Nox pressed down on the handle. It rattled uselessly in his grip. His hands were slick with sweat, the metal cold and unyielding. Panic stirred in his chest.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
'Am I locked in?' he thought, a cold chill was creeping down his spine.
He tried the handle again-once, twice, four more times-but the result was the same. He was trapped. He stepped back, breathing heavily, trying to quiet the rising noise in his head.
'Stay calm. Think.'
He needed to approach this differently.
Pressing his ear to the wooden surface of the door, he listened. At first, there was nothing. Then, he heard the steady but quiet thump of footsteps.
The echo told him two things - the corridor was vast, and whoever those footsteps belonged to, was far away, somewhere in the eastern wing of the building.
The heavy shoes sent vibrations through the floorboards, carrying the weight of authority.
Nox's eyes shifted towards the window.
He rushed over, yanked the curtains aside - and froze. Iron bars. Thick, rust-stained, bolted deep into the frame.
'Am I a prisoner?', he didn't like that thought.
He leaned in, trying to look through the narrow gaps. Beyond, all he could see was a large neglected garden where weeds overtook what had once been orderly paths. In the distance, a weathered stable outbuilding sagged under its own weight.
The young warrior exhaled slowly. Rage, confusion, and fear twisted inside him, but he shoved them down. Now wasn't the time for emotion-it was time for planning his next move. He crouched by the door and waited. Someone would come. They had to.
Hours passed. The room grew darker and colder. His legs ached. His back stiffened. But he remained.
'Footsteps, there they are!', he thought in excitement. This time closer. Much closer!
Nox held his breath as the sound approached, slow and measured. The steps stopped right outside his door. Through the narrow gap beneath it, he saw the shadow of someone standing still, waiting. He shifted silently, preparing to pounce the second the doors open.
But the door never moved.
Instead, the shadow drifted away. The footsteps resumed, retreating down the hall with the same calm certainty.
Nox exhaled and slumped against the door. His muscles were tight, his thoughts tangled.
Fatigue started to catch up to him. His eyelids grew heavy. Just for a moment, he let go.
Then, a strange sensation.
He was moving - but not by his own will. Lifted. Carried.
Some part of him registered the heat of another person's body. A presence. Intimate. Unwelcome.
Nox jolted back into awareness, his body tensed like a drawn bow.
The person who had been cradling him now dropped him roughly onto the bed.
"You can stop pretending you're asleep now," a rough voice said, low and edged with annoyance.
Nox decided to lay perfectly still. The man's tone wasn't hostile exactly, but it wasn't kind either. There was irritation in it. Impatience. Danger.
Better to stay quiet.
"Didn't you hear me?" the voice pressed, harsher now. "Get up and follow me. We've got a few things to discuss."
Only then did Nox open his eyes.
The man was already standing in the doorway. The room was cloaked in shadow, but the corridor beyond was dimly lit. The figure's body blocked much of the light, casting a long, sharp silhouette across the floor. Nox couldn't see his face, only the outline of a broad frame and a motionless stance.
Still, something in that voice, in the way the man stood so calmly, told Nox one thing with absolute certainty:
If he followed him... nothing good was waiting on the other side.