Prisoner

Chapter 11

Adaryn

Warden took a cautious step into the room, unable to hide his nervousness behind his intimidating appearance.

"Hello, Adaryn." He said. His voice was a deep baritone, matching his physical description impeccably. As he stepped closer, taking small steps, I felt myself begin to tremble. I was not scared, though. I was furious.

"Do not take another step!" I boomed, my weak and trembling voice surprising loud. The Warden halted. His face twisted into a hurt expression. Obviously, my words had offended him. I was his son, but this man was no father to me.

"Son, I-" He tried to start, but I intervened.

"Do not call me that! You left us, your family! What kind of father does that? " I shouted at him.

"Not a sufficient one, I know."

I was silent, his words sinking in, but having no effect. Warden took advantage of my moment of quiet.

"Adaryn, I truly am sorry," he apologized, "If I could go back and fix my mistakes, I would. I am sorry..."

I scoffed.

"No, you are not sorry. You left out of your own free will, leaving your own flesh and blood to live in poverty for years! Do you know how hard that life was?" I challenged.

For several minutes, Warden remained silent, staring down at the floor. I lay on the comfortable bed, still feeling terrible, because of the illness, not how I had acted. I could not tell if he was being sincere about his apology, so it was easy to assume he was not.

I had a reason not to believe him, either.

* * *

12 years ago

I lay on the floor of my family's house, reading a very interesting novel on the history of Malor. The current section was describing, in exquisite detail, the series of wars that had divided the four regions of the country. In the North was Strongmoor, where King Zeddikus resided in a castle of stone, along with his only heir, his son named Nekros.

In the East was Linbridge, whom had been at war with Westerburn, the Western region, for a hundred years. The two regions always seemed to be waging war against each other for some reason or another, whether it be the Wildleash Woods, a port on the Lochbay ocean, or just a show of strength. In the end, it was known the two provinces would fight themselves to ruin, the war having no victor.

Finally, in the South, was Blackland, which was by far the most peaceful region of Malor. Though the most highly guarded prison was nestled among it's seemingly endless plains, the citizens had not gone to war for nearly five hundred years.

I was nearly a third of the way through the thick book when I heard the front door being thrown open. My head jerked up, only to behold my father walking through the portal. He seemed to be unusually distraught. Lines of worry arched below his eyes and across the forehead. His loose robes were filthy and torn.

"Father!" I called with a bright smile, closing the book. He looked at me, a small grin coming to his face. I could tell that something was wrong.

"Hello, Adaryn. Where is your brother?" He replied. I stood.

"By the fire in the other room." I told him.

"Go fetch him."

I made my way to the larger room across the house, my bare feet patting the stone floor. The room was furnished with cushioned chairs, a rough rug, and a blazing fireplace almost as tall as I was.