nature.
The miasma seeped into the surrounding cells, slowly and methodically draining the sanity of the other captives.
The silence of the dungeon was broken only by the sickening, wet crunches of starving prisoners mindlessly chewing the flesh from their own fingers.
Their souls were being stripped bare, hollowed out by the sheer ambient pressure of the boy in the chains.
Even King Aelroth, a seasoned elven monarch, felt his own soul shivering under the weight of that song.
He stopped in front of the chained man.
The hunched figure didn't stop murmuring.
It was a psychopathic, broken whisper, trapped in a loop of its own making.
"Melodius," the King said.
His voice was a heavy stone dropped into a still, venomous pond.
It broke through the haze of the miasma.
The prisoner's pointy elven ears spiked up, twitching at the sound of his name.
Slowly, the prince lifted his head.
The torchlight caught his face.
His eyes were entirely swallowed by the void—pitch black, reflecting no light, empty of anything resembling humanity.
And from those abyssal eyes, thick, dark droplets of blood leaked down his pale cheeks, a grotesque substitute for tears.
Melodius looked at the towering monarch standing before his cage.
For a second, his dark eyes widened in recognition.
Then, the edges of his lips curled upward, pulling his face into a jagged, manic smirk.
"Uncle Aelroth..." he murmured, his voice cracking like dry wood.
Then, he lunged.
CLANG!
The deafening rattle of heavy chains snapping taut against iron violently warped into the screech of tearing metal.
SKREEEEEEECH!
The sound tore through the present.
The nightmare of the dungeon vanished, replaced by the freezing night air and the blood-curdling roar of the Flesh-Titan.
Aurelius threw himself backward, his heavy boots skidding across the stone pathway.
A massive, horned hand—a sickening amalgamation of elven limbs and war-rhino bone—slammed into the exact spot he had been standing a fraction of a second before.
The stone pathway shattered, sending razor-sharp shrapnel flying into the dark.
"Damn it," Aurelius cursed, the words burning in his lungs.
The Titan did not give him a moment to breathe.
Deformed tentacles made of fused muscle and spiked iron gauntlets whipped through the air, tearing up the earth.
Aurelius didn't retreat.
He danced through the destruction.
His dark mantle armor drank the moonlight as he ducked beneath a sweeping metallic fist, the wind of the blow nearly knocking him off balance.
He found his opening.
Pivoting on his heel, Aurelius channeled his momentum into his broadsword.
The heavy steel sang as it cut through the freezing air.
It was a flawless, brutal arc.
Slash.
The blade bit through the Titan's wrist, severing the massive arm in a spray of black, viscous fluid.
The Titan wailed.
The sound was a chorus of a hundred dying men, echoing off the towering gates of the Whispering Hollows.
Aurelius disengaged, his boots grinding against the cracked stone.
He was panting slightly, white vapor pluming from his lips in the frigid air.
His helmet was off, and his golden eyes narrowed as he watched the severed mass of flesh and metal hit the ground with a sickening thud.
The beast was reeling, staggered by the loss of its limb.
Now.... This is it.....
Aurelius lunged forward.
The stone pathway cracked beneath his boots as he pushed off, utilizing the dense, gravity-altering weight of his dark mantle armor to propel himself with terrifying speed.
He raised his broadsword high, the steel gleaming under the pale moon.
His face was set in stone.
He channeled his soul aspect into the blade, preparing to bring it down and cleave the abomination in two.
But before the strike could fall, a delicate sound pierced the howling wind.
Thrum.
A single string of a bone lyre was plucked.
Aurelius's golden eyes widened.
In his peripheral vision, something massive blurred through the air, moving far faster than gravity should allow.
CRACK!
"Ugh—!"
Aurelius let out a stiffled groan as the massive, severed hand slammed squarely into his chest plate.
The sheer kinetic force lifted him off his feet.
He crashed into the stone pathway, his dark mantle armor scraping violently against the jagged rocks.
Sparks flew as he slid backward, the heavy metal of his gear rattling against his bones.
It hurt, but the armor held.
Aurelius coughed, pushing himself up to one knee.
He watched in grim realization as the melody filled the air.
The severed arm wasn't dead.
It was crawling.
Like a massive, mutilated spider, it dragged itself back to the screeching Titan.
The flesh knitted together instantly, absorbing the severed limb and mutating further, causing the already grotesque figure to swell into something even more menacing.
Aurelius turned his head, looking toward the base of the hundred-foot gates.
He cursed under his breath.
Melodius was leaning casually against the cold obsidian.
He wasn't even looking at the battle.
His head was tilted back, gazing up at the cloud-filled night sky, his fingers absentmindedly plucking the strings of his horrific instrument.
He was singing.
It was a lullaby.
It sounded like something pulled from a forgotten life, an ancient dialect that had no place in this world of war.
It was beautiful, melancholic, and utterly terrifying in its contrast to the slaughter happening feet away.
"Spi, mladenets, spi, usni…"
"Smert' u vorot... smert' u okna..."
"Zhyoltyy pesok... belyy sneg..."
"Lyu-li, lyu-li... vechnyy son."
The words meant nothing to Aurelius, but the weight of them made his skin crawl.
It felt like a eulogy for a world that was just a fantasy.
"Aurelius..." Melodius spoke, his voice drifting over the wind in a distant, wistful tone.
He didn't lower his gaze from the stars.
"Can you hear it?"
"Hear what?" Aurelius growled, gripping the hilt of his broadsword tightly.
"The river," Melodius sighed.
"It is calling them back.
I'm just helping them find the shore."
His expression was serene.
It was a stark, jarring contrast to the weeping, frenzied monster that had been chained in the dark dungeon.
Aurelius finally snapped.
His usual glacial composure shattered.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" he spat, stepping forward.
"There is no river in the whole of Athervale!"
Melodius blinked.
He lowered his head, looking at Aurelius as if waking from a deep sleep.
Then, he let out a hearty, genuine laugh.
"Oh... that's true, I guess.
There is no river in Athervale," he mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
He let out a self-deprecating chuckle, shaking his head.
"Well, don't bother yourself with my words.
It's gibberish.
Nothing important.
Just some weird-ass visions I regularly had while I was... well, let's say, chained down by my own family."
"Don't play the fool," Aurelius replied firmly, his golden eyes burning into the bard.
"You are controlling this Titan."
Melodius looked at the raging mass of flesh behind Aurelius, then back to the armored prince.
He looked genuinely confused for a moment, as if he had forgotten the monster was even there.
"Ah... yeah, about that.
Yes.
I was just lost in thought," Melodius said, clearing his throat awkwardly.
He rested the bone lyre against his hip.
His tone shifted, dropping the theatrical flair, becoming impossibly soft and calm.
"Well... you should just end it by slicing me into pieces.
Shouldn't you?"
Aurelius stared at him.
The wind howled through the gorge, whipping the dark fabric of his cloak.
His jaw tightened.
The muscles in his neck strained as he fought his own instincts.
"No," Aurelius replied, his voice a low, heavy rumble.
He turned his back on the bard, lifting his broadsword to face the approaching, screeching Titan.
"I won't use my sword on you."
"Why not?" Melodius asked quietly.
"Because I promised I won't."
Melodius just stared at the armored back of the Crown Prince.
For a few long, quiet seconds, the madness receded from his void-like eyes.
A genuine, unbroken smile graced his pale lips.
"Aurelius..." Melodius whispered.
"You truly are something else."
SKREEEEEECH!
The chains screamed as Melodius strained against them.
His fingernails—sharpened, filthy, and stained with dried blood—stopped just a centimeter away from King Aelroth's stoic face.
The runestones embedded in the heavy metal collars flared to life, burning with a searing blue intensity as they fought to suppress his authority.
"You bastard!" Melodius spat, his voice a frenzied, guttural shriek.
"You scum!
How dare you take my name?!"
Aelroth did not flinch.
The torchlight flickered across his unmoving features.
"You murderer!" Melodius screamed, thrashing wildly.
"You knew!
You knew about my aspect!
You knew I could pose a threat to my parents!
Yet... yet you remained silent!"
The prince's chest heaved, his breaths coming in ragged, desperate gasps.
"You were the reason they died!" he roared, spitting a glob of bloody saliva directly onto his uncle's cheek.
King Aelroth didn't wipe it away.
He didn't attack.
He didn't deny a single word.
He just stood there, watching the chained figure break down into absolute, pathetic ruin.
A heavy, suffocating sob ripped through Melodius's throat.
"Why?" he begged, his voice cracking into a whimper.
"Why? Just why?
Why didn't you tell everyone about it?
And worst of all... you knew it wasn't my fault.
I didn't kill my parents, and yet you remained silent.
Why?!"
He slumped forward, the chains holding his weight.
Thick, crimson droplets of blood fell continuously from his void-like eyes, splashing onto the stone floor.
He had no real tears left to shed.
"I was supposed to be the next King of Athervale... after my father died... because you chose to remain silent..."
A heavy, crushing silence filled the cell.
Then, Aelroth spoke.
"I am sorry."
Melodius froze.
The sobbing stopped instantly.
His head snapped up, his neck cracking in the quiet room.
"What?" he rasped.
The elven King sighed heavily.
The mask of stone cracked, revealing a deep, genuine guilt hidden beneath years of pragmatic cruelty.
He refused to let it fully out, but it was there, swimming in his eyes.
"I am sorry, my nephew," Aelroth said softly.
"I am sorry."
A slow, bubbling sound started in Melodius's chest.
It crawled up his throat and burst out of his mouth as a maniacal, hysterical laugh.
"You are sorry?" Melodius cackled, his cracked voice echoing off the damp walls.
"Uncle Aelroth is sorry?!"
He shook his head, the bloody tears flying from his face.
"Sorry for what?!
For indirectly using me to murder my parents?
For framing me so you could get the crown?!"
"You will be the next ruler," Aelroth replied.
Dead silence fell over the dungeon.
Melodius stopped laughing.
He stared at the King, his dark eyes wide with disbelief.
"What?" Melodius breathed.
"You... you mean you will make me the next King?
Am I supposed to believe that you will make me the King instead of that little bastard, Orion?!"
Aelroth's eyes narrowed dangerously.
The guilt vanished, replaced by the cold, calculated stare of a monarch.
"Watch your words, nephew... or else."
"Or else what?!" Melodius sneered, his anger reigniting.
"You will kill me?
Do it!
Kill me!
But I know you won't... A devil like you would never grant me the mercy of death!"
He pulled against the chains again, his movements growing completely frantic.
"And who the fuck are you to make me the next King?!
It's my birthright!"
He lunged forward one last time, dangerously close to the King's throat.
The runestones flared blindingly bright.
Melodius let out a stiffled, agonizing rasp.
The enchanted chains violently sucked the little mana he had remaining in his fragile body.
His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the filthy floor, violently coughing up a mouthful of real, hot blood that mixed with the tears on his face.
King Aelroth stood above the broken, shivering boy.
He knew he was never going to make him King.
It was an impossibility. But he had to lie.
He had to keep the boy somewhat tethered to hope, for the betterment—and the safety—of his kingdom.
Slowly, the King kneeled down on the filthy stone.
He reached out, placing his large, calloused hand gently upon Melodius's trembling head.
His tone shifted, stripping away the authority, leaving only the voice of an uncle filled with genuine concern for a boy he had destroyed.
"Oh, my poor nephew..." Aelroth whispered into the dark.
"I know you can't forgive the things I did..."
"But I hope you will understand..."
"For you, I always had a plan."