Elara's pov
Days, weeks, perhaps even months had bled into one another on this peak—or so I imagined.
In truth, it felt like years. Here, time was a stagnant thing; there was no sunrise to signal a beginning, no moon to mark an end. Without the steady rhythm of the sky, the concept of a day became meaningless, leaving me adrift in a timeless, frozen void.
But most of all I was cold.
So so cold.
I woke up shivering so violent it felt as though the mountain itself were trying to shake me apart, like I had been laid out on a slab of ice.
Malakor, ever indifferent, hadn't bothered with a blanket. The last time I'd dared to mention the freezing temperatures, he merely remarked that I was welcome to die if I found the climate too discordant for my fragile human frame.
Looking down, I saw my skin had faded to a translucent grey, nearly indistinguishable from the stone to which I was chained.
I fought to conjure the memory of my father's kitchen, but the details were beginning to fray. I could still see the heavy wooden table, however, the chairs around it had vanished into the shadows of my mind. Even the faces of the manor maids—women I had seen every day of my life were dissolving but somehow i could still remember the twins.
Unable to bear the silence anymore, i was the first to speak:
"Hey"
"Still... breathing?" the prisoner in the next cell replied.
"I think so. Can you please...tell me your name."
A long, hollow silence followed. I heard the rattle of his chains as he shifted.
"I had one," he finally groaned. "It started with an S. Or maybe it was a K. I don't know kid. That's one information Malakor has refused to divulge in his whinning."
"Try," I breathed.
"Hush..Let's go with that. It sounds like something a man would be called."
I closed my eyes and tried to reach for that pull I usually felt—the one that stabilized Lucian.
I tried to force my mind to find them, to send some kind of signal; even as the sheer absurdity of it felt ridiculous to me, i still persisted. I imagined a thread of gold, stretching out from my chest, cutting through the miles of rock above us, just like the fiction I'd grown up on.
I pushed. I pushed until my vision swam with black spots.
Then I saw him, eyes bleeding gold, his face twisted in a snarl of pure hatred.
"You left us," the hallucination hissed. "You're the reason I'm dying."
I gasped, my eyes snapping open. The Marrow wasn't just drinking my energy; it was twisting my memories into weapons. I slumped back, my breath hitching in my throat. I was an Anchor with nothing to hold onto.
"Whatever you think you're doing, don't bother" the man—Hush—muttered. "You're just feeding the marrow. It uses your hope as fuel."
***
The heavy iron door at the end of the hall groaned open. Malakor walked in, his boots clicking rhythmically. He stopped at my bars and tossed a leather wallet through. It was charred, the gold Valerius crest partially melted.
"He dropped it when he abandoned the manor," Malakor said, his orange eyes mocking me. "Killian knows the pack is falling apart. He knows his brother's already halfway gone. Why would he stay to watch it collapse?"
"He wouldn't leave," I wheezed.
Malakor paced the small hallway, his velvet coat sweeping the dust. "Do you know how many girls like you I've seen? Little humans who think they're special because an Alpha let them sleep in his bed. You're just a tool. When a tool breaks, you throw it away."
I had a feeling he was just saying it to hurt me, perhaps even lying but on the other hand, I wondered if there were some truth in it. Why he insisted on playing games with my mind made no sense, especially when I wasn't the one who had hurt him.
Why was it always the innocent bystanders who suffered, while the people truly responsible were left untouched?
A low, mocking laugh came from the darkness of the next cell.
"You're a terrible liar, Malakor,"
Malakor stiffened, his hand tightening on the bars. "Shut up, dog."
"Think about it," Hush continued, his voice shaking with effort. "If they moved on, your little grand plan is just a solitary delusion. If they don't care, she isn't a catalyst for his collapse anymore. You're sitting in a cave with a girl who doesn't matter. That makes you... nothing. Just a man playing dress-up in a dead king's coat."
"I told you to shut your mouth!" Malakor roared.
The bored mask on Malakor's face shattered into a jagged snarl. He turned on his heel and strode to Hush's cell. Reaching through the bars, he grabbed my co-prisoner by his matted hair. The glove he wore somehow shielded him from the iron's burn as he slammed Hush's face against the bars.
Thud.
"One more word from you, and I'll ensure your death is as abject as your life."
He kicked the bars once more before turning back to my cell, his chest heaving.
"Bring the serum," he barked at the guard. "I won't have her drifting in a stupor while the Valerius legacy implodes. Wake her up. She needs to witness her own irrelevance."
What i ever did to the man to deserve such cruelty remains a mystery to me.
The guard stepped forward. I tried to scramble backward, but my legs were heavy. I just dragged my weight uselessly against the stone. The guard grabbed my arm and slammed the needle into my neck.
The world went white. The serum didn't give me strength; it just forced my nervous system to wake up, making every burn from the Marrow feel like a fresh brand. I sobbed, the sound caught in my dry throat.
Malakor walked away, leaving the iron door at the end of the hall open just a crack. He didn't care. He knew we couldn't move.
"Elara," Silas called out, his voice wet with blood. "Look at the door."
I squinted through the haze. The door wasn't locked.
I rolled onto my stomach. Every inch of movement felt like a hot iron was being pressed into my spine. I dragged myself forward, my fingernails digging into the dirt. My breath came in shallow, jagged gasps. My arms shook as I tried to pull myself up. My muscles felt like they were dissolving. I made it to my knees, only for my strength to vanish. I collapsed back into the dirt, my chin hitting the stone with a sickening crack.
I couldn't do it. I was too weak. I lay there, crying silently, the dirt sticking to my wet cheeks.
"Again," Silas hissed. "Move, girl!"
I tried. I really did. I dragged my body another few inches, my hand reaching for the lock on the cell door, determined to open it regardless of the pain or any gods marrow.
Click.
The sound didn't come from my lock. It came from the door at the end of the hall. It was a slow, deliberate click—someone locking it from the inside.
The face held no meaning for me; it was just a shape in the dark. Yet, the eyes, icy and burning with a dark, twisted mirth felt like a phantom blade against my soul.
I didn't know who stood there, but I knew the malice."
"Hey, Anchor. Remember me?"