Chapter Two

Something doesn't feel right. Arya lingers at the mouth of a cave, staring down at the entrance of the temple, her wolfish senses awakening. She lifts up her head and listens closely, like all wolves do when hunting for prey. There are voices coming out from the interior. Deep voices of men ring in her ears, and occasionally a female warble. Arya is too far away to determine the contents of the speech and the speakers; she will have to venture far into the temple's arms.

One foot after another now, do not make a sound. Arya walks cautiously into the cave, her hand trailing against the walls. Colorful paintings of the history of Ochyae span across the interior, but she does not have time to admire the art right now. The air gets colder as she walks deeper and deeper inside. Her breath condenses into visible vapor and goosebumps dot her skin. Frost hangs on the walls and ground now, radiating a magical blue light. Arya notices that they aren't glowing as majestically as always.

The voices are clearer now. A putrid smell fills the air, mixed with the smell of frost and ice. The door to the central room is slightly open, allowing Arya to sneak a peek inside. Two men are inside the chamber, and a horrible crimson stains the icy stone floor. It doesn't take her long to put two and two together.

“She's dead.”

“Good riddance, hopefully this will teach the savages a lesson.”

Without a second thought, Arya dashes into the room. The idea of her mentor, the priestess, hurt and helpless on the floor clouds any attempt of logic. She stands before the two bulky men, glaring into their eyes, growling a wolf's growl. The crest on their armor clearly indicates that they are the enemy.

“Get out. Now,” she barks, her knuckles bundling up into tight balls.

“Or else?” one of the men asks, lifting his eyebrows in amusement.

“I don't want to start a fight.”

The other man starts to laugh. “You're clearly outnumbered.”

Well, he's right about one thing. Her powers may be enough to hold off one enemy, but concentrating too much on one will eventually get her captured or killed.... Unless she has someway to keep both of them in her sight.

“Try me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Then focus on your feet first.”

The two men look down to see that their feet has been frozen to the icy floor. They smirk, cutting through the ice effortlessly with their axes. “Is that all you can do?” Both of them scan the perimeter, but Arya and the priestess is nowhere in sight. Too late, they realize, as a sharp knife cuts through the straps of their armor. The steel clang noisily onto the ice.

“Split up,” one of the men orders the other.

The two morph into gigantic lions and dash towards opposite ends of the room. Their keen senses are up and alert, straining their eyes to see amidst the frosty interior. Arya masks her presence, breathing lightly. This isn't going as planned; she has to find a way to herd them towards the center. She mutters a spell, and walls of ice begin to form around the edges of the room, closing in on the two lions. Except they aren't closing into the center, they are still trying to span out.

“I can smell her now!”

Arya has been concentrating so much on her spell that she forgot to mask herself. She feels an impact as one of the lions pounce, and within seconds she is pinned to the ground. The back of her head feels warm and pain shoots down her body. She struggles underneath until she feels a cold metal against her throat.

“Should we kill her?”

The alpha lion thinks it through, his eyes never leaving the girl's body. “No, we're taking her with us.”

“But the priestess-”

“Finish her off.”

Arya can see a splatter of blood as she slips away into darkness...

“Your name?”

A voice rings in Arya's ears and white fills her eyes.

“What does it matter, my name?” The voice that comes out of her mouth is weak and raspy, like the energy has been sucked out of her.

A sudden zap jolts her body and she jerks in pain. Blots of red dot her eyes as she coughs uncontrollably. The metallic taste of blood and saliva mixing in her mouth brings her senses back to reality. She stands in a room, her arms and legs chained to the wall.

“What is your name?”

Arya bites her lip, but doesn't answer. Another zap rushes through her body and the urge to cough comes up again. Screams echo off the white walls of the interrogation room, but the enemy stands emotionless.

“She's losing a lot of blood,” one man states, staring at the stained floor in disgust.

“Put her back in the cell, we want her alive,” the leader commands. “She's the key to the destruction of those mongrels.”

So this is what has become of me, reduced to a being even less than human. Arya doesn't resist as an old man approaches her. She looks into his eyes, but instead of angry pupils she can only see those speaking an apology. Suddenly, it is like the pain is nonexistent,but the energy to conjure spells at will has not returned. Her eyes dart around, but finds nothing. That leaves only the chains.

“You're not as stupid as we thought you are. The chains drain your magical energy, but not to the point where it can cause your death.”

“So you specialize in mind reading.” Arya glares at the commander, a small growl in her throat. “Dive deeper into me, then. You'll find your answers there.”

“As much as I like to get this over with, I'll wait,” the commander replies, a sadistic smile on his mouth. “I like to watch my prisoners in pain.”

Oh, does he. For the next few days, Arya has been drifting in and out of a world of life and death. Every new day brings a new form of torture, but after every session she is healed back to full health. The commander watches on, smiling wider at every scream, laughing louder at every piece of information she leaks. Ten days later, she lies in her cell, exhausted, her body begging for freedom.

“What's in store for me today?” Arya asks her chauffeur as the first rays of sunlight filters into the cell.

“Put on the dress.”

Arya puts on the brown sack obediently, her eyes never leaving the escort. “Answer my question.”

“The commander has gotten all the information he needs. From now on you'll be one of the prince's servants.”

“I'm sorry, I would rather die than work for your prince.”

“You have no choice.”

And so it begins, a whole new level of torture.