Vol. III Chapter III: The Depths of Shazar-Zul

“Wake up!” a voice shouted.

The next moment, ice-cold water poured down on their bodies, soaking deep into their matted, blood-streaked fur.

Torn from a dull sleep of exhaustion, Melissa and Liviana jolted awake. But as soon as they sat up, the short chains around their necks yanked them back down to the ground.

The iron shackles on their limbs and throats had left raw, bloody scrapes underneath. And those were the least of their injuries.

Since their capture, they had not been treated gently.

Melissa, Liviana, Isari, and the other Selvarin who had dared to follow them were brutally beaten on the spot.

And there, erected in the center of the encampment, hung Tagunel’s lifeless body, impaled on a crooked wooden stake.

His arms dangled limp at his sides, his head bowed to his chest. The cloak he wore fluttered in the wind, torn and soaked with blood. The leaf shaped brooch, he once bought with the two of them, still held it together.

Liviana hadn’t been able to look away. A shiver ran through her as if the cold of his death had seeped into her very bones.

Melissa felt her throat tighten. He had fought for them. For all of them, until the very end.

Now he was nothing but a message. A warning.

And no one said a word.

After that, Melissa and Liviana were thrown into a dark cell, separated from the other slaves. No one had questioned them. Not even once.

For the first two days, they were given no food or water. Instead, the Yashari kept them awake by dousing them with buckets of cold water.

One soldier stood out in particular: Saarkesh.

“Ha ha ha! So there’s still some life in you after all!” he laughed, hoarse and brutal, as they struggled against their restraints, gasping, their eyes full of hate.

He was stocky, slightly overweight, with a long, curled beard. Dark eyes gleamed beneath his forehead, which merged into a greasy, wrinkled neck that trembled with every laugh.

When a younger soldier approached, a scrawny boy barely older than a child, he held a bowl of water and a piece of flatbread in his hands.

But before he could offer it, Saarkesh snatched both items away, threw them to the ground, and stomped on them with full force.

“They get nothing!” he shrieked, almost hysterically. The young soldier flinched, not daring to speak a word in protest.

Then Saarkesh stepped closer to the bars. His gaze locked onto Liviana, whose swollen eyes were barely visible. His voice dropped to a rough whisper.

“Don’t worry, little kitty… I’ll take care of you personally. If you behave.”

Melissa pushed herself up with effort. Blood clung to her lip.

“Touch her, and I’ll rip your throat out,” she hissed.

Saarkesh laughed again, this time darker, more threatening.

“Don’t worry, little Selvarin bitch. Your turn’s coming too. Then you’ll learn what Yashar does to spies…”

With that, he turned and stomped away, his footsteps echoing across the packed dirt.

“I swear, I’ll kill him before we get out of here…” Melissa muttered, more to herself than anyone. Then she leaned toward Liviana with a weary sigh.

“How are you holding up?”

A bitter smile flickered across Liviana’s face.

“I’m still alive. But without water or food… not for much longer.”

Melissa moved closer to her.

“They won’t keep us here forever. Sooner or later… they’ll start asking questions.”

Liviana turned her head, her voice trembling.

“Tagunel was right. We should’ve run. Now he’s dead. Because of me…”

Tears shimmered on her fur-covered cheeks.

Melissa placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Nonsense. You wanted to do the right thing. If I hadn’t lost my powers…If I could have transformed as usual...” She stared down at her trembling hands. “It never would’ve come to this.”

“If anything, it’s my fault…” Melissa added quietly.

They leaned back to back, supporting each other in the silence.

Melissa had hoped her powers would return. That it was only a matter of time.

But nothing happened. No spark. No trace of the divine power Dionysus had once blessed her with.

I’m sorry, Lucius. I might not be able to keep my promise.

She looked up through the iron grate, toward a hope that was beginning to fade.

Later that evening, the young soldier returned. The same one Saarkesh had scolded.

This time, he passed water and bread through the bars without getting stopped.

Melissa devoured her share immediately. Her hunger was too great, her throat too dry to hesitate.

Liviana hesitated only for a moment, then accepted hers as well, though her eyes studied the boy carefully.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he muttered. “Orders are to keep you alive. And I’m not taking lashes for that fat bastard.”

Apparently, “fat bastard” meant Saarkesh.

The next day, something finally changed.

Several soldiers, led by a foul-tempered Saarkesh, dragged them roughly from the cell and loaded them onto a wagon, along with a few other slaves.

There, they saw Isari again, she looked just as battered as they did.

“You’re still alive!” Isari cried with relief as she was chained beside Liviana. The two embraced as best the restraints would allow.

“Do you know where they’re taking us?” Liviana whispered.

Isari shook her head, but Saarkesh answered for her, loud and mocking.

“To Shazar-Zul!” He grinned cruelly. “And if you thought this was bad... wait until the torturers welcome you there.”

“Shazar-Zul…” Liviana repeated the name, barely audible. Fear rose in her eyes.

Melissa noticed immediately.

“What is it? What’s in Shazar-Zul?”

Isari answered in Liviana’s place.

“It’s Yashar’s religious center. Far in the southwest. That’s where they train their priests and mages and…” She paused. “...where they keep political prisoners. And no one’s ever returned alive.”

Melissa let the words settle for a moment. Then she said, full of resolve:

“Then I guess we’ll be the first.”

Liviana’s worried expression softened. Her eyes lit up, and a quiet laugh escaped her lips before she nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. We will.”

The wagon jolted into motion. Melissa closed her eyes. Her body ached, but her spirit remained unbroken. Deep inside her, the will to survive burned bright. To fight. For Lucius. For Liviana. For herself.

After three grueling days, they finally reached their destination.

Surprisingly, Saarkesh’s abuse had been kept to a minimum.

He occasionally kicked them or yanked their chains, but they were given water and bread regularly. And although he growled and scowled, he didn’t stop it.

Melissa and Liviana concluded that the information they might give was seen as valuable.

Finally, the wagon rumbled through the city’s stone gates and slowed down. Strange symbols curled along the buildings like black vines. From every corner came murmurs of dark prayers.

Melissa lifted her head. Her lips were cracked, her eyes tired but alert.

“Is this... it?” she whispered.

Liviana gave a faint nod.

“Shazar-Zul.”

The district at the city’s core was a maze of basalt and alabaster, carved with dark frescoes and warding symbols. Smoke rose from the towers, accompanied by the constant whispering of priests and mages in black, face-concealing robes.

The wagon came to a halt. Rough hands seized their chains. Orders were shouted. They were dragged off the vehicle.

Before them rose a dark domed structure made of black basalt, flanked by two massive statues that may have represented gods or high priests.

A guard captain in a bronze mask stepped forward to Saarkesh, who suddenly looked uncharacteristically meek and submissive.

“Take them below.”

A cold chill ran down Melissa’s spine.

What a dreadful place, she thought.

Then, they were separated.

Melissa and Liviana exchanged one final, defiant look before being dragged in different directions.

No words were spoken. Only the clinking of chains echoed through the dark corridors of the underground halls.

Melissa didn’t resist, but with every step, her tension grew.

She was led down a long, cold hallway. On either side, thick metal doors stood in rows, each with a narrow viewing slit. Nothing could be heard, except for a faint drip of water in the distance.

At one door, they stopped. With a heavy clunk, the bolt was drawn back, and she was shoved inside.

The cell was small. Stone walls, no windows. Just an old cot with a tattered cloth, and a moldy wooden bucket in the corner. The air smelled of mold, blood, and filth.

The door shut behind her. She stood still for a moment.

Then she slowly slid down against the wall. The cold floor seeped into her bones, but she felt no fear.

And then, after a while, she heard footsteps.

A metallic click. The bolt slid aside. The door opened a crack, and a figure stepped inside.

A long cloak of dark silk trailed across the floor. The man beneath was tall, his face half disfigured by burns.

Nazirul.

He stepped into the room and let the door close behind him.

“So, we meet again,” he said softly, almost kindly.

Melissa raised her chin.

“What do you want from me?”

Nazirul gave a crooked smile.

“Oh, I don’t want to interrogate you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I already know everything I need to.”

He leaned against the opposite wall, staring at her with a gaze both piercing and amused.

“We already know what your little party planned with the stolen scrolls. That’s why our armies will invade Tiberun before your feeble government even has time to react. It will burn, don’t worry about that.”

Melissa returned his gaze without flinching.

“If you already know, then why are we even here?”

Nazirul’s burned lips twisted into a cruel smile.

“Because I have a score to settle with your little wizard friend. And I know he’ll come to save you. No doubt about it…”

He stepped closer, now whispering.

“And when he does, he’ll walk straight into a trap.”

For a moment, silence.

Then he screamed into her face:

“AND THEN HE’LL KNOW WHAT REAL PAIN IS, WHEN I RIP YOUR HEART OUT RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM!!!”