Shackles in Shadows

The beast glared at Luke while gulping down the remains of the wolf it had caught in its jaws. It snatched him from the high branches back to the ground in one swift motion, pinning him down on his chest. The air blasted from his lungs. As he struggled to breathe, the stench of death and decay filled his nose, each damp exhalation from the beast a humid wave of rot. Its jaw opened wider, ready for its next meal.

But then it stopped.

Its eyes narrowed, and it seemed to notice something. The markings along the back of Luke’s neck shimmered faintly in the torchlight.

Luke’s vision blurred. Once again, he braced for death, and with it came the same relief he had felt collapsing in his room back home. A do-over? Or maybe I’m waking up?

But the killing blow never came.

Instead, a screech echoed above the treetops. The beast jerked its massive head toward the sound, hackles rising. It let out a guttural snarl, then scampered back into the forest with startling speed, vanishing into the dark.

Luke lay there for several long moments, paralyzed, waiting for weight that was no longer there. His thoughts drifted far away - back to his room, back to stillness. He almost convinced himself this was another fever dream.

Another screech snapped him back. Heart pounding, he scrambled to his feet and ran in the direction of the castle he had glimpsed earlier.

Branches slapped his arms and legs. Every flicker of moonlight, every crunch of leaves under his boots sounded like a predator behind him.

Then the forest floor betrayed him. A gnarled root caught his ankle, and he stumbled forward with a panicked yelp. The slope beneath him gave way. He rolled, mud coating his back, branches lashing his arms, the air knocked from his chest with each strike of the ground.

Finally, he landed flat on the path below, groaning, covered in earth and bruises. He pushed himself up to his knees, body aching.

And froze.

Soldiers. Encircling him like vultures.

The iron taste of dread filled his mouth.

Before he could move, Michael’s voice rumbled nearby. “Well, would you look at that. The bird tried to fly.”

Luke’s head snapped toward him. There they were—Michael, Sera, Uriel—lined up in chains once more. The soldiers had rounded them up from behind while he’d been running.

Michael’s grin was crooked but tired. “What’d I tell you, lad? Chains are the only thing keeping our heads attached. Guess you just learned that the hard way.”

Luke coughed, brushing dirt from his face. “Guess so.”

Sera’s molten eyes burned into him. “You almost got us all killed.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a crackle of restrained fury. “If you’d actually escaped, they’d have cut us down first.”

Uriel’s pale gaze lingered on Luke in silence until the soldiers shoved him forward. Then, quietly, he said, “Noted. He runs when cornered.” His tone wasn’t cruel - just cold, as though cataloguing Luke like an entry in a book.

Luke bristled but bit down on a reply. They don’t understand. I couldn’t stay. I won’t stay. Trusting strangers in chains… what kind of idiot would I be?

And yet… part of him wondered if Sera was right. His rash move could have doomed them all.

The soldiers prodded them with spears until the group moved in step again.

###   ###   ###

Eventually, they arrived at the castle.

Luke’s heart hammered as it loomed closer. The walls were even grander than he remembered from the treetop. Some stones bore black scorch marks, reminders of ancient sieges. Moss clung thick to the mortar, a living shroud over cold history.

At the centre of the walls, a gate towered high, forged from oak and banded in iron.

The soldiers halted.

Silence.

Then a horn blast shattered the night. The sound was eerie - like a beast screaming in pain, yet layered with a strange harmony that made the hairs on Luke’s neck stand on end.

“Vʀᴀᴋ'ᴛᴏʟ!” the commander barked.

From above, a guard replied in perfect sync: “Vʀᴀᴋ'ᴛᴏʟ Nᴀsʜᴀʀ!”

Chains rattled. Gears groaned. The massive gate shuddered open, its grinding echo carrying through the ground.

Inside waited stone corridors that reeked of mildew, iron, and blood.

The dungeon.

##   ###   ##

Rusted bars framed a thin shaft of moonlight, enough to reveal a young man slumped in a chair. Tools of torture lay scattered around him like a surgeon’s instruments. His wrists were raw, bleeding.

Luke’s ragged breathing was louder than he realized in the suffocating silence. A drop of liquid slid down his thigh. Am I bleeding… or did I just piss myself? Either way, five-star service so far. Zero stars if they start charging rent.

He forced himself not to stare too long at the man’s shredded wrists.
Don’t look. Don’t invite the same fate.

Cells yawned open one after another. Luke was shoved into a space barely wider than his outstretched arms. A bucket in the corner reeked of piss and worse.

To his right, Sera. To his left, Michael. Across the way, Uriel, unnervingly calm, seated with his back straight like a monk in meditation.

Michael pressed his forehead to the bars. “So, how much to get me out of this cage,” he whispered at the guard.

The guard unshackled Michael, then motioned him to come closer and drove a fist into his face, crunching his nose. “Silence, scum.”

Luke’s gut twisted. If this is a five-star service, they’re getting one star. Honestly, they don’t deserve reviews.

The guard’s gaze slid to Luke, his scorn obvious. “Mᴏʀʀᴀᴛʜ,” he spat.

Luke shook his head. “Don’t know what you’re saying, idiot.”

The guard snarled, then left, slamming the iron door behind him.

Luke sat in the corner of the cell, eyes darting from the barred door to the shadows stretching across the floor. Michael stumbled, blood pouring down his beard. Uriel was silent, studying Luke with eyes that seemed to weigh and measure without judgment. Sera’s gaze, however, was fire. She sat rigid, her wrists bound, her sharp profile turned away, jaw tight. Her disappointment obvious.

Luke swallowed hard. His throat ached, but he forced the words out anyway.
“I’m sorry… my friend.”

Slowly, she exhaled and shook her head. “Stubborn fool,” she muttered, softer this time, almost to herself. Then she crouched beside him and tapped her chest “Sera.”

Luke raised his brow, confused. Unsure if she meant her name again or something else.

She pointed at him. “Luke.”

Then back to herself. “Sʜᴀᴇʟ”. She paused. “Sʜᴀᴇʟ means Myself”

She once again pointed at him, speaking again in *Draekirn - slow, deliberate. “Rᴀᴇsʜ.”

Luke frowned. “Rᴀᴇsʜ?”, he said stumbling over the syllables.

She nodded, repeating it, then translated in halting English. “Stubborn,” letting out a mischievous giggle. Luke ignored it, surprised to see her smiling.

She paused. “Vɪ'ʀᴇɴ”, she said, her expression softened. “Humble”, pointing her hand at Uriel

Another pause. 

“Tʀᴀ'ᴠᴇɴɴ.” She pressed her hand against his through the bars, firm and steady.
“Tʀᴀ'ᴠᴇɴɴ means Friend.”

Luke repeated them. His tongue stumbled at first, but steadied with effort.

Hours passed, measured only by the drip of water and the shuffle of boots above. Luke learned more words, piecing sounds together with surprising speed. Pride flickered in his chest, fragile but real.

Finally, after the lesson ended, she returned to removing the mud from her hair. She seemed to mutter something in Draekirn. A prayer? A song? Luke thought.

Confident in his progress, he patiently waited for her to stop. The words came awkward, heavy, but clear enough.

**“Vɪ'ʀᴇɴ sʜᴀᴇʟ ᴛʀᴀ'ᴠᴇɴɴ.”

Sera’s head turned, her eyes widening at the Draekirn syllables. Michael let out a broken laugh through bloodied teeth. Uriel, across the hall, closed his eyes and nodded once.

She studied him a long moment, then finally spoke. “You tried,” she said, still firm but not sharp. “You listened.” Her gaze flickered away, then back again. “Tomorrow, I’ll teach you more”. Her expression softened - not into a smile, but into something quieter. Something closer to acknowledgment.

For the first time since waking in this world, Luke drifted to sleep—not with dread, but with the fragile weight of belonging.

##   ###   ## To Be Continued ##   ###   ##

*Draekirn – The language spoken by the soldiers and Seraphina
**Vi’ren shael, tra’ venn – I humble myself, my friend or I’m sorry, my friend