Page 2 of Chains of Nightshade

"Did you hear? The raiders brought in fresh ones from the western villages."

"Poor bastards. At least they had a taste of freedom first."

Freedom. The word feels foreign on my tongue. What would I even do with it? The mansion's walls press closer, the purple crystals' glow making my head swim. My legs threaten to give out, but I force myself upright. The silver tray still needing to be delivered to Lady Morana.

A young slave girl – maybe twelve – scurries past with a bucket of water. Her eyes meet mine for a brief moment before darting away. She's still new enough to pity me.

"Move along," the guard beside the great hall door orders. "Lady Morana doesn't like cold dinner."

My fingers trace the apple's bruised skin. Even this discarded fruit has known more of the world than I have. It grew on a tree somewhere, felt sunlight, rain, wind. All I've known are these festering halls, these endless tasks that drain what little strength I possess.

My reflection stares back at me from the polished silver tray – a ghost with sunken cheeks and dark hollows beneath dull eyes. My blonde curls hang limp and thin, framing a face that belongs more to a corpse than a living person.

The kitchen master cut my rations again last week. Said I wasn't worth the food I consumed. I didn't argue, he was right.

I press my forehead against the cold stone wall of my sleeping quarters – if you can call this cramped closet that. The bruised apple sits on my threadbare blanket, a mockery of sustenance. My stomach cramps, but I don't reach for it.

My chest tightens. I know I have a father even though I don't know his face. Is it handsome? Did he search the woods, calling my name – a name that probably wasn't even Vera? The dark elves never bothered telling us our birth names. Why would they?

I sink onto my thin mattress, the straw poking through worn fabric. The apple rolls toward me. Even now, I can't do it. Can't just stop eating, stop breathing, stop existing. My body betrays me, clinging to life when death would be a mercy.

The walls seem to close in, their purple crystal lights making my head spin. My stomach cramps, a familiar empty ache that never quite goes away. How many more days until my body gives up? A week? Two? The thought brings more relief than fear.

Death stalks these halls, and finally, after all these years of running, I'm ready to let it catch me.

2

AUREL

The chains bite into my scales, a constant reminder of my imprisonment. I flex my muscles against them, hearing the familiar clink of metal on metal echo through my underground prison. For centuries, I've lived in darkness, trapped by dark elf magic that pulses through every link of my chains.

The stale air reeks of dark magic, a constant reminder of that cursed night. My coils shift against the cold stone as memories flood back. I'd been hunting in the Shadowmist Forest, tracking a herd of moonhorn deer, when the first binding spell hit. The magic had crackled through the air, raising the scales along my spine.

"Careful now," one of the dark elves had whispered. "This one's different."

I'd laughed then, arrogant in my power. "Different? I'll show you different." My tail had lashed out, catching two of them across their chests. But there were more. So many more.

Their spells had come from all directions, each one designed to weaken, to bind, to chain. My magic, usually flowing like a river through my veins, had sputtered and died. The chains theywrapped around me burned with ancient runes, each link forged with spells meant to drain and suppress.

"The great Aurel," their leader had sneered, yanking my head up by my hair. "Not so mighty now, are you?"

I'd spat in his face. The beating that followed left marks that took weeks to heal.

They'd dragged me here, to this pit beneath their mansion, securing me with more chains than necessary. Their fear was obvious - they knew what I was capable of. What I still am capable of.

"Keep him alive," the leader had ordered. "He might be useful someday."

Useful. As if I were some tool to be stored away until needed. My fingers trace the runes etched into my chains, feeling the magic pulse beneath them. They'd thought they'd broken me, but they'd only given me time. Time to plan. Time to wait.

And I've waited long enough.

"Another day in this shithole." My voice comes out as a rasp, unused and harsh. Above me, footsteps echo through the stone—the sound of my captors going about their meaningless lives.

I coil tighter, my tail scraping against the rough floor. The motion sends waves of discomfort through my body, but I welcome it. Pain keeps me sharp. Keeps me focused on what matters.

"When I break free..." The words taste bitter. How many times have I made this promise? The dark elves' magic courses through the chains, burning wherever they touch my flesh. "I'll crush every last one of you beneath my coils."

A drop of water falls from somewhere in the darkness, hitting the stone with a steady rhythm that's driven me to the edge of madness more times than I can count.

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