The darkness seemed unending, and despite the subtle glow of bioluminescent life, Wesley still had trouble seeing. He longed to feel the sun on his skin again. He longed to see the world in a warm yellow light rather than the dim, cold tones lining the cavernous walls.
He found himself keeping his eyes closed more often then not, since the strain to see had been contributing to a ceaseless headache that had been looming over him for at least a couple days by now. It felt like someone was slowly squeezing his skull harder and harder just to find out the exact amount of pressure it would take to explode. Despite his efforts, though, Wesley's paranoia had him opening his eyes every few minutes to chase away the imaginary monsters he felt creeping closer to him in the darkness.
Wesley's heart felt heavy as he waited. He'd never done well with being alone. Even after his mother had passed, he'd always been around other people.
Being alone was a silent terror always looming in the back of Wesley's mind. He didn't do well with it. In a way, people had always been his armor. He didn't have to know them well. Just their presence seemed to be enough to chase his demons away.
It'd been a while since he felt this alone. Even while drinking himself half to death after he lost Valentine to the Kraken, Wesley preferred to do so in a crowded tavern. It was as if other people were the brace that held his head above water. Without them, he was beginning to drown.
He tried to fight it, but even the best swimmers tire out eventually. All he could feel were the walls closing in around him. They shrunk smaller and smaller until they crushed his ribs and made it impossible to breathe. The only things that helped were thoughts of Valentine.
But even those were fleeting.
Not even the shadow creature—or whatever it truly was—had been around in days. Not since it took form.
Wesley suspected it had taken a lot of energy to manifest as it had. It was probably regathering its strength. At least, that's what Wesley hoped. He didn't know what he'd do if even the creepy mist entity left him on his own.
He had no explanation for what the mist showed him. Nor of what it could be. There was a darkness to it that was undeniable, but to Wesley, it didn't feel altogether evil. It was difficult to describe, but at the very least, its presence helped distract the merchant from his own darker thoughts.
Peeling his eyes open, Wesley looked down at his arms. Bruises left by the King's men were visible even in the pale light. They ached, but he had been through worse.
After telling the King everything he wished to know about Valentine, Wesley had been abandoned in his cell. A guard brought him food once a day but that was the only contact he was provided.
Now he was stuck here. He had no use to the King other than blackmail at this point, so he was doomed to sit alone in his cell until something—anything—happened.
He had already tried escaping, but it was no use. There was nothing nearby he could get ahold of to try to pick the lock on his cell. There were a few loose rocks within reach, but Wesley quickly learned that the water around him was preventing him from getting enough momentum going to actually inflict any damage on the metal bars. Even if he could escape the cell, he doubted he'd be able to navigate the twisting network of tunnels without getting caught. He didn't know if such a design was intentional for preventing escapes, but it certainly did the trick.
There was nothing he could do but wait and hope that Valentine had a plan. Either that or that a miracle happened. He wasn't sure which was more likely. All he hoped for was that it would happen soon. He could feel his sanity slipping.
Wesley could only imagine what Valentine had gone through in Hell, but if it was as personalized as it seemed for him, Wesley figured this situation had to be close to his own version of Hell. He was isolated from everything, cold, and had no idea if Valentine was okay.
Wesley was acutely aware of the fact that everyone he cared about had a habit of dying, and it was not a comfort in that moment. Though, he supposed, according to those guards, his father was presumably still alive and practicing magic somewhere.
Somehow that felt worse.
It meant he'd willingly left all three of them behind: his mother, his sick sister, and himself. All to live some fantastical life while his family struggled to make ends meet.
Of course, there was always the chance that they weren't talking about his father. There could've been some sort of mix up. Another man with the same name or something of that variety. Maybe Ambrose really was dead somewhere. Or maybe he was just a regular non-magic wielding deadbeat drowning himself in a bar on the other side of the world.
Wesley may never know the answer.
A part of him didn't want to.
As far he was concerned, his family was dead. There were very little excuses his father could spew to change his mind. If they ever met again, that is.
A sound drew Wesley from his thoughts. His eyes snapped to the dimly lit tunnels and strained to see what was coming. Out of the darkness, several guards emerged. This confused Wesley, since his dinner had been delivered hours ago and it was usually only one guard that brought it.
"What's going on?" Wesley asked as one of them inserted a key into his cell. The man tugged open the door and looked down at Wesley with a piercing dark gaze. Despite being surrounded by water, his throat had gone dry. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
"His Majesty has requested your presence in the throne room," he said as his compatriots crowded into Wesley's cell and placed firm grips on both of his arms. Before he could react, his hands were secured behind his back by a pair of manacles. He didn't fight them, hoping that after they led him out of the tunnels, their guard might be lowered enough for him to yank himself free of them and make a break for it.
It was a long shot, but it was the only one he had.
----+------+----
A/N
Question of the day: What food would best describe your hair?
Mine is giving me a more purple-y variation of red leaf lettuce vibe at the moment.
Happy Thursday,
-Mora Montgomery