When Sydell returned a day later he was back to his usual moody self. Rane had learned the tell-tale signs of the man's anger and impatience and how to avoid them. Still, he had no clue why Sydell hated him even more than the orders of his master dictated.

“Stop wasting time,” he scoffed. “Show me.”

Rane focused and water swirled upward until a sphere rested in his hand. He pushed and pulled at his nora to flatten it. It had taken him a day to understand and memorise the first ten pages of notes. He couldn't remember if that was quick or not. He didn't care. All he focused on was the spell. “Please work,” he mumbled under his breath as more nora left his palms. He breathed in deep and clenched his fists, freezing the mist as fast as he could. This time too, he lost control. Only the top part of the water turned to ice. The rest dripped down onto the floor.

“Decent progress,” Sydell said, “but you won’t make it at this rate.”

His gaze drifted to Torien. “I’m not allowed to hurt you, but I know of another way to motivate you.” A line of fire grew from the man’s palm, its white blaze almost tangible.

“Please,” Rane said, “he doesn’t know anything.”

“This is your fault for being weak,” Sydell said as he walked up the ashfen. “For not fearing death.”

“No, I beg you.” Torien trembled, but didn’t dare move. “I beg you!”

“How is this supposed to motivate me?” Rane cried out. “I’ll have learned it by tomorrow! Just leave him alone.”

Sydell pulled the trembling ashfen up and had him face Rane. “Stand still!” he ordered.

The Oathbrand on Torien’s forehead shone with a dark light and the veins on his neck grew black. His expression warped in pain, yet his body froze completely. Sydell shot Rane a glance, to make sure he was watching, before placing the flaming sword on Torien’s shoulder. The sizzling sound mingled with the ashfen’s muffled, guttural screams as the spell tore through his flesh.

Rane could feel the anger surging within, along with his nora. Sydell had been right, and he hated it. If only he was a bit stronger… He’d use that magic to stop the bastard. The process proved sickeningly quick. Torien’s severed arm fell to the ground and his screams slowly died down. His legs buckled and he dropped down to his knees, eyes glazed over and empty.

“Why?” Rane asked. “Why do you need to create such pain and suffering?”

“Because I don't buy your act.” Sydell pointed the flaming blade towards him. “You met this piece of filth yesterday. Don't pretend that you care what happens to him.”

“I care! Nobody deserves this.” Rane tried to keep his cool. “Not even you.”

“Stop lying to me!” Red nora seeped out of Sydell’s body and the temperature in the room shot up. He stared at Rane with bloodshot eyes. “The ashfen is just another test. What's the real difference between us? All I see is weakness.”

“Do you really want to know?” Rane couldn’t hold back. “You disgust me. You’re a monster using others to satisfy its twisted desires. You even lack the unfeeling justice Leylin is so eager to instil into me. I hope your sins catch up to you one day.”

“My sins?” Sydell’s fury sprung to life through his magic. He trembled, and a torrent of nora flooded the room, carrying with it the smell of burnt flesh.

Rane’s every instinct screamed of danger and he stepped back involuntarily, pressing himself against the wall as Sydell approached. The man couldn’t hurt him. Those were Leylin’s orders.

“Why do you think I ended up this way?” Sydell grabbed a handful of his hair and forced him to look up. “Answer me!”

Rane could feel the sweat drench his skin and ringing screams vibrated in his ears. His heart thumped wildly against his chest. “I don’t know.”

“It's because of you! If only you didn’t exist…” Sydell’s face turned red from the pressure. Rane could feel the man shivering whole. “He’d have chosen me! Do you understand what that means? I would be the one to inherit his knowledge and his powers!”

Rane’s fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm. The magic pressed him against the wall, pushing the air out of his lungs. “If only you were kinder,” Rane forced the words through a clenched jaw, “maybe he’d have spared me.” His whole body burned, yet he held the man’s stare. He looked at Sydell all the while, his madness. For the first time, Rane saw something else in his expression. A trace of sadness? Perhaps regret. Whatever it was, it made the nora slowly grow calm and retreat inside Sydell’s body.

“It makes no difference.” He shoved Rane away and turned his back as if he could not bear to look. “You can’t understand yet. Try to hold onto your ideals. That is the purpose of the tests after all.” Sydell grabbed the severed hand and walked to the door. “I used to trouble myself with justice too.” He paused for a brief moment, staring into nothing. “But now I’m not weak enough to need it.” With that, he left.

Rane stared at the empty space in front of him, trying to slow his breathing. He had to help Torien. The ashfen whimpered and trembled, but didn’t respond to his name. He had stayed conscious throughout the process, but now he seemed… blank. Rane could only imagine the pain. The spell had cut through flesh and bone with no resistance, leaving only a black, cauterised wound behind.

Rane used some rags to tie it as best he could.Thankfully he had retained some memories of first aid, and although fragmented, they served him well. He pulled Torien up and had him lie on the bed. No matter what he tried, the ashfen wouldn't even turn to look at him. He just kept crying and talking to himself under his breath.

“I'll get us out of here. I promise.”

And there was only one way to do that. Rane controlled his breathing and his nora surged forth. He'd turn his fury into power and his sorrow into resolve. The results gradually showed as he practised. Whenever he ran out of nora he’d think back to Sydell and squeeze a bit more out. The loathing and pain the man had created within him acted as fuel for his magic. How long he spent like that, he couldn’t tell. By the time he perfected the spell he was panting, weary with the burden of the hatred and regret he had to constantly remind himself of. Rane slumped in the bed and threw the book on the table. His eyes settled on Torien for a moment.

The ashfen had settled down and his breathing seemed under control. He’d survived the initial shock, so there was a chance he’d live. Rane curled against the cold wall and hugged his knees. The voice reached out to him, a mere whisper in the back of his mind, its ravings unintelligible. At times it was deafening and at other times silent, as if far away. Rane couldn’t understand why, nor did he care any more. He’d abandoned the idea of sleeping either way. Instead he focused on drawing water from the air and forming it to ice again and again, burning the spell into his mind. It was that, or letting death in his head.

A cold breeze shook him out of his tranced spellcasting. He looked up to see the tiny opening formed between the door to the cell and the wall. It was open, the metal quietly hitting against the scratched stone below. He simply sat there, observing-- waiting for someone to walk in, but there was no one.

Run, called the voice.

Rane’s heart began to beat faster. This had to be another test. In all his years in the dungeon, this had never happened before. It would be too much of a coincidence. “What is the right choice?” he mumbled to himself. He glanced at Torien, who hadn’t moved. There was a reason his escape attempts had gone unpunished. Sydell, or maybe Leylin… They wanted him to try it. They wanted him to try and fail each time. Whatever purpose this lesson in futility served, it rubbed him the wrong way. “I’ll be back,” he whispered to Torien as he got to his feet.

Rane pushed the door open as softly as he could and slipped his body through the gap. The glowstone outside cast a dim light on the dungeon, revealing no more than an arm’s reach of the corridor in either direction. That meant it was night time on the surface, he had learned, and that the mineral would only become less bright until the next dawn. He pressed his back against the wall and grasped for any sound. There was only silence.

With one palm touching the stone, he began walking, bare feet sinking painfully into the rough rock. Any clues he might have had from his previous trip through the dungeon seemed lost to the darkness, so he simply stuck to the leftmost path. Rane found many cells like his own, but with the doors left open and the interiors empty. In some cases they hanged from one hinge or had surrendered to the rust entirely. The discovery troubled him. He was always under the impression that there were other slaves here. Prisoners, perhaps, like himself and Torien. Even if he’d never seen them, he had heard their screams. Rane stumbled to a stop. Torchlight flickered on the stone in front of him, and voices came from around the corner.

“Your blasted luck! That’s three black dukes in a row!”

“Just how it’s found sometimes,” replied a different voice.

Rane held his breath as he peered into the room. Three human men sat hunched around a table, illuminated by a torch on the far wall, holding dice and worn out cards. The two closest to him had their backs turned, and the third one seemed too engrossed in the game to notice him. Still, Rane took no chances. He waited, patiently, until a chair creaked. The warden facing him stood and turned, reaching towards the cupboards above. Rane didn’t sit around long enough to find out what the man sought. With a quick, quiet vault across the door, darkness swallowed him once more.

As he distanced himself from the light, he noticed that the shine of the glowstones had dimmed. Time ticked away to dawn, but the dungeon proved more expansive than he’d ever imagined. Mostly empty, but with interlocking corridors full of doors and passages. He couldn’t understand the point of it all. So many wardens, so much space and so much effort to contain only two prisoners.

A sudden grunt tore him from his thoughts and sent him scurrying away from the doorway he had just crossed. Had anyone seen him? The howl seemed like one of pain. Rane calmed himself. It was most likely another slave. He squinted, trying to discern shapes through the darkness. There was a table made of old wood and with books stacked on its surface, and some shelves, but he couldn’t see much more. Another grunt of a woman reached him from the darkness, guttural and rough. Even after several minutes of waiting, there was no other sound. Whoever it was in there, she was alone. Alone and in pain.

Rane bit his lip and cursed under his breath. Was he really about to do this? He had been given a chance at freedom, but if it came at the cost of leaving another tortured soul behind, what good would it do? Gray mist twisted around in his palms as he stepped inside. He rounded the table and felt something warm and wet under his feet. A small fire appeared with a click of his fingers, shining a faint light on the ground. Thick, black liquid filled the cracks in the stone and bits of flesh littered the space around him. He covered his mouth and fought the urge to vomit.

“No more. Please.” A voice pleaded and Rane turned to face it.

The ashfen woman had dishevelled hair, lifeless eyes and cracked open skin. Her hands were tied together and had turned black after bearing the strain of her body’s weight as she hung from the ceiling. Blood oozed from vertical scars on her skin, dripping down the length of her body and pooling beneath her.

“What in the--” Rane looked up at her in shock. “What have they done to you?”

The ashfen’s eyes grew wide as Rane held the flame closer to her face. “Help me!” She wiggled against the constraints and tears mixed with blood ran down her cheeks. “Please, you have to help me!”

“Keep your voice down!” Rane looked over his shoulder as he reached up for the ropes. If they weren’t careful, they would be found. His hands fumbled to undo the ashfen’s restraints.

“Thank you! Thank you!” The woman nodded frantically, some of her blood spilling hot against the rags on his back. “His hands pump darkness inside me. I can feel them. I feel the serpents crawling on my skin each morning, laying eggs and dying.”

“Who’s he?” That magic didn’t sound like Sydell. Rane had only seen fire from him.

“Leylin! That man did something to me. I feel… wrong. And every night--” She coughed out some blood and continued with a pained grunt, as if forcing the words out. “Every night he calls me by a different name.”

“Come on,” Rane mumbled under his breath. He stood on the tip of his toes, but the ashfen was so tall that he had difficulty reaching the ropes that bound her.

“Quick!” The woman lowered her voice and whispered in his ears. “Someone’s coming.”

“Damn it.” Rane heard the footsteps as well. He jumped up and used his magic to burn through the rope. “Come,” he said. “We have to--”

The ashfen fell to the ground and her knees instantly gave. Her body shattered right in front of him. Blood spread everywhere, like a cup of water falling from a table. Rane simply looked down at the parts littering the ground, new and old, slack-jawed. The slave he had just saved, where had she gone? The footsteps grew closer and the adrenaline took hold. There was no time. Rane slid under the table right as light shone into the room. A pair of heavy boots stopped just shy of the blood, and Rane held his breath.

“I knew I heard something.”

“Make sure it’s her.” Sydell’s voice came from outside, giving Rane shivers.

The length of the warden’s silver blade peeked from above the table and turned the severed head around. “It is,” replied the man after a few moments.

“Inform Master Leylin of the result,” Sydell said.

“What should I tell him?” The torchlight turned faint as the warden stepped away.

“The disease kills too quickly. We need more subjects.”

“I understand.” The warden’s voice grew distant as the man left, taking the light with him.

Rane sat with his back against one leg of the table, staring blankly at Sydell’s unmoving legs through the darkness. The woman breaking down played over and over in his head and her words echoed in his ears. For a few moments, it was as if he could feel the serpents that tortured her under his own skin. He’d allowed himself to think that the torment was over when the tests began. He realised now, that was when it started.

“Come out now,” Sydell said calmly. “You did well.”

Rane let his head hang forward and crawled out to face Sydell. The man greeted him with a smile and an extended arm. There was no reason to run or hide any more, nor did he have the strength to. He took the man’s gloved hand and let his body be pulled up in silent resignation.

“You need a bath.” Sydell dragged him through the corridors outside, a flame on his half open palm lighting the way.

Rane simply followed, mind still wandering. If he’d left her tied up there she’d have died either way. Neither of them had any way of knowing her body was in that state. It wasn’t his fault. His palm found his mouth as something acidic reached the back of his throat. It couldn’t be his fault.

“Hey!” Sydell slapped his hand away. “I told you not to mourn the dead. You’ve gained as much nora as you can from it, so what point is there to it? Huh? Will it bring them back?”

“No.” Rane swallowed. “No it won’t.”

“This world is nothing more than a ruin.” Sydell turned around and pulled him forward. “A vile, rotten place where emotions breed power and yet mean nothing at all. To entrust your feelings to others, to confide in them… It’s a curse that cuts twofold. In a time like this, every one of us can only trust ourselves.”

“Is that why you try to teach me compassion and justice? To make me suffer?”

“It’s to allow you to withstand the suffering that comes with turning against the world itself.” Sydell shoved him inside a room with a large wooden basin, full of hot water. “Master Leylin has gifted you with a grand purpose, which you will fulfil, whether you like it or not.”

Rane looked up at the man as he removed the rags he’d been given. “If I have no choice, tell me what my purpose is.”

“And why would I do that?” Sydell wrinkled his nose in a sinister smile. “It’s much more fun to watch you agonise about it. To struggle over your decisions. Now bathe. Tomorrow will be a long day for you.”

Rane didn’t bother asking why. He sighed, then dropped into the water and took to rubbing the blood off his skin. His fingers found a bit of flesh stuck in his hair and he cringed. With a quick breath, he closed his eyes and sunk his head into the water, manically rubbing his scalp and hair. Sydell’s hand closed around the back of his neck and kept him from coming up for air, but he didn’t resist. He wouldn’t give the man that satisfaction. After a few moments of waiting, Sydell retrieved his hand and Rane lifted his head to look up.

“Simply too enticing,” Sydell taunted, wiping his hand on his trousers.

“Sometimes it is,” Rane replied. “You choose when I sleep, when I drink, when I shit and even when I scream. There are few things I have control over.” He inhaled sharply. “Knowing I can deny you my life is so damn tempting.”

“Why don’t you? Save us both some trouble.”

It was a question he’d asked himself many times. Madness had already taken root in his head and filled him with twisted thoughts of vengeance. Was living with so much hate really worth it? “I promised my mother that I’d carve my own path,” he mumbled. He clung to the words to drive the dark cravings away. How would he ever face her otherwise? “No matter how you try to change me.”

“Ugh,” Sydell grimaced. “And here I was, thinking you were starting to understand. Either way, the tests end tomorrow. If you win you’ll be able to leave this place, and we’ll have to suffer each other no longer.”

Rane turned around to read the man’s face. Sydell was many things, but not a liar. Still, the thought of the outside world shook him. He’d been gone for so long… How much had he missed? How much had changed? No matter what the test was, he had to succeed. Every day spent in the dungeon was one full of new and ugly surprises.

“When you’re done, dry yourself and talk to the warden outside. He’ll take you back to your cell.” Sydell tossed a dirty towel down onto the floor next to him. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Rane looked up at Sydell’s smile. The man’s happiness had proven to be a bad omen, time and time again, but this time Rane was resolute. He’d let nothing hold him back. “For once, we agree.”