The world had gone dark for Massua Opal. She remembers nothing from before, not a flickering flame, of why she was in a prison cell. She remembers coming face to face with death itself, being grasped by a cold hand that sucked the life out of her like a leak in a bucket. His presence had shaken her. And then, that was it. She doesn't know what happened after that point if anything did. When she opened her eyes, she was sure she was indeed dead, and the bleak afterlife had taken her. Death had seemed such a comforting thing then, she would not relish in her death as much as she initially thought.

But then, shock. A shock back into reality, as deep pain, responding to her consciousness, decided upon itself that she needs to be reminded. Pain suddenly flourished, her stomach becoming a bed of cold heat and twisting skin. She felt simultaneously lit on fire and stabbed. It was unbearable pain, and she weighed in place on the cold stone ground. Her skin grew red with the intensity as could no longer feel, see or hear much of anything. She wasn't sure she was crying or screaming, or perhaps both. The infliction fizzled like a spring, and slowly lowered it's harshness upon her like a cruel beast. It took time, but could again take in breathe before she could collapse again. She threw herself against the nearest wall, huddled, and began to cry. Not a wail, but a weeping that punctuated how empty her situation really was. She was in fact, all alone. Hope had betrayed her, made her think that he cared. Then ripped the world from beneath her feet to reveal hell was always beneath her. Her brother is dead. Her mother as well. She dared not think that the world would be any kinder than it needed to be. It was cruel to the core.

She set her hands against the ground, exhausted from how much she let out. The stone bricks were cold, a little wet from tears from moments ago. She used this steadiness to find some sort of bearings for herself. This was a cell, a small one with no beds, no windows, and no light. She felt her way around the room hands first, feeling out her surroundings hesitantly. She fears what waited for her in the darkness. But if it really wanted to kill her, she'd be dead by now. Her fingers grazed over something bumpy and course. She Reid to pick it up, but a sickening snap made her drop the object. She knew what it was as soon as she held it with both hands. It was a skull. One that was connected to a skeleton in the corner of the room. Again the room was dark, not even bars to look through for some sort of light. All four walls were stone, occasionally something would be carved into them she could trace with a finger, but it seemed less through and through. Only the floor was made from bricks. Not even a door. How did she get in here then? Most surely this is the work of magic of some sort. This was a far ascent than a simple wooden chest. There was no drama she could pry through, and no knight to set her free. She was like a Firefly that had been caught in a jar like she used to do when she was younger. Now she feels exactly like those bugs must have realized. She wasn't trying to figure a way out. She set her back against the wall, knees huddled to her chest as far away from the skeleton and skull as possible.

She could hear nothing besides her beating heart and depthless breathing. No matter how long, an hour, two, or three, she never seemed to run out of the air, despite how sealed tight the room was. It was strange to be deprived of her senses in such a manner. Her others seemed simultaneously dull and elevated. The dress she wore was becoming threadbare, but it was relatively warm. She discovered a bucket, apparently her only toilet. She could not comment on her conditions, things could still be worse. She does not know how, but they can be.

By the fifth hour, she could barely hold energy. Zoi would be impossible in her condition. She felt as faint as a deer in winter. Slowly she drifted to sleep, which was not an issue. She felt exhausted as soon as she awoke. Her eyes fluttered to a close, not fighting at all the tiredness. But seemingly as soon as she shut them, they were suddenly opened again as she heard the grinding of metal on stone. When her vision readjusted to bright light, she was looking at an actual door, metal and rusting at its hinges. She knew that there was nothing in that wall, but then again, magic would be the answer. A man carrying a torch behind him tossed in a sac into the room towards her. He did not seem the same as the scry looking, pale-faced men and women who captured her. She realized how hungry she was when she smelled faint grain. Almost desperately she grasped for the satchel, untying it to find a canteen of crackers and water.

Before she could eat even one, a Sandy voice spoke. "Eat one a day. They shall last you till you are ready, and replenish your aura. You will be provided for water every sixteen hours."

"Where am I," she was surprised by her boldness, even then. "What is this place who are you."

The man ignored her, stepping back to close the door. Without thinking, she ran to the door. Either from fear of darkness or desperation, it was futile. As soon as it closed shut, the darkness regained hold, and it was just a solid stone wall once more. She screamed, punching it till her knuckles bled and kicking to her toes were sore. She didn't feel like eating. She was far too angry. Then again, what else could she do? What use in breaking your hands against bonds outside her strength. She was a mere damsel, not enough power even to get herself out of this predicament.

"Even Lyse could not get out of this," she does know why, but that made her angrier.

(X)

The next few days were a routine. She ate, she slept. She would think and think in an empty space. They came in every two days. They came in abruptly, forcing her down to her stomach with firm hands and two Spears and a hand pointed towards her. They switched out the bucket of waste, and as quickly as they would enter they would disappear. She cursed at them, but she doubted they had a soul to be offended. She was getting strength back at least. She could make her hands glow so that the room wasn't entirely dark, but it was faint. From the light, she mustered she observed just a little more of what's around her. The skeleton looked to be old, but not that old. Wrinkled and strangely preserved skins stuck to the bones that flaked off when she grazed her hand. Stingy black hair laid in clumps around it, not even close to its frame. She counted herself lucky. It could indeed be a little worse.

Next, she looked over to where the door appeared. It wasn't smooth, with the light she cast she could see that metal was actually engraved into the walls. Geometric patterns and glyphs that she recognized only of Torlakian make. Spells. She could feel a fizzle in her fingers as she touched them. They were imbued with aura and could activate at a moment's notice. There was another one on the opposite wall. Not the same symbol but of a similar structure. She knows little of the magic and how it works, but she was fascinated all the same. How can mages imbue such objects with zoi that does not disperse, and how can they manipulate it without actually touching it?

She never saw the Thirian, Garath. She would have expected an unfriendly visit from him by now from the treatment others gave her. But he never showed. Whenever they spoke to her, it was always with an air of guidance, trying to convince her of something she has no idea about. That she has to serve some higher purpose, or she will achieve some Noble goal. Almost like she was a hero. Well, if this was indeed the treatment afforded to heroes then she must reevaluate her perspective on such stories. They treated her like some criminal of horrid crimes, deserving of anything worse than death, and she was merely waiting for what may come.

It may have been a week later when something different from the cruel treatment, horrible food and conditions, found her. She had lost all track of time by that point. She no longer could keep track of whether it was day or night, nor did she really care. She sat in the corner of her cell, waiting till her energy depleted, and she needed sleep, only to be greeted by nightmares. They were the same. The fire and burning. Her friends and family slaughtered in some kind of incursions. Lately, they have been different though. In some of them, she was the architect of such chaos, she was the one with the sword in hand, black eyes, and pale skin, impaling her brother through the heart with a saber. It was during such a dream that she was awoken by the grinding of metal. She took the time to memorize when they would feed her, and when they would replace her waste bucket. It wasn't close to those times just yet, and her heart pattered to the realization. Two men, both black-eyed and vacant of expression, brandished spears towards her.

"Onto your feet," one said in a flat tone. "You have been summoned."

"Summoned?" She immediately did stand, holding both hands ahead of her in view. She didn't feel like being impaled for no reason. "Summoned by whom?"

"You will learn soon enough," the other said. He quickly bound her hands in white cloth, then shackled her. The chain connected directly to the butt end of her spear, still directed towards her throat as they moved. She finally saw the true depths of her prison. She expected it to be some musty cave, but her assumption was in fact incorrect. Her room was a solid block, the door to it closing, but not disappearing. A long narrow hall extended to either direction, a candle or torch being set up every so often to provide light. There were other doors, most empty as they passed them by. The openings showed either an unoccupied room or a skeleton or rotting corpse within. The black-eyed men did not take their eyes off her, while also guiding her through corners and sets of stairs. It was unimaginable just how many rooms there were. Whatever structure they were in must have been massive. Her legs felt torn from such walking, not much use for them in a cell. But thankfully their long journey concluded with yet another door. A different door, however, to the regular slabs of iron the decorated the halls. The oak door was well embellished with wood carvings and reliefs. It seemed out of place along with the stone bricks that surrounded it.

They stopped about two paces away. They quickly unbound her and pushed her towards this door with the caution given to rabid animals. Those spears have no purpose than to threaten her and keep her at Bay. Hey gestured to the door, a curved handle jutting from its elegant designs, much alike to the rest of the piece. She did not know what to expect if she did turn it, most likely something quite harmful. But what is she to do? She was not getting out of here. It is best to face her torture head-on. She turned the handle. To her surprise, she wasn't turned to paste but found that the knob turned with relative ease. There was that buzz again, though. The same she felt when she traced her fingers along with the Torlakian glyphs. Her heart pounded even more than before, but before she could dwell on what dangers awaited her, a spear pressed against the small of her back reminded her that she had no free will. She quickly turned and braced for what else may come.

She was greeted by a harsh light she did not really expect. And then the chirping of birds met her as well. She slowly opened her closed eyes and allowed herself to see an outside venue. A garden, in fact. A garden of seemingly every type of flower or fauna in existence. A table was set in the middle of this lush grass, and a fountain not too far away. The fountain was carved into the shape of three women, their backs to one another. Their features were indistinguishable from one another, but each striking a different pose from the last. Music, the right plucking of strings from a pure was played next to the table, a beautiful woman with blond hair plucking a lyre with the smooth nature of a master. The table was a banquet of all sorts of desirable smell. There was an array of meats and cooked sweets, most of which she did not recognize but hungered for all the same. Sitting at the head of this table was a woman. She was also beautiful but had a dangerous feel about her that swayed her from stepping closer. She felt her aura rattle as soon as she made eye contact, forcing her to bow her head as if out of shame. Her black hair was tied back, giving a perfect view of her sharp features. Features she for some reason could not pin down.

"Please, sit child," Hecate gestured to the seat opposite of her with a hand filled with tattoos, patterns resembling the shapes she saw in her cell. "I hope this will be suitable for you. We do have much to discuss I believe. And you have a lot of questions."

Reluctantly, Massua pulled the seat back and sat down. The cushioned chair alone felt heavenly compared to the stone she sat upon for days. But she never took her eyes off of Hecate. She simply felt the danger coming from her, no matter how polite her tone or unthreatening her gesture. Anyone who could act this pleasant surrounded by the macabre scenery outside those doors is simply not worth trusting. The thought of the door prompted her to look back. There was nothing but more garden now, any sign of a door erased. This was magic indeed. And no doubt who sat before her was the composer of it. A Mage.

"Please try the food," Hecate then gestured to the plates laid before them, each smelling fresh and right from the kitchen. "I assure you it will be far superior to any rubbish they had been feeding you."

Massua looked at her plate untrusting like. It was interesting to her that Hecate separated herself from the black-eyed people. And yet they seemed subservient to her. Either way, she did indeed wonder at the spread before her. It was heaped with fresh warm buns, different styles from other regions. The meats looked sublime and the potatoes steamed to perfection. Fruits as fresh as when they were picked. She never had seen anything like this, even on festival days. But some instinct made her see this display of culinary might as something instead sinister indeed. It could all very well be poison. But what would be the use of poisons? They could just do the job with a knife well enough. Why do any more? Harm to her. She debated this internally.

A hand smacking the table rushed Massua to her decision. "Please, take part. I will not ask again."

Her smooth and calm terms were far more terrifying than the quick display of impatience. Methodically, she brought a bun to her face. Sniffing it, feeling it in her grasp. It smelled wonderful and was still warm in her hands. Everything was inviting. But what is she to do, refuse? It would be rude, wouldn't it? And end up with a sword in her throat. Or worse. She took a bite. Then paused. Another. And another. The bun disappeared from her hands, already engulfed, the taste lingering in the best of places. It made her almost cringe with it's delight. But it also seemed to almost numb her. Filled her thoughts will how good it was. And also the pastries she took. And the meat she ate with her potatoes. It was a meal fit for nobles, no for queens, and it was all hers.

"How is it, Massua?" Hecate asked.

"Incredible," she said between bites.

Hecate smiled kindly. "If our talk goes well, you may be treated to these sorts of meals every day. So cooperation will not be an issue. You will answers questions, and give me your rightful answers."

Massua offered no resistance, her mind was focused solely on food, on the joy it brought. It made it easier to answer things that would have taken much effort and convincing to disclose. Especially for someone not well versed in magical manipulation, it's impossible to resist once it had taken effect. Atalanta continued her playful chords as Hecate leaned forward intently at the gorging Massua, hands clasped together and those golden eyes baring down. It was rare to have someone so close to a godslayer in their grasps. Usually just killing them off would do. But she could tell that this girl was special. Different than the regular folk you may encounter in Liontari. Her blood could be useful.

"Do you know your mother was a godslayer and used the god's power in the war?"

Massua paused between bites. "No. Gods? What are the gods?"

"How about a pendant. Have you ever seen her with one?"

"Yes. She used to wear it all the time."

"And it's around your brother, yes."

"I'm pretty sure. My brother. He always gets nice things."

"Where would he go if he needed help?"

"We have no other family besides mom and dad. He was going to the capital. He said he'd wait for me. That pig-faced grass eater."

"Have you ever seen the king before, or perhaps the queen of Hath?"

"I wish I could, but I never even left the plains before."

Hecate gave a look to Atalanta, who shrugged with a smirk. "Well, Massua. You are in quite the position. We can give you power. Give you strength that dwarfs even your brother."

"Power . . ." A fork hovered before a half-opened mouth. Massua was now staring thoughtfully at a plate of salted peas. Gears shifted in her skull that seemed to of been clogged by something before. She could now feel something upsetting her aura within. "My brother . . . more power. I'm sorry, I-I don't belong here. What do you want with me? What do you want? Who are you? Why me?"

Hecate frowned. She was extraordinary compared to most. Even for a minor spell, her ability to resist on any level is admirable. Her lucidity had quickly returned, and she dropped the fork on the table and began to stare frightfully at Hecate now as if sensing the dangerous aura coming from Hecate's displeasure. She did not expect this little girl to be so hard at manipulating. But that mattered little. Hecate she was too impatient. She held out her right hand towards her, and a tattoo etched into the back of her palm glowed a faint white light. Massua recoiled at first, but immediately all light seemed to vanish from her gaze. Her expression went completely slack and what appeared to be white smoke began to peel from her skin. Hecate felt everything. All the memories she has ever held every proud or embarrassing moment. Every mundane day or event. Every detail of every day, no matter how suppressed. But then, she reached a barrier. Something within the mind of this girl, almost a decade in it's construction, prevented her to move forward. Her memories of events prior to this block like unintelligible smears against the glass.

She growled to herself. "Her memories had been modified before."

"Modified?" Atalanta stopped plucking. The birds stopped chirping as this little world dulled a but, as if winter was falling quickly upon them.

"Someone has put in place some roadblock, holding memories back just in case a situation like this occurred. How quaint. There is only one person who is powerful enough to overthrow my efforts. Remmus has outdone himself."

"So we can not get any more out of her," she looked over to the glazed Massua. "She is useless to us to receive Intel. We can get rid of her."

Hecate lowered her hand in a thoughtful gesture. "No. She has great potential. She will be a fine Plithos of any god. And she will be far more useful for us alive than dead. We still have one of those gems, don't we? Why don't we put it to good use."