Lucarion's claws shot out, slicing through the chains in a single, fluid motion. The metal screamed as it parted, clattering to the stone floor. She fell hard, her body limp, striking the stone with a muted thud.
"If she cannot speak," he muttered, eyes narrowing, "then she will write." His command was sharp, imperious. "Bring tools. Paper. Ink. Anything to capture answers."
The guards scrambled, fear etched into their every movement. When they propped her upright on the cold floor, she remained unconscious.
Her wrists were swollen and purple — proof of her earlier defiance.
Then—her body stiffened. A violent tremor shot through her frame. Her eyes rolled back, mouth frothing red as blood bubbled from her torn throat. Her limbs jerked, thrashing in uncontrollable spasms.
Lucarion's growl rumbled low, cold fury laced with urgency. "Healer. Now!" His voice cracked like a whip, rattling the guards into motion.
The convulsions rattled on; her skull struck the stone again and again as she bucked against the floor. Lucarion's jaw clenched. To lose her now—to waste such a prize—would be an error the King would not forgive. A general, captured alive, silenced not by his will but by incompetence? Unthinkable.
Boots scuffed against stone as the healer was rushed inside, a pale, nervous figure draped in the gray leathers of his craft. He carried his satchel with white knuckles.
The man bowed low, trembling under Lucarion's gaze. "Your Highness."
"Spare me ceremony." Lucarion's voice was ice. He pointed to the human writhing on the ground. "Stabilize her. Now."
The healer fell to his knees beside her, hands already working with swift, efficient motions. Fingers pried back her eyelids, wincing at the sluggish flutter of her pupils. He pressed against the back of her skull, then hissed softly.
"A head strike, sire. Severe concussion, the brains swells against the skull. The convulsions are the body's protest. If untreated—"
"If untreated," Lucarion cut in, stepping closer, "you will join her in the dirt."
The healer paled, fumbling through his satchel. Vials clinked, herbs crushed beneath his hands as he mixed a pungent paste. He smeared it across her temples, forcing a bitter draught between her bloodied lips. The spasms slowed, subsiding into twitching tremors, until finally her body sagged boneless to the floor.
The chamber's silence was heavy, broken only by her ragged breaths.
The healer's voice was unsteady. "She lives, my lord. For now. But she will need rest—her mind is injured. To push her further may…" He hesitated, glancing up nervously. "…may destroy her completely."
Lucarion's eyes burned, the gold rings around his pupils glinting with restrained rage. For a moment, he considered the implications—then let his voice drop, lethal and quiet.
"She will not die until I allow it. Keep her breathing. If she falters again…" His fingers flexed. "…I will make certain her corpse is not the only one this chamber sees."
The healer bowed so low his forehead touched the stone. "As you command, Your Highness."
Lucarion's gaze lingered on Eva's slack face, the faintest trace of a smile still tugging at her bloodied lips even in unconsciousness.
He turned sharply, cloak snapping behind him as he strode from the cell.
He left the dungeon. Her scent clung to him like smoke, impossible to leave behind. The torches in the corridor cast long, lean shadows as he ascended the stairs. Each echo of his boots against stone carried his temper upward, away from the stench of chains and weakness.
And yet, the image followed.
The human woman—her lips torn and bleeding, still curved in that smile.
Her eyes, molten amber laced with fire, meeting his without submission.
He strode into his study, war maps sprawled across the obsidian desk. The parchment rustled under his hand as he gripped the table's edge. Annoyance tightened his jaw, sharp as the blade he carried at his hip.
By the time of his birth, humanity had already been broken—sifted, tamed, silenced. Livestock. He had never known them as anything else. And now this: a general who moved through chains as if they were air, who stifled her own voice to defy his will, who smiled through blood as though each wound were her triumph.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, a slow, deliberate sound. Then the corner of his mouth lifted—amusement edged with hunger.
So the human thought herself unbreakable.
How novel.
Her defiance was not an insult—it had become a promise. Conquest without resistance was nothing but slaughter. But conquest against something that fought? That was a prize worth taking.
He leaned back, eyes glinting like stormlight as his fingers traced the borders of the map.
The study doors opened quietly.
His Lord Commander stepped into the study, dark armor gleaming faintly in the torchlight. Kael's face was all hard edges, his bearing rigid with the discipline of centuries at war. If Lucarion was the mind of their armies, Kael was the blade that carried his strategies into blood.
"Reports from the north, Highness, as requested."
Lucarion didn't look up from the map spread across the obsidian desk. "The humans," he said, voice low. "They have been quiet for centuries. Do you believe they've been preparing?"
Kael's expression was taut. "It seems likely. Their silence is not the obedience we've grown accustomed to. Something has shifted—they may have been biding time, watching, learning."
Lucarion leaned back, letting the thought settle. "And the north?" he asked, finally glancing at Kael.
"Northern patrols are stretched thin. Rumors tying these attacks to human activity may prove true. Humans appear organized, and wolves are more populous than they should be—there seems to be cooperation."
Lucarion's sharp nails traced a border on the map, following lines of human territory that should have long yielded.
Kael inclined his head. "Highness, the interrogation—how did it proceed with your human general?"
"Enthrallment fails. Torture would render her useless. She silences herself before she can betray anything. Forcing her would be wasted effort."
"Then what is the plan?"
Lucarion's voice was steady, measured. "We will learn everything—her past, her ties, her desires. Everything we uncover will be used to bend her. Patience is our tool. We must uncover their new found organization."
Kael bowed, silent approval in his stance.
Lucarion dipped his quill in ink, scratching swiftly across parchment. The report to the King would detail human activity along his front, the anomaly of a general who defied capture, and the uncertainty now stirring in what had long been a subdued population.
Kael left the room quietly, leaving Lucarion alone with maps, ink, and the first tremor to centuries of supremacy.