Lyse remembers back to an incident that occurred a few years back. He was still just a squire at the time, but even squires are often given duties to prepare them for taking assignments in the field and under their captains or officers. Some bandits were making trouble a few miles outside the town and needed to be apprehended. They rarely see bandits this close to the capital; most of them stay far into the plains to pick off wagon trains and lone travelers. They were also either former soldiers or guards, deserters who were now wanted men and needed some way to earn what they call a living. His mother was at the height of her apprehensive nature and was very near to forbidding him to go after these criminals along with the rest of the squires. It took his father to convince her that he should be safe; Gabbes and his partner would be riding with them. To say the least, it was nowhere as dangerous as Lyse had been warned. They sent a decoy out to a strip of hilly plains where they speculated they would be hiding. Edlund was the coach, as nervous as a twig in winter clutching the reins as if he might fall to his death. Gabbes was inside the actual coach with a squire, a young son of a scholar from the capital. Everyone else was keeping a distance. They didn't know where the attack would come nor how many bandits. For all, they knew it could be anywhere from five to thirty of them.

It took a few days till they would catch them. Each time they changed the modest brown Morgan horses or a common donkey, a wagon with sacks willed with sand or rice. They sent scouts on a wider range, still hidden in the tall grass with telescopes. Lyse almost figured that they had moved on to new territory, and a few shared his thoughts. They were about to abandon the plan after a week when they finally attacked late in the afternoon one day. They came upon the cart in a wide semicircle. Two men with spears with crescent blades attached to the end prodded the horses to stop the carts. Two more on lean horses suddenly sprouted from the hill to the right of the road wielding bows. Their formation really reminded Lyse of practical battle formations. But as sure and tight as it was, even allowing an escape route if things got rough, they were dismantled just as easily. Surrounded, two men shot by far off arrows, and the rest met with the ready blades of over two dozens young men. They were tied and loaded on the very carts they meant to rob. The only consequence was Edlund had an arrow jutting from his shoulder, but with the power of aura and practical care, it was a minor offense. Of course, his mother chewed out Gabbes for letting him ride in the first place, even though he was the one who eagerly requested it.

It taught him, that day, that no matter how well organized, no matter how well practiced a plan or even simple maneuvers are, all it takes to defeat you is overwhelming strength. The same can go in the other direction. Sometimes strength can be destroyed with cleverness.

So what did he think of his situation? As he awoke, he felt as if every bone in his body ached in annoyance. His brain throbbed as senses returned to him, and he felt an odd vacant sensation at his wrists. He heard the crashing of waves, the rough rocking of a boat as men walked to and fro. The familiar smells of the ocean he had just managed to accustom himself to. But then he began to remember. Remember the large explosion, designed to lure him in specifically. The small fight with the assassins, the trap they set with Garath being the bait. He foolishly went on alone to fight him, to kill him. And instead, his hasty actions left with both of his forearms cut off. He opened his eyes, seeing that he was on the deck of a ship, tied to the mast with thick chains and rope. His arms were constricted to his sides, but he managed to look down and see where the cuts had been made. Most of his forearm was back at least, almost to his wrists now as the skin looked as though pulled tight against new muscle. There was no hair where the arm was growing, just smooth skin delicate and sensitive. He tried to guess how long it must have been to of made such progress unconscious. A week maybe? Probably a little less. He wasn't wearing his cloak or his gambeson, only the white undershirt and grey trousers. He didn't see his belt or sword anywhere nearby if they bothered to pick it up from his lifeless hands.

The crew went about, ignoring him. They looked like ordinary men, short beards and tanned skinned, and they would fit right in with the rest of Makyra's forces. But they also had stiffness in how they moved, securing lines and directing the sails. Some shot him nervous looks as if expecting him to jump out and slaughtering them all. Lyse had to stop himself from considering it; he knew exactly what he was on. this must have been the vessel they hired to take them back to whatever they have waiting for him. He looked around for anything he could use to get out of this situation, anything. No one looked at him. There was nothing in arm's reach. But as he looked towards the helm, where the wheel was, he spotted Garath with arms cross, looking at some map in his hands. Immediately his mind with blank with anger, and teeth grindings against each other. He struggled to get free, stressing the chains, but only the ropes snapped against him. He didn't have the zoi to spend on this; most of it was focused on healing him. He still panted with the effort, eyes intent on Garath, who had taken notice of him. He handed the map to who Lyse assumed was the captain and walked down. His thick arms were folded behind his back, the scar on his cheek turned grotesque above the grin he cocked.

"Well, little godling, it seems you finally awake. Tell me, was your sleep comfortable?"

Lyse silently glared at him for a moment. He laughed, supposedly finding this amusing.

"I didn't expect you to say much. It took a lot of tracking to find you and even more patience to wait for you. Unfortunately, we didn't have the staffing to assault you at Torlak, so we had to settle with Hath. You noble types are easy to lure into traps."

"Untie me from these chains, and I'll show you how noble I am," Lyse barked. "You all killed my father. Kidnapped my sister. You deserve no nobility in your death."

"Spoken like a knight," Garath said. "But I don't care about this game you have. Bringing you in will most certainly bring me a favor; I just want you to know you'll be the most wonderful present to the Witch of the Abyss."

"What are you on about?" Lyse snarled.

"The reason I was tasked to bring you in was because of a simple thing," he leaned down, getting face to face with Lyse, his eyes intent. "I want immortality. The power of the gods."

Lyse looked at him, a mix of incredulous and hatred mixed into one look as if he couldn't believe the words that fell out of his mouth. "Immortality. Are you telling me that you did all of this, killed my father, maimed my mother, and endangered my little sister because you wanted to be a Plithos?"

"More than that," he said. "The power of the gods are beyond humans, beyond Thirians. You are lucky that you have been chosen for this power, godling. Those cursed pendants that you selfishly horde. How does it feel to wield might to shape our world?"

"This power is not meant for us to wield," Lyse said. "This power can throw the mortal world into chaos."

"A rich thing to come from a godling," He looked bitter for a moment. "I've worked under Talin nearly all my life, promised that power would be given to me. You are my ticket to success, to finally become a Plithos. So behave yourself. Maybe you'll get a nice comfy room below deck."

Lyse couldn't believe what he had heard, that his life had been upended for such foolish and selfish reason. He couldn't understand it; he couldn't believe that his life had come into paths this man, this monster. He considered for a moment with a set jaw; face still scrunched up with anger as he thought long and hard. then, he looked up at Garath with the most defenseless and non-hostile face he could muster.

"Like I can be any trouble with these stumps?"

Garath gave him one look over and then nodded, gesturing for one of the men to loosen his restraints to the mast, but not those bounding his arms together. Lyse didn't care as soon as he was allowed any degree of movement. He turned and kicked with all he could at Garath's head. Of course, he couldn't use zoi, but the hit was the most solid that Lyse had ever gotten in his life. It sent Garath stumbling backward in a daze, covering the gash Lyse had made. He turned, ducking as a cudgel swung towards his head. He kicked the crewmate in the stomach and sending him to his knees. He ran around the mast, directly to the port side railings and preparing to jump over. But before he could leap, he was tackled to the ground by several men. He struggled all he could, but he couldn't do anything with his hands gone and arms bound. As they wrestled him, kick him, and beat him into submission, Garath looked at the wound he had procured, almost exactly along the scar he had. He watched that boy, nose bloodied and covered with bruises, still resisted until one of his scouts came forward to give the final blow and take him below deck. He had underestimated the boy. If he had any aura left, he could have kicked his head off with no trouble. He barked at someone to get him some bandages. The wound was minor, might not take the rest of the day to mend itself, but it was another reminder, another neat little alarm to his mortality. Would a Plithos be fazed by such an attack?

They tossed the unconscious Lyse in the storage deck, filled with empty boxes and stacks of hay or grain. Weevils climbed in and out of these hovels but stayed clear of the Talin soldiers that chained Lyse to a metal hook secured to the ceiling, leaving him to hang. Lyse came to not much later, coughing as he felt fresh blood from the near pill over his throat. He felt bruises everywhere and probably a cracked rib or two. They sure did give him punishment for what he had done. He wasn't even sure what he was trying to do. He just wanted to do anything except let them have him. It took a lot to calm himself and think of a strategy. He doesn't know what they will do to him once they reach their destination. From the sounds of things, they will most likely be taking him to the same prison as his sister. A blessing in the curse. He can't overpower them as he is now. So he diverted all the energy away from his minor wounds and focused on what really mattered. Focusing like this will most definitely enhance the healing process, and hopefully, he'll have his hands back before they deliver him to that prison. He doesn't know what this witch is either that Garath had mentioned. His mother had never referred to any Plithos as a witch, and the Prime Noctus is supposed to be a man, as he recalls. If they have had a change in leadership, then that may be the reason for the sudden resurgence of Talin.

They rarely came down to give him anything. the first time they brought him some water collected from the rain, he drunk it then spat it back out into the crewmen's face. That earned him a few beatings and no water for the next three days, but Lyse didn't care; he still had meal privileges. The crewmen were always accompanied by one of those Talin scouts, and they never did anything when he assaulted their crew. He supposed they didn't have to do anything unless he tried to escape, which he had no way of doing so exhausted. Lyse felt his connection to the pendant thin bit by bit, and the godly energy leak out of him like a sponge left out to dry. He wondered how long till he couldn't sense the godly aura at all. He tried to focus on his aura, mending the last of his hands. It was still so strange to see your hand form, first the palm and all of its bones and ligaments, then each finger squeezing out. Lyse could feel his bones grow and slide against once another bit by bit. So many scars, so many callouses, and signs of hard work now replaced by a soft and brand new hand. The nails on each finger were the last to finish forming.

It was heavenly to have a feeling back that had been lost, a unique blessing. Unfortunately, by the time he managed this feat, they had reached their destination. He felt the vessel lurched to a stop. The journey was impossibly fast, even faster than the voyage from the Tigri harbor all the way to Torlak. Do they also have some magical force that expedited the trip? Of course, they could do so; it's probably how they managed to beat them to Hath and set an ambush. That would mean that he was not far from the mountain, though he guesses that he will not be given a chance to see it as they came into the room with blindfolds in hand. They roughly unhooked him, forced him into the blindfold and back onto the deck. He heard no bells, which meant that this was not a port, most likely some secluded shore near the mountain. He was brought above deck, where he could hear the nervous clatter of the crew. He managed to overhear what he thought was Garath talking to the captain. And from the tone the captain held, it seemed he was all the more ready to depart from these black-clad men.

"I hope journey as well for you, sir," the captain said in a thick Hathan accent. "We've negotiated our payment and-"

"Yes, yes," he heard Garath said. "You did well and good. Hard to get agreeable help in the clans. Tell me, would you consider working for us full time. Talin would indeed value your services."

Lyse used a bit of zoi to see the aura. He could not spare so much, a rib was still mending, but it was enough to get a good view of the entire deck while he was blindfolded. The only use the blindfold really had with him is that he could only see immediately around him, the rest of the world merely a black void beyond his reach. But he could see the crewmates, their aura forms anxiously shifting from one foot to another, and looking nervously at the Talin assassins amidst their ranks. The captain looked the most anxious of them all, taking a step back after Garath's comment. He looked towards Lyse, and the assassins at his side, then to Garath.

"My apologies, sire," he said. "But I think my business is well off in the hands of my own."

Garath sighed, putting a hand onto the man's shoulder. "Of course, of course. Pardon me."

And in a practiced, precise move, he snapped the man's neck and turned into a bear on demand. The ship was thrown into chaos as the assassins and Garath ripped through the ship like a scythe through tall grass. He heard the men scream in panic and pain, felt as their aura slowly disappeared from their bodies like puffs of smoke against a wind. He struggled, tried to stop them, but it was useless; they held him in a heavy vice grip. He tried summoning aura to his arms to break the chains, but as soon as he tried, he felt his aura suddenly become sluggish and nearly unresponsive. These chains, they must have something about them that made him unable to use aura. They still held him tight, carefully moving him away from the slaughter and off the boat to wait till Garath was done. Lyse felt a terrible burn in his soul, like a fire being lit beneath his own heart. This was not even a battle; the men had no time to unsheathe their swords before their throats were slit and chests caved in from the force of a large bear pressed upon them. He thought he heard laughter, bloody laughter, emanating from Garath's form, and he was simply forced to watch it all unfold.

After it was all done, the air saturated with the smells of salt and blood, they set fire to the ship and pushed it back into the sea. Lyse had run out of aura by then and was blind to what they did after that point. There was a lot of walking. The last he saw of the sun, it was nearing evening, and the coolness on his skin showed him that night had finally gripped them. This was dangerous. Traveling in the wilderness at night was inviting monsters to attack them. And in Arkouda, the dangers of being attacked by either a hydra or a dire creature were more likely than not. Though, strangely, they encountered nothing out here. In fact, Lyse could only count for the buzzing of insects and the occasional owl. There seemed to be little in the way of animals on this side of the mountain. Do they have wards to fend off creatures? Or have the great hunt last summer killed a larger population of hostile creatures than other years? He thought it more probable the former than the latter. There is much he does not know about these people, their ways, and their abilities.

They guided him through the forest for what seemed like a long time. His feet grew a little sore, but by the time any sense of tiredness came upon him, he was suddenly forcibly stopped. He felt the presence of something pressed against his back for a moment, a knife or a sword perhaps. He wasn't going to try and escape out here. He doubts with so little zoi; he can get far for them. He needed to meditate and recuperate as soon as possible. Hopefully, they can provide them a call. But before that, he needs to find out where they were keeping his sister and get to her as soon as possible. So he gathered all the zoi he had left to survey the area as they approached the entrance to this underground prison. His view was even more limited than before, probably not even twenty feet across. But it was enough to see Garath approach a section of the steeply sloping mountain. He took out a bright glowing sphere from a side pouch, holding it up to the ground. Immediately, the ground began to rumble and shift. This was the entrance, he immediately thought. Lyse had to think quickly. He took this moment to plot. As if exhausted, he fell over and into the brush of some nearby trees. While he was down on the ground, he grabbed any stick he could find, stuck it in the ground towards the entrance, and allowed himself to be hauled up by the assassins who escorted him. Garath just sniffed at his display and move on down a flight of stone steps into the darkness. The assassins held him by both arms now, nearly carrying him. Lyse felt a cold air wash over him, sending a shiver down his spine. He felt death, decay. He felt a sense of panic following behind Garath and the assassins as they prodded him onward. He heard a rumble as the entrance was covered up. He hoped that with Makyra tracking senses and his clue, they would find a way inside.

It was dark and cramped. Some of the assassins held up ready lanterns with candlelight to guide them. The prison was most definitely the appropriate title. The only such place in BrokenArrow was the ten cage dungeon below the knight's keep. But after the first incredibly long hallway and a few turns he kept in his mind, he realized that he must have passed just over a hundred cells. There were no bars, it seemed, just solid iron doors bolted to the stone and only a single viewing window with thick glass to see into the rooms. Because his senses were so restricted, he could barely get a glimpse into any of the rooms. There was no one in any he could see, only rats and small insects finding purchase in long decayed corpses.

"Where is my sister," he said, aloud. His voice felt so terribly small in this place, voice echoing down the long hall.