“…he was a a man of few words,

  but he did not need them.

  His actions spoke for themselves.”

  -Ozzeray Dingarn

  Final Eulogy

  Closing Remarks

  Chapter 1: In the Dark

  “Is he dead?” asked a voice in the distance.

  A boy woke up to the inquisition of the deep, gruff voice, akin to someone waking up from a nightmare. Opening his eyes, he could see nothing. He felt like he was in the deepest part of a cave, given how pitch black everything around him was. Reaching up to his eyes, he rubbed them, blinked in rapid succession, then tried peering in the direction he had heard the man. His efforts to see were in vain.

  Turning his head, he still could see not even a hint of light to comfort him. He moved his brow slightly, but doing so added new angst to his growing confusion. A stabbing pain coursed through that area of his face. As he winced from the sharp infliction, his mouth fell open instinctively. He found his mouth was also in pain. Reaching towards those areas, he panicked as he felt three vertical cuts. The cuts were deep, yet were not bleeding, merely crusty from the scabs growing there. He found one over each eye, and one over his mouth. He struggled to recall how he had received them.

  Attempting to raise himself from the supine position, the boy found that it was not possible to do so. Something, or someone, was now suppressing his efforts. It felt like he was stuck, but he felt nothing anywhere around him, except some type of hard surface below him.

  “No, my Lord,” an elderly woman replied. “But he will be soon, I assure you.”

  “What of the information locked in his head? Surely, you have it for me by now...”

  He could hear the elderly sounding woman gulp.

  “I have one more part of his memories to access, my Lord,” she answered, her voice sounding timid and scared. “Once the process of transferring them is complete, I’ll have everything he knows.”

  A silence ensued, indicating that the old woman’s answer was far from satisfactory. Her breathing intensified, as trepidation seemed to seize her. The dreadful voice did not respond.

  “I can only take so much at a time m-my Lord... If I tried to take it all at once, it would kill him before I could.”

  Still, the voice did not respond. The boy wondered what would become of him. Again, he struggled to get up from the table, but to no avail.

  The young boy could hear footsteps as someone approached him. Their sounds grew louder and louder as they tread on the stone floor below. He once again tried to move, but could not. Now, his arm was even restricted, flying back to his side. Some type of force was controlling his movements. A force he could not see, hear, or even feel.

  “Here! He’s ready for the final stage, you see?” the old woman replied, her voice now being projected from right next to him. “I’ll start the process right now!”

  The young boy felt a searing pain course across his left ear. The old woman had cut it from top to bottom, but had not severed it. The boy attempted to scream, but nothing came from his mouth. It was as though he could not speak at all, even to cry out. He squirmed and writhed as the old woman finished her work.

  “S-see? The process will soon be complete, my Lord! There is no need to worry.”

  “How long?”

  “T-two weeks, my Lord. It will take two weeks for my spell to fully take hold.”

  The dark voice paused. The only sound to be heard was drops of a liquid hitting the floor below him. After a long, awkward silence, the voice spoke once more.

  “You will hail me when you have the knowledge I seek.”

  “Yes, my Lord! As soon as I have it. I will not fail you!” She affirmed.

  “Should you fail me, witch, I will deal out to you a thousand fold what you have done to the child.”

  A buzzing noise could be heard. The boy wondered if the old woman had just ended a holo-transmission call, given he could no longer hear the dark voice. The witch sighed.

  “Stop squirming, boy! It’s just a little cut!”

  He did not stop. Continuing to thrash about wildly, the surface beneath him began to totter. Nervous, afraid, and in pain, he attempted to try and break free of whatever was holding him back.

  “Fine, let’s see how far you get,” the witch stated.

  He could feel the force that was controlling him let him go. He barely managed to put his hands under him before falling face first onto a stone surface below him. After thudding to the ground, he began to crawl away from the sound of the witch’s voice. He turned his head left and right, trying to see if there was light anywhere. Unable to see, he frantically began to crawl faster, clumsily bumping into objects, such as tables and chairs. Reaching a wall, he began to follow it using his hands to guide him.

  “Stupid boy. Foolish, just like all your kind,” the witch hissed. It seemed as though she was slowly following behind him.

  Desperately, he kept crawling. Following one cold, wet wall after another, he continued to try to find his way out. He could still hear the witch following faintly behind him. He was too frightened to understand the rhyme or reason behind the witch’s madness, or why she was allowing him to leave. He only knew one thing: he needed to see the light again.

  What felt like an eternity only lasted a few minutes. A large wooden door was now in front of him. Perhaps this was his opportunity to find freedom.

  “You’ve found my front door,” she said, her tone hopeful. “Open it, and go on outside.”

  Without hesitation, the boy did as she said. Moving to open the door towards him, he speedily crawled past it. He reached out, then, losing his balance, fell down what felt like steps before rolling onto the ground below.

  Getting to his knees, he thought perhaps that the fall had somehow blinded him temporarily. He rubbed his eyes, and shook his head. He looked up, yet still: only darkness.

  The witch had surely lied to him. This could not be the front door, but perhaps he was close. Quickly, he began to crawl once more. He felt dirt and grass below him. Then he paused, and looked up once more. As he did so, he felt the sun’s radiant gaze upon his skin.

  The witch began to cackle and laugh.

  “Would you like to go on? Maybe you’ll be able to see if you’d crawl a little further, yes?”

  “I’m blind,” he thought, repeating the realization in his head over and over again. It was hard to believe. It was even harder to accept.

  “My, what a fool you always prove to be, Koga Kane. You don’t remember the last time you did this? Or the time before that?”

  The witch mockingly laughed again. He then realized that, in his panicked state, he did not even know his name until this witch had told him. Was that truly his name? It certainly felt like it was.

  “Of course you don’t remember. When I’m done taking the last of your memories, you won’t remember this, either. You’ll just be a dumb, blind, deaf little rat, won’t you?”

  Anger took confusion’s place as rage boiled up inside him. Koga balled his fists, and punched in the direction of the old woman’s voice. Missing her narrowly, he rolled onto his back as he lost his balance. She audibly scoffed at his attempt, as he could feel her call upon her powers once more to restrict his movement, keeping him pinned to the ground.

  “A lot of fight in you, I see. A lot of anger, too. Typical of your kind. Given the chance, you’d grow up to be just like any man, wouldn’t you? Oppressive. Impetuous. Stupid. Well, I’ll never give you the chance, boy. Your last two weeks in this life will be in service to me. Then, I will kill you.”

  She gave him a narrow kick to the stomach, which took the wind right out of him. His face turned to a grimace as the air in his lungs left him suddenly. He moaned in silence at the pain.

  “Oh, how the mighty Prince has fallen, eh? Once served by Kenza’s finest butlers, maids, and chefs. Now, you serve me. As it should be.”

  His confusion grew. He had truly forgotten who he was. The witch once again began to chuckle.

  “Don’t remember, eh? You were one of three Princes to the nation of Kenza. Now, you’re the last one alive. Your family is dead, boy. You’re all alone now…”

  Koga could hear the witch walk back into the castle. As he recovered, he could feel a cool gust of wind hit his face. The witch once again addressed him, her voice a little more distant than before.

  “Failure to comply with my orders will just make your last few days on this planet all the more painful.”

  *

  Koga could not tell how long he had been here in the witch’s castle. In his new world of darkness, determining anything was difficult. It could have been days, weeks, or even months since he had tried escaping. Minutes seemed like hours, and there was no way to tell the time.

  Although he could not remember details about his past, he could remember images. Trying to keep them in his mind was, however, difficult, much like trying to remove a small speck of dirt from a glass of water. Still, his knowledge of how the world around him worked was intact.

  Basic history, language, and technology concepts were still present in his mind. Kenza was one of the more prominent nations on his home planet of Inkh. Humans were one of many intelligent life forms found in this galaxy. Judging from how he felt and thought, he deduced he was one of them.

  The witch had tortured him every day, in ways he could not fully wrap his head around. All he understood was pain, and many times that pain drove him to places of sullen silence he thought he might never return from. She was truly evil.

  Amongst all the things that bereaved him, one stood out above the rest: his inability to remember. When the witch grew bored of bothering him, he would try and reflect on her words, and link them to memories he hoped were locked away somewhere in his brain. His name was Koga Kane. He was the prince of Kenza, with no family now to call his own. Beyond that, all he found was void. Emptiness. A feeling that his mind had been violated. That his memories had been stolen from him. What felt worse was that he still felt like they were being stolen. The Witch’s magic was still at work.

  Among the torturous surprises that awaited him, there was one he knew was to come. The witch would cut his other ear, and take the last remnants of his memory. If something did not change, he would be completely deaf. Even now, he could tell he was losing his hearing on one side. Without his hearing, there would be no hope at all to escape. No hope to know what was around him. No hope to kill the witch.

  Over time, Koga’s spirit was growing. Instead of shriveling away as the witch wanted, he was becoming stronger. Not physically, due to the malnourishment he was undergoing, but mentally. When his pain had begun to fortify, his boyish fears slowly began to leave him, allowing his will to survive to fortify itself. Now, there was only rage. Boiling, vindictive rage that brought Koga out of his depression every time he wanted it all to end.

  In the witch’s presence, he did not show this. Despite having nearly all his memories, and seemingly knowing him through and through, she still could not detect his murderous intent. Koga enjoyed tricking the witch in this subtle way, allowing her to think that he was a broken, whimpering pup. Little did she know that she was creating her own destruction.

  His act had been so complete that, in small ways, she started to trust him. At least, to crawl around the castle without fear of him wandering too far off. Whilst completing chores for her, Koga had used that time to slowly learn the layout of the castle by memory. With this knowledge, he began to plot how to end the witch.

  The task would not be easy, and time was not on his side. Despite not being able to determine the time, he knew that the witch would be coming for his other ear soon. She had told him as much, hoping the anticipation of the moment would further antagonize him. The question was, how would he go about killing her with a power such as hers? He would need a plan, stealth, and a weapon. Sadly, the latter had not been found. Not an effective one, anyway. He would need to finish her quickly.

  There would be no chance of escape without her death. With her power, and his disabilities, her destruction was not optional. Even if it had made more sense to keep her alive, Koga wanted her dead. So much so that he was willing to sacrifice himself in the process to do so. He would die anyway if the witch had her way, and he could not live a life with her constantly trying to find him.

  One particular day, as Koga was finishing up cleaning the large castle kitchen, he came across something on the counter the old witch had left out. Amidst dirty pots and ladles, he felt a handle that was unfamiliar. Climbing his hand up its wooden base, he felt a sharp edge cut his index finger. Dropping the object, he realized it was just what he had been searching for. A knife.

  “Breaking my things in there, boy?” the witch asked from the next room.

  He would only have a few seconds before the witch would come in to check on him. Wasting no time, he scrambled to grab the kitchen knife once more, placing it in one of the larger pots he was to clean. Hurriedly, he then grabbed a smaller pot, and placed it into the larger one and on top of the knife.

  He heard the witch turn the corner into the kitchen. Her stride was faster than usual. He could hear her stop abruptly right in front of him.

  “I expected you to answer, but I nearly forgot I’d taken your voice,” she remarked, laughing. “Looks like you’re still a bit clumsy. Despite that, I suppose you’re a good little slave. Shame I can’t keep you around for chores. Oh well. I guess even I have a master to serve, don’t I?”

  Seemingly satisfied by seeing him working, she walked away. Koga breathed a sigh of relief. Moving the pots to the wash, a small smile appeared on his face.

  Cleaning the kitchen was the final chore of the day. Unless the witch’s sleeping pattern had changed, she would be retiring to her room shortly, and Koga would be expected to do the same. In a few hours, the witch would be snoring away from atop her castle in the high tower.

  “And that’s when I’ll come for you,” he thought.

  *

  Waiting at the bottom of the stairs, he carefully listened with his good ear. After two or three hours, maybe more, it finally happened. His moment had come. Though faint, it was clearly the witch’s obnoxious snores. Gripping the knife with his teeth, Koga slowly began to climb the stairs

  Climbing, doubts began to creep into his mind. It had been strange for the old witch to have been so clumsy as to leave a knife out. Then again, he had effectively fooled her into thinking she had cowed him. Broken and crippled him. Just as he wanted her to think. He pushed the thought aside.

  It was almost ironic for him to imagine that someone as weak, malnourished, and naive as himself would be the witch’s undoing. From what little he had learned about her, she was both very old, and very knowledgeable about the world and the ways of magic. Her power was unique, and Koga had noticed that, on occasion, people had called her over a holo-transmitter to request her services. What he overheard was usually muffled through closed doors, but every once in a while, he would make enough out to know that powerful people were at the other end of the call. People who paid her well to fulfill special tasks.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  After what seemed like an endless amount of stairs, he had finally reached her door. He had been ordered to clean the room he was about to enter many times, so he knew its layout quite well. It was now only a simple matter of opening it and sneaking inside. Slowly, he reached for the old latch, and pushed on it slowly.

  “Locked.”

  But how? It was never locked. There had not been any lock on the door that he had felt in the past. Could she have put one there today? No. She would have made him do that. How was it locked? Perhaps a chair propped against the door?

  It did not matter now. His dilemma was clear. Did he wait until another night to try, or did he risk trying to enter tonight? Even if he did, he would run into the same problem. In addition, he knew time was running out for him. He might never get another chance. Plus, keeping the knife concealed for a day or two might prove difficult. If she discovered it missing, there would be no telling what she might do. Koga shuttered at the thought of more torture.

  Dozens of options ran through his brain, but only one seemed plausible should he act tonight. It was, however, incredibly risky. A more apt description would be suicidal. Still, he would rather risk it all than subject himself to more of her torture.

  Opposed to the witch’s bed was a window. No glass or bars sat in it, and only a few ragged drapes covered it from the inside. Being blind, Koga was not sure if the outside of the tower would have a ledge to access it, but he planned on finding out. Making his way downstairs, he crawled towards the castle’s second story.

  Hesitating outside an open window he had found, he second guessed his decision to go through with this. A storm had been raging outside, and the outside of the tower itself, let alone the whole castle, was a complete mystery to him. It was a possibility there was not any ledge at all.

  Leaning his tiny body out, he held on tightly to the window, and reached his legs out to feel for a ledge. Kicking against the stone walls, he began to think that his luck had run its course. With no ledges to climb, accessing the tower’s window would be impossible. Sighing, and feeling defeated, he began to climb back inside.

  Tap.

  Accidentally, he had kicked out to his right foot. Determining to try the same movement again, he placed his foot against what had helped cause the sound. It was as he had thought: the ledge he was looking for.

  The stone ledge, from what he could determine, wrapped up the tower’s great height like a snake twisted around a limb. He could only presume this to be true, but given the ledge’s angle, he gathered he was correct. It would take a fair amount of maneuvering to climb up, but with opportunity smiling on him, he would be remiss not to try.

  Climbing onto the window’s edge, he raised himself to his feet, and contorted his body to the right. Gripping the windows edge desperately, he extended his arms further out and hoisted himself up.

  The climb was treacherous. Cracks and missing pieces of the ledge caused him to take extra precaution to feel out the area in front of him thoroughly. Incredibly troubling was the realization that some parts of the ledge were entirely gone.

  The wind, the rain, and the ledge itself forced him to cling to the tower tightly. Being blind, all he could hope for was that the ancient footing beneath him didn’t cave to the weight of his sickly, skinny frame. If there were weak areas farther ahead, then he would not know until he was already on them. A small risk to make, he decided, to end that witch’s life for good.

  If it had not been for the howling of the wind and the splattering of rain, Koga might have been able to hear what was going on right below him. When it came, it was too late to get to safety. The stone section beneath him crumbled, and he fell along with it towards the rocky surface below. His fears had been realized.

  Koga gasped, and, in a fright, flailed his arms out wildly in an attempt to grab something, anything, that would save him from falling to his death. Time seemingly stood still in that split second between life and death. He had done all he could.

  In a moment of destiny, luck had favored him once again as he managed to grab hold of an unbroken part of the ledge. He had no time to waste as his grip began to slip from the wet stone. Hurriedly, he secured it once again. Lifting himself up took all the strength he could muster, but he managed to succeed. Now sitting on the ledge, he took a moment to catch his breath and calm himself as the storm raged on.

  He did not feel like moving forward, but there was no other way. There was no going back now, and with the ledge behind him broken off, he could only hope that the ledge led him to the Witch’s window.

  Climbing cautiously to the top, he began to check for the window. The storm was intensifying, and he knew that if he did not find it soon, he might be blown off the edge. The wind’s whip was worsening each passing moment.

  Rising to his feet, he extended his reach farther and farther. His desperate search yielded no results. Climbing higher and higher, he ran his arm along the stone wall. Koga feared the worst. That the window would not be in reach of the ledge. It could have been only an inch’s distance from his fingertips, but with no sight, how could he have known? Without the window, he would not make it off this ledge alive. It would take a miracle.

  He had reached the ledges end. Still, no window. He gritted his teeth in anger, perplexed and frustrated that, despite all the good luck he had had tonight, it had only led him to failure. To this, all he could do was stand in silence.

  The wind and the rain fell on his weathered face as he contemplated his next move. Perhaps everything had fallen into place so he could do the unthinkable. Was it so hard to imagine ending it all? All the pain would be gone. All the suffering would end. All the fear would leave. All the horrible memories would fade. Best of all, the witch would fail her mission. Carrying that thought to its logical conclusion, Koga realized that in his death, the witch would most likely die also. Her master seemed powerful, impatient, and cruel. He had promised her punishment should she fail. Now, only a simple step stood between him and victory over her, albeit, an indirect one.

  But was that victory? Surely there was more purpose to his life than just to die. He had been spared. He still drew breath. He was the last of his family. The last one eligible to take Kenza’s throne. Perhaps others had died so that he might live. Maybe there were those still out there who were praying he had lived. Whose lives were counting on him. And how was he to know if he ended it all?

  He grew tired of this world of darkness he found himself in. At so many junctures, all he had wanted to do was see just a shred of light. To hear his own voice speak just a single word. Even a small sound would have sufficed, but even that had been denied to him. Being broken like this, he wondered what good he could be to anybody. Yet, again, how would he know if he threw it all away. And so, he had to ask himself: could he live like this?

  “I can,” he resolved. “And I will.”

  A spark of hope arose in his heart as he thought the words. All the suffering he had been through would not be in vain, and neither would the deaths of his family members. He would see this through to whatever end awaited him.

  Climbing back down the ledge, he continued to check for the window. He went over every area he could reach again and again. Reaching high and low, he refused to give up. The storm raged on, but his will prevailed. And, in turn, his resolve was finally rewarded.

  He had found the window at last.

  With renewed vigor, he reached both his hands upward into the windows bottom ledge. With arms fully extended, he forced himself to step off of the ledge. Calling upon his feeble body once more, he barely managed to lift himself up into the window, trying to take care to not make too much noise.

  Moving the window drapes to the side, he climbed inside. Listening carefully, he first determined if he was in the right room. The witch’s faint snores confirmed it.

  Moving slowly towards her bedside, he took the knife he had found in the kitchen from the grip of his teeth. Feeling its sharp edge and tip, he gripped it in anticipation of the moment. The time had finally come.

  He stood over her now. Raising the knife above the sound of her snoring, he knew the knife was right where it needed to be. Right where Koga wanted it to be. Exactly where he had dreamed of it being: just inches above the insufferable woman’s throat.

  Fear, excitement, and rage boiled up inside the young boy as he thought about how much she had put him through. How much she had taken from him. Now, all that could be made right. With a simple downward thrust of his blade, she would finally pay for her monstrous crimes.

  Koga lowered the knife. Then, he stopped it just short of her throat.

  The witch had not stopped him. Nothing had, in fact, except himself. Every fiber of his enraged being demanded her death. All save a small part of him.

  He could not remember who had given him his moral compass. There was no voice there to remind him of good and bad, or the difference between right and wrong. Yet, for some reason Koga could not fathom, he knew that what he was about to do was wrong. The witch deserved death. Worse than death, even. But not like this. Not by his hands.

  She had tortured him. Taken his voice and sight from him. Invaded his mind and stole his precious memories. Yet despite it all, she had not taken his innocence. She had not corrupted his core.

  Koga withdrew his knife from her throat.

  “And I won’t let her,” he thought.

  The witch opened her eyes.

  In a fury, she sprung from her bed. Koga’s presence with a knife had frightened her, and her moment of vulnerability worsened the effect of the fear. In her rage, she swiped at him with her hand. Her grossly elongated fingernail swept over the boy’s undamaged ear. Koga silently screamed in pain, as she screeched in fear.

  “How dare you! How DARE you!” she bellowed, seemingly shocked by what had just happened. “I’ll make you pay, I will!”

  Chasing Koga across the room, Koga lifted his knife upward and outward to defend himself, ready to wildly lash out at her should she come closer. Gaffing at his attempt to defend himself, the witch called upon her powers to pin him to the wall. Then, she wrenched the blade from his hand.

  “Planning to gut me in my sleep, were you?! Well let’s see how well you like it!” she screeched, drawing the blade close to his face, leaving another scar to remember her by.

  He could smell the foul stench of her breath as she drew in closer. Writhing to get away, Koga wondered if this was his end. If so, so be it. He would face it calmly. He was tired of cowering at her hand. He refused to give her the satisfaction of basking in his fear any longer. Calming himself, he stopped moving.

  The old witch screeched out in anger.

  “You’re more clever than I thought, boy. I’ll give you that. But it doesn’t change the fact that this will be your last night on this planet. I was going to be kind and take the last of your memories slowly. But not anymore.”

  Reaching out her hand, she began the process of siphoning out the last of his memories. Memories he had suppressed, but ones that were still in the recesses of his mind. He gripped his head in pain.

  The process was excruciating, and beyond agonizing. Worse than this, the process was killing him. Koga silently screamed again as more pain seized him. Pain unlike anything he had ever felt before.

  The witch laughed as she worked her magic. Second by second, her cackling became less and less audible to the boy. Within a minute, he would be completely deaf, memoryless, and more likely than not, dead.

  What happened next was hard to understand. Koga could make sense of it, but in the aftermath of the moment, there was not any time to. Regardless, it was a moment of destiny. A strange sensation rushed through Koga as it happened.

  A bolt of lightning came crashing through the tower’s roof and onto the young boy. He could not see it, but Koga knew, deep down, what it was. He did not understand what was happening to him, or even feel the voltage. In fact, he felt nothing at all besides the sensation. A sensation that heightened his senses greatly. In that moment, he could actually see again. Not as one might normally see, but in an almost supernatural way. The energy around him was connected to him somehow.

  Meanwhile, the blast had both temporarily blinded the witch, and had caused some of the roof’s debris to fall onto her. Hitting her hard in the right shoulder, she stumbled and fell to the ground. In pain, and with her concentration broken, she stopped the siphoning process. Koga was relieved to see her fall.

  From the main bolt, smaller amounts of electricity had flown out into the area around Koga. Striking the witch and other things in the room, the lightning continued for no more than two seconds before disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. The witch, although in great pain, was still conscious. Koga’s hearing was still leaving him, but the pain and siphoning process was no longer putting a strain on him. When the lightning ended, so too did his strange sight. He was once again blind.

  As he could hear the witch rise to her feet, an all too familiar voice could be heard from the holo transmitter in the corner.

  “You finally have the information I seek? Good. My patience was beginning to wane. Give it to me.”

  Somehow, the electric blast had activated the transmitter sitting in the corner of the witch’s room. The how or why was not important now. What was pressingly important, however, was the presence of the dark lord now standing before him, demanding an answer of the witch.

  She did not have his information. Koga could tell from the sound of her labored, almost frantic breathing. She was scared. Dazed and confused, she began to try and conjure up what to say, but everytime she began a sentence, she quickly ended it.

  “I’m waiting, witch,” the dark lord demanded.

  “My- my Lord. You see, there was... well, you see, I don’t have...”

  “You called to tell me you don’t have the information?”

  “No! No, of course not. I have the information you seek,” she hastily replied.

  Koga knew she was lying. She, like him, was scared. He stood motionless, waiting for the event to unfold.

  “Tell me,” the menacing master demanded.

  In a panic, she again began to siphon Koga’s memories. He could feel her invasive magic start to penetrate his mind. This time, however, he fought her. He fought her with all the might he had. She would not get her way. Not this time.

  “The place you seek is... is...”

  She searched. And searched deeper. Then deeper still. Still, Koga blocked her every turn. Despite how deep she searched, she still could not find a shred of what she was looking for. Yet that was not what the dark Lord wanted to hear. There were no excuses with him. No apologies. No second chances. Koga knew this, and inwardly rejoiced at her downfall.

  She lied yet again.

  “The key you seek is in King Kane’s secret vault. I’m not sure where it is, but you’ll find it there. I assure you.”

  “...Excellent. Pray, tell me, what does it look like inside the vault?”

  “It... is quite fanciful. Its walls are overlaid with Zygillium. It houses many treasures... it-”

  “-Is a shame you are attempting to deceive me,” the dark entity interrupted, seemingly disillusioned with the idea of letting her continue in her lie.

  “My Lord, no! I’m not lying! This is what the boy’s mind-”

  “Silence.”

  The witch became silent. So silent, in fact, that Koga could not even hear her breath. Something was happening to her. Something, he recalled, the dark lord had promised her would come should she fail.

  “I have been to Kane’s vault, and it looks nothing like how you described it.”

  The dark lord’s voice went from an aggravated tone to an ominous one.

  “You’ve failed me for the last time.”

  Now, all Koga could hear was the sound of flesh and bones crunching, crumbling, and grinding together. It was a horrible thing to hear. A disgusting thing to hear. The witch was being twisted and balled up in ways no human body should ever contort. She wheezed out, seemingly trying to scream, but could not. Now she was the mute one, and no cry for help was going to save her from this cruel fate. The dark lord laughed a maniacal, haunting laugh, apparently enjoying the witch’s suffering.

  It was at that moment that Koga realized he might be next. This dark Lord wanted him dead as well, and in no time at all, he gathered he would be the one being crumpled up to death. Quickly, he ran from the room as fast as he could, kicking the chair he found in front of her door out of the way. He all but rolled down the stone staircase towards the bottom floor, praying with all his might that he would not find himself in the dark lord’s clutches.

  From the bottom of the stairs, Koga could faintly hear what was happening above him. After the dark lord had had his fun, he ended the witch’s life with a blood curdling crack to her neck. Her body fell to the floor with a thud, as the holo transmitter continued to gently hum. A modulated, equally disconcerting voice projected itself from the transmitter. Koga’s heart skipped a beat at his question.

  “Shall I go to destroy the child?”

  The dark lord paused for a moment, contemplating the offer.

  “Let nature take its course. He will be dead within the week.”

  The dark Lord chuckled.

  “Besides, what threat can a blind, deaf, mute, and memoryless boy be to me anyway?”

  *

  Ozzeray, a Tiggerash, was quite a noticeable figure; therefore, even when he walked alone, he kept his cloak on, and his hood up to conceal himself. Standing over one and a half meters, the white furred, feline featured warrior was quite an intimidating figure. Although he knew he was quite capable of defending himself, he made no effort to display his strength.

  Trekking through the grassy plains alone, he grew tempted to remove his cloak. It was quite uncomfortable, but he knew better. His enemies would never rest, so neither would he.

  As he ascended one of the many grassy hillsides, an oddity appeared on the horizon. The setting of the suns made it hard to see details, but the silhouette stood out clearly. From what he could make out, it looked to be a castle.

  Night was approaching, and he was running low on supplies. Game and vegetation were scarce, and protection from the elements was hard to come by out here. Although he questioned whether he should, the Tiggerash decided he should investigate the castle from a cautious distance.

  The closer he got, the more he realized that the castle looked abandoned. Much of it was in ruins, and parts that were not looked quite unstable. Perhaps this would be suitable to stay the night in, but he would not decide until his curiosity had been fully satisfied.

  He was now approaching a singular, wooden door. The energy he felt surrounding the castle as he drew nearer was unsettling. Disturbing. Evil. His inner morgath could sense the darkness that emanated from this place, and it made him feel like he did all those years ago during the purge. It resembled the energy so closely, in fact, that flashbacks of his old life came flooding to the forefront of his mind. The Tiggerash disallowed them, and inwardly reminded himself to stay focused.

  Ozzeray inwardly prepared himself for battle, though he kept his concealed blade sheathed. Carefully, he tried to open the door in front of him. With ease, it slowly fell open, allowing the last of the day’s light to rush in and illuminate part of the dark room in front of him. He then entered, his bare paws allowing him to walk in quietly.

  The inside of the castle reflected its outward appearance: old, tattered, and worn. As he moved through the old stone hallways and cobweb covered rooms, he came to an area that was slightly more attended to. The floors looked cleaner, and the absence of a particularly offensive odor that had been prevalent until now was a welcome change. These signs of cleanliness, however, could only indicate one of two things. Either someone was once here, or...

  “Someone is here...” the Tiggerash concluded.

  Ozzeray continued to stealthily move through the castle, carefully examining each dimly lit room he came across. It was not until he came to a large, common room like area that he came across something that caught his eye. Things that helped explain the dark energy this place had.

  Ancient books of witchcraft, vials of potions, stone slabs, and torture devices lay among common household goods. Droplets of blood lay stained on the stone floor, which looked fairly fresh. Among these were more vile things that Ozzeray had no knowledge of, yet their aura was dark. Normal energy from magical items felt nothing like this, and it was obvious to him that an evil magic user was here. He decided to withdraw his blade, and continued searching.

  Exiting the area, Ozzeray came upon the kitchen. It smelled of rotten, exposed food. Pests buzzed about the area, feasting on bits of sustenance left over on countertops and dirty pots and pans. To his superior sense of smell, it was nearly blindsiding. Tolerating the smell, he scanned the kitchen for more details.

  His previous discoveries in the castle, coupled with the putrid, distracting stench in the air had been quite attention consuming. So much so that he had not even noticed the life force energy that was in the room until he was right on it. Startling him, he pointed his activated sword towards it.

  “He’s... just a boy,” Ozzeray thought, looking down at the frail, pale, blonde haired child.

  The child looked around in confusion. Ozzeray pulled his sword back. Deactivating it, he looked around, ever vigilant of his surroundings.

  “Are you alone, boy?”

  The child did not respond. Instead, he began to slowly crawl around him, feeling the walls and the air as though searching for something. Something was wrong with him.

  “Boy, did you hear me? Are you alone?”

  Still, there was no response. Ozzeray began to suspect a trap. Not intending this to be his eternal resting place, he lifted the boy up to his feet, and demanded an answer.

  “Boy! Answer me!”

  Now that the child was in the light, he could see the boy’s cold, gray eyes. The various scars on the boy’s face and ears startled him. His expression was one of fear, desperation, and rage. An aura of pain surrounded the boy, and through his morgath, Ozzeray could feel what the boy felt. It caught him off guard to the point that he did not even notice that the lad was striking his arm, trying to make him let go.

  “You... you can’t see, or hear or... who... who did this to you?” Ozzeray said aloud, not understanding why such a horrible thing was done to this sickly child.

  He let go of the boy, and the child began to crawl as fast as he could away from him. Deciding to forgo his own cautious nature, Ozzeray sheathed his sword. Quickly, he reached out and gently grabbed the boy. Using his morgath, he tried to use a calming technique on the child. Sadly, he had grown rusty in using the technique. The child still frantically fought him.

  Ozzeray was unsure as to how to get through to him. The boy would need to be calm if he was to communicate using his morgath, but even that seemed like a long shot. Communicating telepathically required both parties to have a great deal of control over their inner life force. Either that, or one party had to have incredible skill to break through to the other, and Ozzeray doubted his own skill in the art was that polished. Especially now, given he had not used it in years.

  At this point, Ozzeray began to worry that, in the child’s current state, he would die from stress, and how ill equipped his body was to deal with it at this juncture. He needed to think quickly, and come up with a plan of action. Desperately, he looked around the room to see what might aid him.

  There looked to be no good food left in the kitchen. Otherwise, giving the child something to eat would probably act as the olive branch he needed. Feeding him with the last of his own rations was an option, but the food itself was something only Tiggerash enjoyed. To the human mouth, it would taste awful, even if one were starving.

  A pale of water lay in the corner of the kitchen next to a mop. As Ozzeray continued to look around him, his eyes came back to the pale. At that moment, an idea came to him.

  Carrying the boy with him, he walked over and obtained the pale. As the boy fought him, he placed the child under his right arm, with the boy’s torso angled upright. Placing the boy’s hand out, he awkwardly used the pale to pour water on it. The boy struggled even more after being surprised by the water. After pouring it, Ozzeray quickly grabbed the boy’s hand again, and made a motion in the boy’s hand. He was trying to use sign language, or what was commonly known on this world as “sign speak,” to communicate.

  The boy did not understand, so Ozzeray tried again, using the same pale of water. Still, the boy fought him. So he tried again. And again. And again. Finally, the pale had run out of water. Not being deterred, however, he went and filled it, with the boy still under his arm. At this point, the boy was getting incredibly tired. Ozzeray hoped he did not pass out before finally understanding what he was trying to do.

  As Ozzeray poured the water, followed by the hand motion, the boy stopped moving. The Tiggerash, concerned that the boy had passed out, looked at the young boy’s face. Thankfully, the child was still awake. More than that, he looked to be thinking. After a few seconds' pause, Ozzeray took the pale again and repeated the process. The young boy put his own hands together, and replicated the same hand motion Ozzeray had made.

  “That’s it!” Ozzeray exclaimed, overwhelmed with excitement. “That means water!”

  Ozzeray moved through to the common area, and grabbed one of the books off the shelf. Setting it in the boy’s hands, he let him feel it. Then, removing it, he tried the same thing he had with the water, using a different hand gesture to signify a book. The boy, fully understanding now, made the same motion with his own hands.

  Although he still needed to look over the rest of the castle, Ozzeray opted to attend to the child’s needs first before proceeding further. After doing so, he found the mangled corpse of the witch upstairs, and how the boy was completely alone in the castle. With time, he hoped to understand the full story of what had happened here.

  Being on the run, Ozzeray had wanted nothing more than to find a place of refuge. In this castle, he believed he had found it. More importantly, this boy needed aid. Aid that would require much more than just a full belly. The boy had been stripped of everything most individuals took for granted. What had been done to him, an innocent child, churned Ozzeray’s stomach. He had not been so disgusted since witnessing the genocide of his own people, and although nothing could be done for his dead kinsmen, something could be done for this child. Like himself, perhaps this child would go on to right the wrongs done to him and those he loved.

  And so, Ozzeray would see it done.