The Chronicles of Marum - The Primordial

Zaranler - Part I

ACT I (Zilevo)

- "Do you have anything to say, Zilevo?" Bucu's voice cuts through the air, cold and expectant. He stands, a dark figure beside the wooden coffin, his thin, parched lips twisted in a melancholic expression. Críngu, Urum, and Gálidus accompany him, forming a silent guard, their faces marked by shadows of pain and respect. - "Zilevo. Zilevo," repeats Bucu, insistently.

However, I can't respond to his call. Lost in my own world, I am plunged into the depths of my memories, seeking refuge, a fragment of peace amid the chaos of emotions that beset me.

The others notice my detachment. Críngu exchanges a worried look with Urum, their eyes revealing their helplessness in the face of the fact. Gálidus, more restrained, maintains his stiff posture, but his eyes can't hide the unrest that invades him. They know I'm there in body, but my essence is lost somewhere distant.

Bucu, noting my absence, sighs with pity. He understands the magnitude of my suffering. There's a hesitation in his movements, a brief moment when his hardened stance softens.

In this moment, silence settles, all present sharing a collective mourning, but also respecting my particular grief.

My mind wanders, reliving past moments, trying to cling to any vestige of comfort that these memories may offer.

- "We can't stay here, Hónker," my voice comes out firm, while with a gentle gesture, I cover Lésnar with the blue cloak I created, a symbol of protection and affection. My eyes briefly wander over her bloodied face, a severe concern transpiring in my look. - "We need to take Ózis, Críngu, and Lésnar with us. It's our duty."

Hónker, with his expressive emerald eyes, lets out a low growl, more like a moan. - "Raww!"
I observe Hónker with appreciation. - "No, Hónker," I say, approaching him. - "You're already too injured to carry all of them alone." - My hand gently rests on his shoulder, feeling the tension of his muscles under the coarse fur. - "And I... am as exhausted as you," I reflect internally, while leaning against the cold, damp wall of the cell.

Slowly, I slide down the wall until I sit on the stone floor, bringing my hand to my chest where the puncture wound from the recent battle burns. I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of the situation: the exhaustion that permeates every fiber of my being, the responsibility that weighs on my shoulders, and the concern that tightens my heart. I know we don't have much time, but my body doesn't respond to my urgency.

Each of us, severely injured in the brutal battle against the Jailer, faces our own silent fight against death. It's a macabre and precarious dance, where every wrong move will result in death.

My eyes seem to travel through time. Hours pass with each blink.

Críngu, with his torso brutally marked by deep cuts and punctures. His face, swollen from the blows, hardly resembles the warrior I know. The palms of his hands, pierced and bloody.

Beside him, Hónker exhibits similar wounds, his large and strong body now covered in cuts and blood. A superficial cut crosses his ear, while his foot is severely punctured.

But it's Lésnar who worries me the most. She lies near me, her frail body dancing a slow and inexorable waltz with death. Her arms covered in deep cuts, and a mortal wound tears from her rib to her abdomen.

My heart tightens at seeing her like this, so close to the final abyss. - "I won't let you die in this filthy cell," I think, a silent promise circling my mind. With a cruel effort, I force myself to stand up, ignoring the pain that courses through my body. Every movement is a test of endurance, but the determination to save Lésnar propels me. I stand up, leaning against the cold wall of the cell, my hand pressed against my injured chest, breathing with difficulty. My eyes, though clouded by pain, remain focused on Lésnar. - "I can't, I won't let her die here," I assert. It's a promise I make to myself, to her, and to the Universe that challenged us.