“The body may break, the voice may falter, but the spirit—unyielding—rises again, and again, until even the gods grow weary.” -Achilles

"WAIT!" The Pope suddenly called, forcing the executioner to stop mid-swing.

"That thing around her neck, take it off. It irks me."

The executioner shrugged, easily tearing the talisman away from Isabel's neck and hurling it toward the Pope and his accomplices, who examined the curious design up close. An all-watching eye of metal seemed to protrude from it.

"Proceed." The king gave the order.

Soon the axe was swinging through the air anew.

—So this is it? For Earth? For... everything?

SCHING.

Darkness enveloped Isabel's vision as her head flew toward the platform, hitting it awkwardly.

THUD.

              THUD. 

                             THUD.

"A few days have already passed since we carried out the execution," Saria reported, standing in front of the round table surrounded by the King, the Pope, and the Overseer. "While it effectively raised the spirits of our people, I do note a lack of belief in our system. The people wonder how a total of three rebels managed to rise to a position of power within the Inquisition, not to mention the Lord Inquisitor herself."

The Pope stroked his chin, spitting. "The people should mind their tongues before I have it cu—"

"Now now," the King spoke up, offering a calm smile, "let us not be too hasty."

"What about the talisman?" The Overseer asked, leaning forward on the table.

"We believe it was given to the Lord Inquisitor sometime during her last mission. It bears the symbol of the cult, and clear connections to it. As for what it does, we do not know. Due to our lack of knowledge, we decided it best to burn it alongside her corpse."

"By 'our' I assume you include our best and brightest?" The Pope asked, petting his belly.

"Aye."

"And have the bodies been burnt yet?"

"They will be so immediately after the autopsy."

"Autopsy?" The King asked curiously.

"Indeed. We decided it best to check nothing has been... tampered with by the cult."

Silence spread through the room as everyone considered their options, each lowering in their seat slightly, now that their minds had been set at peace.

"Very well then," the King spoke with finality. "Take your chosen team, and the main force of the army. Ride out to quell the Beastmen rebellion and take back our territories. The Protectorate will not last much longer under the Beastmen siege. Act as planned, but deviate as needed."

Saria gave a stern salute, turning on her heel ceremoniously and stepping out of the room.

.

.

.

Alexa could barely see past her hair now, which draped over her face lazily, its length having lost all control and moisture days ago. She hung her head, still tied to a chipping blood-red chair, the only sounds permeating through the dungeon her heavy breaths and the dripping of blood.

Drip. Drip. Drop.

A sound so consistent it would drive anyone insane.

It originated from a well-placed surface-level cut across Alexa's bound palm, slowly dripping into a bucket until she lost consciousness and eventually died. A cruel tactic, but an effective one.

 It was slowly getting to her. Alexa felt the madness creeping into her awareness, spreading thin fingers over her mind.

Drip. Drip. Drop.

Step.

—S-someone is approaching?

It had been days if not more since someone had approached her cell-- how long exactly, she couldn't really tell.

The steps stopped right in front of her, a figure standing there ominously. They had black leather shoes, old and worn, but their design was one of a kind.

—T-those are not Saria's...

"What a sorry sight."

—A man's voice. Definitely not Saria.

"To be able to do so much to someone based off such little information... repulsive."

Alexa managed to raise her gaze, locking eyes with the figure in full. He was an old man, standing at least two meters tall, with a wide back and solid musculature. He had long flowing white hair, a light grey stubble, and a scar across his cheek. He was dressed in a worn old black suit with a white undershirt, his tan necktie hanging crookedly, as if he was attending a ceremony with little time to prepare.

He raised a finger and adjusted his slim glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

"Do you wish to live, child?" he asked calmly.

Alexa couldn't speak, trying to, but ending up with a weak mumble through parched lips.

"I see. I guess I shall leave you to it then."

With that, the old gentleman turned and began stepping away.

—W-wait! Don’t go! Please!!!

Alexa let out a pained scream, managing to push herself over, shattering the wooden chair and stopping the old gentleman in his tracks.

With a smirk, he turned to look at her.

"Ah, so you still hold onto life?" he asked, turning his gaze over her, pausing when he locked onto her single visible eye. "What fearsome eyes you've got..."

The old gentleman approached the iron bars of her cage, causing them to bend and break by his sheer presence.

He easily hurled the gaunt prisoner onto his back, careful not to shatter any weakened bone.

—So... warm.

For the first time in a month, Alexa felt truly safe. Like she could close her eyes without fear of it being the last time.

"Rest, child, you have a long road ahead of you yet."

Step.

          Step.

                    Step.