The yellow light from the wall torches flickered against the dungeon walls like a dying breath, casting long, shivering shadows that seemed to dance with a life of their own. Lane moved with a quiet, profound care. He slid his small, pale hands beneath the little girl's limp body, lifting her into his lap as if she were made of thin, fragile glass.
"You are very sweet," Lane whispered. His voice was a thin thread of silk floating in the damp, heavy air of the room. He didn't just hold her; he cradled her, his movements so steady that he didn't even disturb the dust motes dancing in the torchlight. His fingers began to move through the girl's tangled, dusty hair, and he started tapping her head with his palm in a slow, rhythmic motion—one... two... three.
"Go to sleep... your eyelids have grown so heavy, let them rest now," Lane murmured softly. The rhythmic tapping worked like a silent spell. Within moments, the girl's body went completely limp, and her breathing became deep and steady. She surrendered to a heavy, artificial sleep, tucked safely against Lane's chest.
With immense caution, Lane eased the girl's head off his lap and rested it against the cold stone floor. He pulled back, his face returning to that pale, innocent mask. He turned his neck slowly to look at Luka. Luka could hear his own heartbeat drumming in his ears, a frantic rhythm that contrasted with Lane's eerie stillness.
"Now tell me, Luka..." Lane's voice was like a needle scratching against stone. "The door... those shadows... what did you see there? You stood so still, like a statue. Weren't you afraid?"
Lane looked into Luka's eyes. Luka noticed that Lane's pupils were dilated, and a faint moisture glistened at the corners of his eyes. "Will you truly stay with me?" Lane's words stumbled painfully. "If I tell you everything... will you not look at me with disgust? Will you not leave my hand, thinking I am a liar or someone who has lost his mind?"
Luka felt the mask of innocence on Lane's face beginning to crack. He reached out and placed his hand on Lane's head, patting it with the same tenderness Lane had shown the child. "I will believe everything you say, Lane. We are friends. Now speak, do not be afraid."
Luka's reassurance acted like a key. Lane's hands began to tremble uncontrollably. "When that heavy door shrieked open..." Lane began, his breath sounding like a suppressed sob. "I didn't see people, Luka. There was only rot. They were walking corpses with decaying black flesh, dripping with something foul. They were pulling you toward that darkness... I used all my strength to pull you back because I didn't want to lose my only friend."
Luka remained silent for a long moment, the coldness of the dungeon seeping into his bones. He took a deep breath and finally spoke the truth that had been clawing at his mind. "Lane... I didn't see any rotting shadows. I saw three guards. Real, breathing men."
Lane froze. His eyes widened. Luka leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that barely stirred the air. "But they weren't looking at me, Lane. Even as they grabbed my arm to drag me away, their eyes never left you. They were staring at you with a mixture of fear and strange respect."
Luka's grip on Lane's wrist tightened. "One of them whispered to the other. His voice sounded like dry leaves crushing underfoot. He said, 'The Master loves new toys like this.' He called me a 'toy', Lane... but he was pointing at you. It was as if I was just a tool to get to you."
Lane's lips trembled. "They... they were only looking at me? Why, Luka? I was just hiding in the corner. What do they see in me that I don't know?"
Luka didn't answer. Deep inside his mind, a storm was brewing. 'Maybe yes... or maybe no... no one knows,' he thought. He remembered the moment Lane had snatched him back. He remembered the strange, icy chill that had surrounded him while he was in the guards' grip—a coldness so absolute it felt like his soul was freezing.
But the moment Lane's hand touched him, that coldness had vanished instantly. It was as if Lane's touch was a flare of light that burned away the darkness. The guards and the shadows hadn't just let go; they had dissolved into the air like smoke, retreating from Lane as if he were a flame they couldn't touch.
Luka closed his eyes, and for a second, his own dreams flashed before him. Dreams that were beautiful and bright on the surface, but held a terrifying, hollow darkness underneath. He looked at Lane—the boy who looked like an angel but carried a power that made monsters hesitate.
In the heavy silence of the dungeon, only the sound of their two frantic heartbeats remained. Luka wondered silently, 'Did I find a friend to protect, or did I just walk into the arms of something far more dangerous?'