[1]: Interrogations

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P.S: This is the sequel to The Things Kept Hidden. Please make sure that you have finished reading that book before starting this one, danke.

"How many Shifting Stones do you know about?"


"How long have you been looking for them?"


"Where did you find the stone that your brother has?"


"Any idea where Lord Steve is now?"

Silence stretched on.

Israphel gave a sigh, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced in a circle. "I am disappointed, Herobrine, I will admit it. You were very talkative last time, even if you were less than helpful. Why are you ignoring me this time? It is like you do not even know that I am here."

He waited, watching the man who hung in the middle of the cell, but still no words came from him. Herobrine's head was lowered, his chin nearly resting against his chest as his hands stretched above him, the metal cuffs around his wrist suspecting him from the ceiling of the small cell. His solid white eyes gave off little glow and his expression was blank, his ears apparently deaf. Around his forearm was a smooth black cuff, locked and secured, repressing his magic.

Israphel continued his pacing, his soft boots making little sound on the concrete floor. His deep red eyes watched his prisoner, his cloak rippling from his shoulders as he moved, his hood down to reveal his pale skin. He finally came to a stop in front of Herobrine and moved his hands out from his back, the fingerless gloves he wore catching the light that came from no visible source.

"You do not want me to be here," he said simply, his voice echoing slightly in the small space. "I understand that, but I would be here less if you were responding to me. As it is, you are being more than a little difficult."

Herobrine still did not respond and Israphel's gaze darkened a little. He took a step closer. "I could delve into your mind myself if I wanted to. I have done it before; it would be a simple task. Would you like to relieve some of your more memorable experiences?"

A small flinch shook Hero's body, the quiet clinking of chains betraying his movement. His breathing increased ever so slightly, evident in the small rising and falling of his chest. Though Israphel was not fond of implying such things, he enjoyed playing games; finding the best way to outmatch his opponent. And he was searching for any way to outmatch Herobrine.

"What do you know about the Stones, Herobrine," Israphel asked again, his voice steady and flat.

Herobrine did not speak nor raise his head, though Israphel saw him swallow. He knew, and Israphel had always known that he knew, and his silence was not amusing Israphel. Suppressing a flash of annoyance, Israphel turned without a word and marched out of the cell, his eyes flicking to the small pure black bat perched in the corner that kept a constant watch of the prisoner inside.

Israphel's shoes made no sound on the floors of the complex as he stomped down it and through doors that were constantly propped open but could easily be closed with the flick of a wrist and a burst of magic. He entered one of the common rooms of the complex, walking in until he stopped in front of one of the two large fireplaces in the room. The hearth inside was burning cherrily with flames that banished the freezing cold of the snowy mountains they hid in.

His deep red eyes watched the flames, his ears faintly hearing the voices of those of his followers who were reclining in the cotton couches that filled the room, or hearing the quiet flipping of pages in large, old volumes. Footsteps also reached his ears and someone stepped up next to him in his position in front of the fire.

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