Chapter 2: The Last Night .
The dungeon smelled of damp stone, rust iron, and decayed human veins. Jamrak sat with his back against the wall, his wrists bound with chains. Across him, the three convicts whispered among themselves. Their voices were harsh. One was a thin man with eyes too sharp, like a rat. Another was a tall, scarred face with broken teeth. The last was a silent man, burnt arm, his gaze scary, his muscles built and restless.
Jamrak kept his head low, praying the king would let him see his family before he left. He was ten when he was sold alongside his mother to the palace. He has been taking care of them since. Now 18, about to be separated from the only people he called family. Hours passed. At last, a guard came with a torch and shouted," Boy, the king granted you one night to come". The convicts crossed under their breath, jealous of the mercy he received. Jamrak ignored them and followed. His wrists were chained, but the guards stayed at his back with a sword. They crossed the dark halls of the palace until they reached the cold northern wind. Jamrak's small room smelled of herbs and smoke. His mother laid on the sack bed, her pale face and cracked lips. She coughed softly as his sister Lira pressed a damp cloth to her forehead with a stale bread by her side in the pits.
When Lira saw Jamarak both cried out, "Brother! "Lira rushed his arms. She was only eight, thin as a rod, A dark hair tied in a messy braid. "They said they had taken you. Where did you go? What did you do? "Jamrak knelt, pulling her clothes. "I.., I …was accused,.. " he whispered. His throat went cold. He wanted to tell her he was wrongfully accused. It was a mistake, that the king would see reason, but lies would protect her for now. His mother's eyes fluttered, opened. She tried to rise, but pain bent her back. Jamrak hurried to her side. "Don't move, Mama", he said softly, holding her hand. "Jamarack, what have they done to you?" she asked. Her voice was weak, but tied with worry. Jamarack hesitated, then he spoke the truth. "The king has ordered me to retrieve something from the wolves, a relic. If I succeed, we will be freed. If I fail", his mother's hands tremble with ease.
"The wolf relic", she whispered, horror flashing in her eyes. " Many have died seeking it. "Why would the king?..." She broke off, coughing violently. Jamrak held her hand. His heart ached. He wanted to shout, to rage at the cruelty of it all. But he forced himself to calm down. "I will survive", he said firmly. "For you, for Lira, I will not die". Lira held his torn out trouser. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Don't do it, Jamarack, please. They will kill you. The wolves will eat you. Please don't". Jamarack hugged that tightly. "I can't say little one. If I refuse, they will kill us all. But if I fight, if I return, we will be free. No more cold rooms. No more hunger. You will see the sun in the southern garden. He will eat honey bread every day". He tried to smile, but his chest felt heavy as a stone. The guards outside coughed impatiently." It's already time."
Jamrak's mother held his wrist with sudden strength. Her eyes , fierce despite her weakness." Listen to me, Jamrak. The wolves guard the relic not only with claws and teeth but with spirit. Respect them or they will tear you apart. Promise me you will not let your anger blind you". Then she pressed her hand on his shoulder and whispered to him for a few minutes. When she was done, his eyes were wide open in dismay, utter disbelief. Her words sank deep through Jamrak, though Jamrak did not fully understand.
He bowed his head," I promise". She touched his cheek, her hand trembling. "Your father would have been proud of you. Do not forget, you are more than what they say you are". She then passed a relic to him, and she told him to put it on and rub it in danger. No one would see him. Jamrak kissed her hand, nodded, and then laid it on his forehead. His heart screamed to stay, to hold them forever, but the guards pulled him away. As the door closed behind him, Jamrak held his last sob, echoed in the cold hall. He tightened his fists. His fear burned into determination. If he must walk into the wolves' den, then so be it. He would return. He would not let his family die in the shadow of this cold palace, horror house.
That night, under the cold firelight of the dungeon, Jamrak did not sleep. The convict whispered of freedom, of women, and of freedom, but Jamrak's mind held only one image, his mom's pale face and his sister's teary eyes. Then that faint look, he swore to himself, "I'll retrieve the relic, not for the king, not for the princess, for my family". The first light of the dawn painted the dungeon bad. The guards came with chains, keys, and an iron hook, and the iron door creaked open. The journey to the wolves' den had begun.