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It was hard concrete, polished and mounted that my feet rests on

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It was hard concrete, polished and mounted that my feet rests on. My boots were gone and with it the stash of daggers. So was my vest. The cotton shirt that I wore was thin enough to allow Dorin's tension to seep through.

He tried to wiggle his massive body through the coil of ropes around us, binding us both with our backs to each other. He was restless and of no help as it only kept squeezing us in outcome. Which infers that whoever had us, is a professional. It must be an acquired skill to be this good with ropes.

Rays of the sun reach through a small oval vent from atop, it indicates that we had spent the night here. Knocked off like a humble hostage.

Drugged with fatigue I rest the back of my head against the nape of his neck, as if on queue he halts his struggle. With tied legs and arms, there wasn't much room for a relaxing pose than this. We stay like that for minutes then hours before I ask-

"What are you thinking?"

His muscle tensed, he could've been dozing off but my question seem to startle him waywardly. We seldom discussed emotions, ample of our nights and weeks flew by while coming up with strategies and their feasible executions rather than a mutual convertge.

We did unspokenly discovered during this arduous journey that fate laughs at our plans while we defy its existence.

We were exposed without hope and aspirations. Nearest we have ever been to the soil of Antar. But in an underground bunker betrayed by-

"I will kill her"

Smiling I nod, though he can't see me.

"If they don't kill us first" I enhance.

He turns grunting, my head falls to the side.

"What do they want from us? And are you sure that you saw castle with them?" He asks, strained with hurt and betrayal from a girl he fell for.

Rolling shoulder to relieve a nerve I glare at the grey wall. It was made up of square block bricks and was laced with moldy watermarks.

"It's a parable of my eye. It can't lie- she looked apologetic for a reason"

"Such keen observation young man, must have known that little Castlena would never settle for a feckless chap" the bearded man strides in with assured steps and a beer jug in hand.

My line of vision follows him like a deranged predator. Forgetting that I am a useless heap of victim from his perspective.

His actions were enthusiastic and his smile wide. The reds of his hair resembled that of a fox's fur. He slides and sits in a lone chair while we looked up at him with our behind matted to this hard cold floor.

"Who are you?" I enquire with the last ounce on civility I had, he sips on his drink. His healthy white jerkin is held by a belt and golden links. On cue, a girl with ashen hair and a boy with soft pastel features walked in and stood on either side of him. With guarded expressions and a loyal stance.

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