Far from the college, within the towering black-stone walls of the capital's fortified keep, prisoners from the Raxedeos raid had been brought in from Zuganis. They had been marched for days, bound in chains and silence. The initial interrogations bore no fruit until now.
That's when Ser Brimstone was summoned.
A knight native to Raxedeos, now a stranger beneath its banners, Brimstone had been granted asylum by the Grand Alpha Rodivo—though not trusted by many in the Capital. It was believed that his shared blood with the prisoners might yield the answers brute force could not.
A guard stepped forward as Brimstone entered the dimly lit corridor.
"They were nine at first," reported the guard. "But one of them stole a blade on the road to the capital. Stabbed himself before we could intervene."
Ser Brimstone nodded grimly and entered the cell where the remaining prisoners sat in silence.
"Bring me water," he said as he stepped forward.
The captives looked up with lifeless eyes. He took a deep breath. Then, switching to the old tongue of Raxedeos, he asked, "Ja anti bakar?" — "Is it true?"
Surprise flickered across the faces of the prisoners.
"You are a son of Raxedeos?" one of them asked.
"Yes. A son of Raxedeos still," Brimstone replied. "But tell me—what has driven you this far? Why would one of your own take his life rather than speak?"
The prisoner's eyes burned with disdain. "I will not speak with a native turned puppet—one who serves a foreign crown to torment his own kin."
Brimstone did not flinch. "Call me what you will. Puppet, exile, dog—I've heard worse. But I seek only the truth. What happened out there?"
No one answered.
As Brimstone turned to leave, a guard leaned in and whispered, "Should we torture them?"
Brimstone paused. "And what good would that do? One of them has already chosen death. Torture is what they expect. Let us not give them the dignity of being right."
He straightened, issuing orders to the guards. "Place them under full surveillance. One man at the cell at all times. No blind spots. No shifts missed."
"It would be done just as you have said," the guard replied.
But just as he began walking away from the cell, a voice called out behind him in the old tongue:
Ozaka damfulahi tembara.
*We will speak, if you will listen.*
Brimstone turned slowly and re-entered the cell. Squatting before the speaker, he said quietly, "Then speak."
The prisoner took a deep breath, eyes glistening. His voice trembled not with fear—but memory.
"We hail from Temburah, a coastal village in Raxedeos—not the glorious city, but a forgotten corner."
He looked up at Brimstone. His voice was barely above a whisper.
"In our legends, there are tales of the Dark Ones—flesh-eating spirits of shadow. They are said to rise from the underworld by Vindori's will, striking villages as punishment for unatoned sins. We thought these were only myths. But they have returned."
He paused, tears streaking down his face.
"They come like locusts—silent, fast. They snatch our women, our men… even our children. No tent is safe, no cradle untouched."
"We sought help from the glorious city. They laughed at us, called us storytellers begging for pity. So we ran. We heard of lands beyond Blackwood Forest and hoped we'd be welcomed—even as servants—if only to save our children."
Brimstone's voice was careful. "Then why the attack on the pack tribe? On the cornfields?"
The man shook his head. "I know nothing of that. But I can guess—men starving, fleeing through hostile lands. They must have taken food. Nothing more. We were scouts, just trying to find somewhere habitable for our people. One hundred and sixty of us were sent."
Brimstone frowned, his tone sharpened.
"That many? It's no wonder they drew arms on sight. That would look like an invasion."
The prisoner bowed his head. "Perhaps. But we meant no harm."
Brimstone's gaze hardened. "Your silence and your friend's suicide suggest otherwise."
Rising, the prisoner's voice broke. "He lost his wife and daughter to those monsters. And now he was imprisoned, in a land not his own. What hope did he have left? Who would've believed any of this?"
A heavy silence followed.
Brimstone straightened. "If your own city cast you out, what chance do you think you'll have here?"
The prisoner looked him in the eyes. "You are Raxedeos-born. Surely you've heard the old tales too."
Brimstone stood in silence. Something distant passed through his expressions. Not doubt. Not certainty. Something between.
He turned and walked out.
At the door, he issued quiet orders. "Ensure everything I've said is followed to the letter."
A soft nod came in as the reply from the guard, as the doors of the keep closed behind him.
But as Brimstone walked past the City's keep, he paused for a moment.
The wind outside had stilled.
And the silence... felt wrong.