MASKTOURN

Darcy wakes in a dark, square room. The floor is dirt, but his sitting on a woven rug. The walls are stone brick, and enclose him on every side. There’s no way in, and no way out. The room is suffocatingly warm, dark and dry. Darcy would soon begin to feel thirst clawing at his throat. He woke on his side, and soon realize he'd been chained by the ankles. He can't get up- not without sending himself falling back down. Before Darcy, sat a small, low table, covered by a rug similar to the one they sat upon. Two oil lamps flicker at either ends of the table, their small lights the only in the room. The only other objects on the table are three small wooden bowls, all filled with an unidentifiable liquid. The first is white, opaque and creamy. The second is glassy and clear, with a slight cloudy, brownish color to it. The third is just as opaque as the first, but is a deep, muddy red in color. Across from the table is the only other person in the room. A woman. She appears to be middle aged, with warm, pale skin and brown, graying curls spilling over her shoulders. She wears a simple, cream-colored dress, with a long red vest over it. Her gaze is melancholy, almost distant, as she makes eye contact with Darcy. The woman takes in a heavy breath, and finally speaks. Her voice is not that of the flaming apparition. “Welcome to the Halcyon Citadel.”

"Wh- what is this?" Darcy stammered, his heart pounding rhythmically in his ear. He didn't recognize the woman before him- at least, he was pretty sure he didn't. She didn't look familiar... but why was he so certain he'd seen her face before? "Please calm down." The woman said, her voice calm but weak. "Calm down." Well, at least he could follow an order. Darcy took in measured, heavy breaths. "What is going on? Who are you?" At the hesitance on the woman's face, he supplemented- "Tell me- tell me or I'll hurt you." "There isn't any need for that-" The woman raised her hands in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. My name is Albanes Shairoun. I'm the Regnant, Septimal Lifebringer." Even though those words really should've meant a lot to Darcy, they didn't. He was lost. "Wh- what is this? What do you want from me?" "You've been brought here to compete. I- I really, really am sorry." She sighed. "You're going to die here." "No- No. No." He shook his head. He couldn't do anything but deny. "You- I can't die here. I'm not doing this again." It wasn't as if his life before was any better, but- "You can't just kill me! Put me back! I have to-" "You can't do this!" "I'm sorry. I really am." Albanes maintained. "No you aren't. If you were, this wouldn't be happening." "I- I don't have any choice in this. Trust me, if I could, I'd send you all home." Right. And when people lost they got sent on a boat home. "I'm not fighting in another tournament. You can't make me." "If you don't comply, my predecessor will kill you." Albanes sighed. "And they will be less kind than whomever you face in the arena." Darcy bristled. He didn't have the will to question- his usually inquisitive nature crushed by stress and fear. "I'm not going to die here." He repeated. "... I really, truly hope that ends up being the case." "What happens when I win?" He said, suddenly sticking to that. "Do I get something?" "You'll be rewarded. With your life, and anything else you could wish for." Anything he could wish for. "So- you could fix me?" "Fix you?" The woman glanced over him. "What do you need to be fixe-" "Oh." And then the very words he'd been dreading for the past four years. "You have an artificial soul." It tore into him like a knife through his chest, and a realization he'd known the entire time. "Don't- don't say it like- can you fix it?" Albanes's face contorted into hesitation, but she eventually nodded. "I think... I think we would be able to. We'd at least be able to do something." Good. He thought it, but couldn't say anything. He remained silent. After a pause, Albanes dared speak again. "If you have any more questions-" "No. I know all I need to know." Which, he doesn't, but he's too full of fear and rage and newfound drive to do anything else. "Then... we can move onto these." Albanes gestured to the bowls. "You'll have to drink one." Darcy glanced over the bowls. His gaze lingered on the last one. "You... probably won't want to pick that one-" Albanes cautioned, but she was a step too late. Spitefully, Darcy picked up the third bowl and lifted it to his lips, though he couldn't help but cough and sputter after he swallowed it. "Is that- blood?" Albanes only replied with a look that very much said 'I told you so'. "You can't- blood? Blood?" He wiped the red liquid onto his shirt, and couldn't help but frown as it stained the fine white fabric of his cuff. "You can't-" But Albanes was already rising to her feet. She stepped around the table, to where she could stand over Darcy. "Goodnight, Darcy Sterling. I really hope things go well for you." "What do you mean, 'Goodnig-'" But he was out before he could finish the question.