The dungeon smelled of damp stone, mold, and old blood. Selene's wrists throbbed where the iron cuffs bit into her skin, but the pain was nothing compared to the weight pressing on her chest: betrayal, disbelief, and the knowledge that everyone she loved—her family, her kingdom, even her brother—had turned against her.
The guards pushed her along the narrow corridor, their boots echoing against the walls. Torches flickered, casting tall, dancing shadows that seemed almost alive. Selene walked silently, each step measured, her mind already calculating possibilities. Every exit, every hidden passage she had mapped during her campaigns, every secret she had ever used in battle—the knowledge she now needed more than ever.
One of the guards, a young man barely twenty, stumbled over his words as he glanced at her. "General… it's… it's an order. The council says no one may help you. Not even the vanguard."
Selene's eyes narrowed. "And yet you carry me here yourself. Fear is contagious, yes, but blind obedience can be broken."
The young guard hesitated, his conscience warring with duty. The older guard barked, "Keep moving!"
Selene did not resist. There was no point. Strength alone could not save her—not yet. She needed patience.
They reached a heavy door at the end of the corridor. The lock clicked, the hinges groaning as it opened, and the guards shoved her inside. The chamber was cold, its walls rough stone. A single barred window near the ceiling offered a thin shaft of moonlight that barely touched the floor. The room was otherwise empty.
One guard spat on the floor. "Stay here until the council decides your fate. No one touches you, but no one lets you leave."
The other guard smirked, but neither realized the small spark they had just ignited. Selene's eyes followed them as they closed the door. The lock echoed in the silence.
Alone. Finally alone.
Selene dropped to the floor, the chains rattling. She closed her eyes and let the memories come—her campaigns, her victories, her soldiers cheering as she led them into battle, the trust she had built with every life she saved. And now—gone. All gone. Replaced with lies and betrayal.
The first time she had led a battle at the age of seventeen, she remembered standing on a hill, the wind whipping through her hair, the sound of swords clashing, and the fear that threatened to freeze her body. She had overcome it then. And she would overcome it now.
Hours passed. Night deepened. The torch outside flickered, then died, leaving her in near-total darkness. Selene traced the walls with her hands, fingers brushing against hidden grooves and loose stones. Old architecture, built for hiding secrets, for escape. She found one loose brick near the corner.
A smile ghosted across her face. The palace thought they could bury me alive.
And yet she was not dead.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor. She froze, listening. A muffled conversation outside the door. Voices she could not recognize, but they were urgent, low, filled with tension.
Her mind raced. If her soldiers had not been allowed to interfere, could there be other allies? Perhaps spies, perhaps servants still loyal, perhaps someone who remembered her as more than just a weapon for the crown.
A shadow appeared beneath the door. Something small was pushed through the narrow gap—a piece of parchment tied with a crimson thread. Selene retrieved it quickly.
"Trust no one. But look to the forgotten. You are not alone. —A Friend"
Her pulse quickened. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the message mattered more than the messenger. Not alone. That tiny spark—the first since her capture—rekindled a fire in her chest.
Selene spent the rest of the night mapping her options. Every guard rotation she could hear, every loose brick, every structural weakness. By morning, she had already planned two routes of escape. Not just for herself, but for the soldiers still loyal to her outside these walls.
By dawn, a soft sound echoed from the corridor: the guard shift changing. Voices, laughter, the careless chatter of men who believed themselves safe, believing her weak.
Selene tested the chains. Iron cuffs had held stronger men in this very dungeon, but she had never relied on brute force alone. With a few precise twists, a pressure point discovered through years of battlefield experience, the cuffs loosened slightly. Freedom would come, but patience was essential.
Hours later, she heard it: a scrape at the window high above, almost imperceptible. A thin wire, tied to a tiny hook, carrying a note.
"Selene—do not delay. The council plans to move you tonight. Trust your instincts. Allies wait beyond the eastern gate. —L"
Her eyes narrowed. L? Whoever it was, they knew the palace's plans. They were watching. Waiting. Perhaps more courageous than the soldiers who abandoned her.
Night returned. The heavy iron door opened again, this time for the High Council itself. The chamber outside was full of ministers and advisors, faces hard with judgment, the king's seal glittering on every robe.
Kael stood in the center, holding himself with that cold elegance, that same imperiousness that had first betrayed her. His eyes flicked to hers as if testing, calculating.
"You see, Selene," one of the councilors said, voice smooth and cruel, "even your own blood recognizes the truth. You are a danger. Your victories have made you too beloved, too powerful. The people may follow you, but the crown must survive."
Selene's lips curved into a faint smile. "Too beloved? I fought for this kingdom, not for admiration. And as for my power—you mistake loyalty for ambition. I never sought a throne."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Words cannot undo evidence."
Evidence. Lies and fabricated reports. They had twisted every action, every decision she had made into a crime. And yet, in their arrogance, they had underestimated her intelligence, her patience, her will.
The council debated in whispers, but Selene saw the cracks. Even they feared the public's perception, even as they hid behind law and decree. And fear, Selene knew, was something she could manipulate.
When the guards returned to escort her deeper into the dungeons, Selene's mind was already moving. Every loose stone, every weak link, every ally she could summon—they would not bury her in chains. Not when betrayal had given her purpose.
As she was led away, her brother's voice called softly:
"Selene… be careful."
She did not respond. But inside, she whispered a vow:
I will return. Not as a general of your crown, not as a servant to lies, but as the reckoning you refused to see.
The dungeons swallowed her once more, but the fire inside Selene Varkos had only just begun to blaze.