Henndar watched the carriage finally exit, and then his smile vanished, only a slight curve remaining, but the warmth in his eyes had evaporated.
A cloaked figure appeared- Deadlock. He handed Henndar a letter.
"This is the confirmation letter from the Glacial Empire to allow Kesha to be here as she wills. Also, the people you requested have all been rounded up." He paused, then continued. "Also, the other preparations have been made."
Henndar nodded. "Then we shall begin. I only have enough time before these kids return."
Deadlock One, the highest among the King's shadow guards, nodded, leading the way to the hidden chamber where the people were being held.
The room was walled on all sides, underground, and far from any wandering people. Though it was large, the people who were gathered there felt claustrophobic. They were all on one end of the room, while other members of the Deadlock stood facing them.
The moment Henndar entered, all hushed conversations ceased. Some had expectant looks, while others trembled in fear.
The group looked odd- Some were Noblles in the most expensive attire that spoke of their aristocracy, while others, merchants wore many jewels. The oddest addition to the group were three who wore the same clothes as servants of the Palace, and four guards still in uniform.
One of the nobles, a bold one approached Henndar.
"A million years to your life, your majesty," he bowed. Henndar didn't speak. "I believe there has been a misunderstanding. These soldiers came to my house, barged in, and dragged me here. I asked to see the Commander, but they said he's training troops at the barracks so he can't see me." He smiled a trader's smile, then continued again "I have done nothing wrong to be treated like this, and you know me well, oh great king."
Silence.
A deadly, suffocating silence.
Henndar took a few steps to the left and sat on a chair- the only chair in the room.
"Alaric Blackthorn. Am I correct?" Henndar asked calmly. The smile on Henndar's face lifted Alaric's spirits as he nodded.
The King even knows my name. I'm saved.
He couldn't wait to go out and brag to others.
"Let us begin then," Henndar spoke again. But no one moved.
Alaric was confused and looked around if someone had moved to do something, but all were still.
Then Henndar spoke again. "Alaric."
"Your Majesty."
"How were you connected to Lia's poisoning?"
"W-What?" Alaric felt his legs grow weak as sweat trickled down his brow. Lia's poisoning had been an issue that had caused a stir when announced over a month ago. There was even a declaration that anyone who could provide information concerning the issue would be rewarded by the king himself.
The offer was appealing but no one dared to go forward and tell lies to claim the price.
"P-Please, I believe there has been a misunderstanding." Alaric pleaded, and the others standing behind realized the situation they were in.
They were there under suspicion of being connected to the poisoning of Lia. Hushed words and muttered exchanges filled the room.
But Henndar still looked at Alaric with a small smile playing at his lips. His eyes- they had this different expression, a dangerous hint in them.
Alaric took a step back, suddenly afraid.
"It seems you have nothing to say, is that so?" It was more of a statement Henndar made, not a question.
"Deadlock, you may begin." The moment those words left Henndar's lips, invisible forces held all the suspects, binding their joints. In the dimly lit room, they couldn't see what trapped them, and they couldn't move a muscle.
Alaric was the only one freed from that uncomfortable trap.
His earlier confidence shriveled like paper under flame. The King's smile hadn't changed, but now it felt like it belonged to someone else—someone watching him squirm for fun.
He watched in horror as one of the Deadlock members- Deadlock Seven approached him. His fear heightened when he was grabbed, hands pinned to his back, and then he was forced to his knees. He tried explaining that it was all a mistake, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
No one cared about what he said, just the absolute silence that suffocated him as he was dragged to face a wall. He tried to turn around, fearing what they were going to do to him when he wasn't looking, but his head was held rigid, forced to face the wall.
"Go on," he heard Henndar say.
He heard the shuffling of feet, his heart thumping wildly as he feared for which torture method they might use to force him to speak, but the pain didn't come.
With his eyes tightly shut, he waited.
And waited.
Nothing.
No pain.
No sound.
Then.
"You should open your eyes or you'll miss everything," Henndar's voice broke the silence, and the one who held him released him.
Alaric slowly opened his eyes.
The room flickered. The wall ahead shimmered like heat over stone—and then it was gone.
Before him stood a different room. The same stone floor, but stained with something darker. Something darker. The scene before him made his heart drop.
"No." The shock was immediate.
Alaric's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the scene before him—his wife and daughters held captive by the men who seemed intent on taking their lives. His breath was ragged, desperate, as he tried to form words, but they wouldn't come. His lips trembled, his throat dry, the fear freezing him in place.
"Please… please… not them…" His voice cracked, barely a whisper. His knees buckled beneath him, and he collapsed, trying to crawl toward the barrier, hands reaching out as if he could somehow touch his family. His body shook with terror, his hands slick with sweat.
The men approached them.
Alaric slammed his fists against the invisible wall, throat already hoarse as he screamed, "No—don't touch them! Please! My daughters—leave them alone!"
The men didn't respond. One grabbed the eldest, dragging her forward. She shrieked, kicking, begging for her father.
"STOP!" Alaric bellowed. "I'll talk, I'll tell you everything! Just don't—don't touch them!"
Henndar's voice was low, almost conversational. "What is it you'll tell me, Alaric?"
"I—I—" Alaric stammered, eyes still locked on the illusion before him. One of the men raised a blade to his wife's arm, slow and deliberate.
His wife tried to stay composed, whispering words of comfort to the children. The youngest sobbed, barely older than a toddler, crying for her mother.
"PLEASE!" Alaric howled. His knees gave out. He fell forward, still banging his fists on the barrier, smearing it with blood. "You're a father—YOU MUST UNDERSTAND!"
Henndar didn't respond. He simply leaned his chin on one hand, the small smile never leaving.
"It's because I'm a father that I have to do this, Alaric"
Then the blade came down.
The scream that left Alaric was animal—wretched, primal, broken.
He clawed at his own scalp, his nails ripping through skin. "I'll talk—I'll talk—I'll—"
"Speak, then," Henndar said softly.
Alaric gasped, panting like a dying dog, words choking out between sobs.
He choked on his own words, his mouth trembling, unable to form the truth. He wanted to scream out, to tell them everything, but every time he tried, the words caught in his throat, blocked by the choking fear suffocating him. His gaze flickered to his wife, who was now crying in agony, her children screaming for help, and then it happened.
A second slash. A second child's scream filled the room. The girl's head fell forward, her lifeless body crumpling to the floor. A single tear traced down Alaric's face as his knees hit the ground.
The youngest. She was next.
"No, no… Please, I beg you," Alaric gasped, his words barely more than broken sobs. "I'll—"
His teeth ground together in agony. His jaw tensed. No—he couldn't.
He struggled, trying to control himself, to keep from speaking. His throat closed, suffocating him. But then, as if driven by something primal, his jaw clenched, and he felt the sharp edge of his own teeth. They were coming together. His tongue—he would bite it off. He couldn't speak.
"No—NO!" he screamed. "I'll tell you everything! I swear it—I swear it! Just stop, just—"
His teeth dug into the flesh of his own tongue. The pressure built, unbearable, until—
SNAP.
His jaw cracked. Blood poured from his mouth as his body spasmed. His eyes rolled back, and his last breath came in a desperate, tortured gasp. And then, with a final twitch, he went limp.
Deadlock Three stepped forward, knelt beside the corpse, and peeled back the lips.
"…Bit through his tongue. And deeper," the Deadlock muttered. "A kill curse, strong one. Likely bound to intent. The moment he tried to confess…"
Henndar exhaled slowly, unfazed, his eyes scanning the body with detached interest. "It's always the ones who hesitate the most that make it so… messy."
He turned to face the rest of the suspects—still bound in silence, having watched everything unfold. THough the killing of Alaric's family had been an illusion, the effect was far greater than he expected.
Their eyes were wide. One had wet himself. A noblewoman had fainted, slumped awkwardly in her silken gown.
Henndar's voice broke the silence. "Bring another."
The next man was dragged forward, trembling, his eyes wide with fear. The servants behind him exchanged uneasy glances, their fear mirroring his.
Henndar's voice was calm as he looked over the man, studying him with the same unsettling smile. "This one seems to be struggling more than the last. Make him speak."
A nod, and then Deadlock Five, one of the few females stepped forward with a syringe in hand. With a quick, practiced movement, she injected the man with the truth serum.
The effect was instant. His body slumped against the restraints, his movements slow and mechanical.
Henndar didn't waste time. "What do you know about the poison used on Lia?"
The man's lips parted, and his mouth opened to speak. But before any words left him, his body went rigid. A sickening crunch filled the room as he bit down hard on his own tongue. Blood spilled from his mouth as he choked, but he couldn't move. His eyes went vacant, his body still.
Henndar watched in silence, eyes narrowed. Then, just as quickly as it had started, the man's body went limp, his head falling forward, dead.
Another failed attempt. Another life extinguished.
Henndar stood, unfazed by the body. His voice was cold. "It seems our methods aren't working as efficiently as I had hoped."
He looked to the remaining prisoners, who were all now visibly shaking, their terror raw in their eyes.
"The next one," Henndar said, turning to Deadlock One, "make sure they speak. No more hesitation. No more… mess."
As Henndar's cruel interrogation continued, a distant memory flickered at the back of his mind. The children. They were out exploring the Kingdom, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. Henndar knew they'd be back soon—he only had so much time before their return.
If we fail to extract something before they return… this may all have been for nothing.
But the urgency he felt didn't register on his face. He kept his gaze fixed on the room of trembling suspects, his smile never wavering as he watched the chaos unfold.
A brief flicker of guilt gnawed at him. His thoughts returned to Mozrael, to the way her wide eyes had stared back at him the moment she left with Aramith and Kesha. Her innocence, the way she trusted him like a father, never suspecting the depths of his actions. He could almost hear her soft voice in his mind, asking about his plans and intentions.
And yet, the moment passed quickly. Henndar pushed the thought away. She would be back soon, and for now, there were other matters to deal with.
He turned back to Deadlock One, his face cold once more. "Continue," he commanded.
Deadlock One nodded, stepping forward to drag yet another trembling man to face his fate.