Death is immortality.
Death is your second chance.
Velian Terrashine belongs to a classless society of equality, art and democracy; a land full of creativity and mindfulness. It is in that perfect political system that one wrong movement, one carele...
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THERE WERE THREE OF THEM passing through the iron door with synchronized steps, breaths and movements. Dressed in black and armed with swords and daggers from head to toe, they looked totally inhuman. Tall, powerful and dark; extremely muscular and inked with tattoos all over their arms and necks; their faces masked. Only their eyes were visible. Thankfully, they didn't cast a look around; their stare didn't so much as falter at the sounds of horror and surprise and panic that waere coming from the people around them. Instead, they acted like the crowd didn't exist, moving toward their destination without wasting their time and energy to meaningless things.
They weren't like the masked man who was able to paralyze my mind, chain my body in invisible chains and drag me to the room for the tortures. But they weren't like the red-eyed man who had locked me into the room with the knives either.
As the distance between them and me shortened, Normant wrapped his hand around mine, taking a step closer to me, using his body as a shield against them. His touch was sharp and not at all gentle. When he squeezed my hand for me to not walk away, it almost hurt.
"Don't touch me," I snarled, hoping they wouldn't hear me while they passed in front of us, heading to the center of the room, to the spike-filled bed.
Almost everyone bowed their heads, as if these three men were holy, lords or emperors, something beyond average and in worth of our admiration. Vanensera locked her eyes in mine and I could discern fear in them. Normant was the only one who stood with his head held high, ignoring what was supposed to be right and what was supposed to be wrong. He just stood there, untouchable by their presence.
"Everyone step aside," the taller of them commanded, breaking the silence. He placed his hands on his hips, his black uniform and black hair making him look like the worst kind of nightmare. His neck was almost black too, covered in tattoos that illustrated a black pegasus, its wings wide open.
And like his words were strict orders that no one should dare second guess, they headed toward the walls of the room like perfectly trained soldiers. Even their steps were so silent that didn't provoke any sound, didn't alter in the slightest the tentative atmosphere. I followed their movements, Normant's hand still entwined with mine, silently urging me to follow his example, to fade into the shadows so that they couldn't see me.
The two other men found their way to each side of the bed; the guardians of the prison, the warders of chaos.
"There's someone here who has dared to violate our laws," the one with the pegasus tattoo spoke again, his stare now scanning the whole room, not focused on one person but examining every single one of us. When his eyes found mine, my heart started pounding so fast that I was even shocked by my inability to collect myself. The world stopped existing for a heartbeat.
I couldn't break the eye contact, his stare magnetized me, hypnotized me. Only one look at my side and I could become his pawn, his slave, his pet.
