Dreadful screams echoed from the cavern beneath Eldermere Castle, rising through layers of stone like a curse that refused to stay buried. The cave had existed long before Eldermere was founded, before the first towers pierced the sky or the elders carved their laws into the bones of the land. It was ancient, older than the town's name, and it remembered everything. Over centuries it had been shaped into a dungeon, a place where those who defied the elders were broken and remade or erased entirely.
The dungeon was divided into three sections, each more terrible than the last. The first chamber was reserved for ordinary townsfolk and common criminals. Rusted chains hung from the walls, and the air was thick with the stench of blood, damp stone, and despair. The second chamber was far more deliberate in its cruelty. Its walls were coated in dense enchantments, sigils layered upon sigils, designed to suppress the abilities of elite soldiers. Within those wards, strength meant nothing, magic lay dormant, and only the elders' power could pierce the spellwork. It was a place meant to humble warriors who had once believed themselves untouchable.
The third chamber was spoken of only in whispers. It had been created by Vashti herself, carved deeper into the earth and sealed with magic so old it hummed like a living thing. The creatures imprisoned there were abominations experiments born of Vashti's brilliance and cruelty intertwined. No one dared enter that part of the dungeon. No one, except Simon and Michael. Even the elders avoided it, as though the walls themselves might remember their fear.
To contain the power that festered below, the entire cave was reinforced with additional enchantments. Without them, the sheer force radiating from the imprisoned creatures would have drawn enemies from every corner of the world. Eldermere stood because the dungeon remained hidden.
Martha once known as Missy was bound to the wall of the second chamber with thick, glowing chains of magic. The restraints bit into her wrists and ankles, sealing her abilities completely. Martha was a Weaver of Time, capable of walking through moments long past or yet to come. But she could never alter them. She was only an observer, cursed to witness truths she could not change. Now, even that gift had been stripped away.
Her screams faded into ragged gasps as footsteps approached. Elara Slivermist moved through the chamber with effortless grace, each step composed, dignified. Despite being born into a deeply misogynistic era, Elara had risen above it, conquering towns and bending councils to her will. Power clung to her like a second skin.
She stopped before Martha and lifted the girl's chin with two fingers.
One of Martha's eyes was swollen shut, already darkening into a sickly purple, viscous fluid seeping from the corner. Her left arm and much of her torso were scorched, flesh burned raw. The side of her face bore tight, purplish ice crystals fused directly to her skin. Frost magic;Reiner and Frost's work. The crystals prevented healing and inflicted their own agony, slowly eating into her flesh.
Elara traced a finger over the swollen eye, her expression serene. There was no pity in her gaze.
"Martha," she said calmly, "for your sake, and for the girl you are so eager to die for, I advise you to keep talking."
Her voice remained gentle, almost kind. "Ileus is a cunning man. He always gets what he wants. And with Simon in his current state of hopelessness, I am certain he would be persuaded to do unspeakable things to you."
She sighed softly. "I have tried to see your faith, but you have hidden your path from my sight. As my best student, I expected nothing less."
Elara Slivermist possessed the Gift of Sight. She could perceive branching futures, endless possibilities unfurling like threads. More terrifying still, she could guide hearts toward the outcome she favored. A single touch allowed her to glimpse or alter a person's future if she deemed it beneficial. Those who shared her blood were even more vulnerable she could walk freely through their memories.
"You were promising," Elara continued, her tone almost regretful. "I believed you would one day sit beside me on the council. Please, just tell them. They will discover the truth regardless. I have seen it."
Martha laughed weakly. Her swollen lips barely moved. "That's not true," she rasped. "You can't see anything that concerns her, Elara. If you could, you would have found me and her parents long ago."
Elara understood every word.
She had tried. Countless times. Each attempt to pierce Martha's memories or glimpse the girl's future had been thwarted by a strange green mist, impenetrable and alive. It blocked her Sight completely.
Elara hissed and turned away. "Prepare yourself," she said coldly. "You have not yet known torture."
She placed a hand on the shoulder of a towering figure. "Thorne. It is your turn."
Thorne stepped forward, his massive form casting a long shadow. No one alive had ever seen his face. Some whispered that not even the elders knew what lay beneath his mask. The Ironforge family were craftsmen by blood, but the magic had twisted them into something more larger, stronger, hidden behind metal visages unique to each bearer. They were the Hunters, executioners of the council's will.
Thorne possessed no magic of his own. But within his fangs lay poison glands, secreting a venom potent enough to reduce even Ileus to convulsing ruin. This was the council's final measure.
His eyes met Martha's through the mask, heavy with apology.
He grasped her neck and sank his fangs into her skin.
Martha screamed.
As Thorne withdrew, the venom surged through her nerves like wildfire. Weakness flooded her limbs. A shrill ringing filled her ears. Thin red veins spread from the bite, crawling up her face toward her eyes.
She thrashed against the chains, sobbing. "Please, make it stop please!"
Her eyes flickered from hazel to bright crimson and back again. Her canines elongated. Blood streamed from the corners of her eyes as her body betrayed her in ways she could not control.
The screams grew louder.
Finally, Elder Reiner shouted, "Are you ready to speak, Martha of the Sevenshells? Or shall you learn true torture?"
His voice dropped into a cruel whisper. "Simon is on his way. And he will show no mercy."