Page 45 of Eluvonia (Rift of Ages #1)

AERIS

I t feels like weeks have gone by since I was thrown in here, though it’s only been days.

Time has a funny way of slipping through the cracks when you’re stuck in a place like this.

The cell is damp, the air thick with the stench of mildew and old stone.

My body is stiff from the cold stone floor, and I’ve been lying on my back, staring up at the iron bars of my cell, wondering if anyone will come.

Declan pops in from time to time with updates, but each visit is brief.

He talks to me as if everything will be fine, like I’m not rotting away in this cage, like he can somehow fix everything.

He says he’s dedicating all his time to finding evidence to free me, but I can’t shake the feeling that we’re running out of time.

I haven’t seen Kaida, not once. Declan says he’s busy, focused on the case, but I wonder.

Wonder if Kaida even cares. Wonder if he’s abandoned me, too.

Then, the sound of a door opening. I shoot up from the stone floor, my heart racing, praying it’s Declan, or anyone who’ll bring me food, or news, or something other than more darkness.

My breath hitches, but the footsteps that follow tell a different story.

Two guards round the corner, their armor clinking with every step. My heart drops into my stomach.

This can’t be good.

I stand there, frozen, as they stop in front of my cell, their eyes cold and unfeeling.

“Come with us, Fae,” the guard on the left commands, his voice a rasp. I gulp, my throat dry, trying to swallow the knot of panic that’s tightening in my chest.

One of the guards unlocks the door with a metallic click, and before I can take a step back, the other grabs my arm, his grip like iron.

My feet stumble against the stone as they drag me out of the cell.

I try to gather my bearings, fighting against the sudden rush of fear and confusion. Where are they taking me?

My pulse quickens as they lead me through the dark halls, their heavy boots thudding against the floor. Every step feels like a weight being added to my chest, pressing the air from my lungs.

Then, it hits me—the harsh reality.

They’re taking me outside.

I fight back with every ounce of strength I have left.

I plant my feet, twisting and turning in their hold, trying to break free.

My nails dig into the guard’s arm as I kick, bite, and struggle, but they’re relentless.

They drag me forward with no mercy, each step pulling me closer to something I can’t escape.

When the doors open to the outside world, I’m blinded by the harsh sunlight.

It hits my face like a slap, warm but suffocating.

I blink, trying to adjust, but all I feel is the weight of the air pressing down on me.

The summer breeze that follows is no relief—it only adds to the suffocation in my chest.

The guards drag me forward, the clinking of my shackles reverberating in my ears.

Each step feels heavier than the last. The weight of the chains on my ankles drags at my spirit, sinking me deeper into the abyss of hopelessness.

Their grip on my arms is ironclad, relentless.

I fight against it, twisting my body, trying to break free, but the more I struggle, the tighter they hold me.

My chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, panic creeping in as I begin to realize there is no escape. This is it. There is no turning back.

They stop in front of a third guard, a broad-shouldered brute with an expression as hard as the stone walls of the castle.

He holds a long, heavy chain in his hands, the metal gleaming in the harsh sunlight.

My mind spins as he wraps the cold, unforgiving chain around my shackles, the tightness making my wrists ache, the sharp pull dragging me forward before I can fully process what’s happening.

“Walk,” the guard behind me barks. His voice is low, gruff, as though he’s done this a thousand times before. No sympathy, no hesitation.

I glance around, my heart hammering in my chest. Panic rises in my throat like bile.

The city stretches out before me, and it’s nothing like I remember.

The cobblestone roads are uneven and worn, each stone a marker of time, of history, of everything I’m about to lose.

The buildings lining the street are imposing, some old with ivy curling up their stone facades, others newly built, clean and sharp.

But it’s the people who make my stomach twist. They fill the streets like a wave, pressing in on me from all sides, their faces twisted with malice.

Some of them have wings—massive and an array of different colors, that seem to shimmer with a life of their own.

Others are without, their human forms just as cruel, their eyes full of disdain.

As I’m dragged through the streets, I catch glimpses of scowls, sneers, mouths set in lines of hatred.

Some drag their feet, others stare blankly, but all of them watch me as though I’m less than them.

The air is thick with the hum of energy, an undercurrent of anticipation, and something darker, more primal.

The tension is suffocating. I hear a drumbeat, steady and deep, echoing through the streets.

It starts low, reverberating through the cobblestones beneath my feet, and every step I take makes it louder, like a countdown to my end.

And then, the jeers begin.

“Die, Fae!” A voice calls out, its sharpness cutting through the air like a blade. It’s a deep voice, rough with years of hate, and it’s immediately followed by another, then another, until they all blend together in a deafening roar.

“You should’ve burned!” someone yells from the crowd, their words thick with venom.

“Fae whore!”

The insults slice through me, each word hitting harder than the last. I flinch, the sting of the words curling around my chest, but it’s not just the words.

The things they throw at me—rotten fruits, jagged stones—are what really hurt.

I see a rock sailing through the air, but it narrowly misses my face.

The sound of it hitting the ground behind me is almost worse than the near miss itself.

Then a tomato hits my side, splattering across my skin, its acidic juice stinging where it connects.

I wince as a rock hits the top of my skull, the sudden burst of pain sharp and nauseating.

The crowd seems to grow louder with every step, their hate a living thing, tangible and suffocating.

Rotten fruit pummels my body from all sides.

A piece of rotten apple hits my cheek, leaving a wet, sticky trail.

Another tomato strikes my leg, its impact sending a shock of pain up my body.

I try to keep my balance, to keep my head high, but the world feels dizzy and chaotic.

The sharp sting of rocks against my flesh makes my blood run hot, the cuts from the stones only making it harder to ignore the pain.

I feel my face flush with a mixture of humiliation and anger, my body instinctively jerking with every hit. The chain keeps pulling me forward, the guards relentless in their march toward my execution, their grip unforgiving.

I try not to cry. The tears burn in my eyes, threatening to spill, but I fight them back. I can’t let them see me break. Not now.

But then I catch a glimpse of their faces—the faces of the crowd.

The hatred is so palpable that I can almost taste it in the air, thick and rancid.

A woman near the front spits on the ground as I pass, her eyes gleaming with such raw disdain that it makes my stomach turn.

Another voice rings out, “Rot in hell, Fae bitch!”

Every insult, every rock that strikes me, it all feels like it’s carving me open, like they’re not just throwing things at my body, but at my soul.

Each step feels like an eternity, dragging me through the city’s narrow streets, lined with merchants and citizens who watch with eager eyes. Some of them even cheer, raising their fists in the air as if I’m nothing more than a spectacle, a show to amuse them .

The noise doesn’t stop. The drums beat louder, and the chants of “Die, Fae!” fill my ears until my head spins. I don’t fight my chains anymore.

I feel the tears, though I don’t make a sound.

They just fall, silent, hot against my skin, as I’m dragged forward, the weight of the crowd’s hatred pressing down on me from every direction.

The world is a blur of shouts, hatred, and fear.

I look around desperately, searching for any sign of Kaida, any glimpse of Declan. But there’s nothing.

Are they watching? Did they give up on me too?

When I reach the town center, my feet are raw.

The cobblestones, jagged and unforgiving, have shredded the soles of my skin, each step like a thousand needles pushing into me.

Every footfall is a fresh stab of agony, and I wonder if the pain will ever stop.

I want to scream, but the jeering crowd drowns out everything.

The sharp stones beneath my feet feel like they’re biting into my bones, the pressure in my head an endless throb from the blows I’ve already taken.

The world tilts, swaying around me as if the earth itself is disgusted by what’s happening.

I can barely stand as they drag me forward, each step another mile of suffering. My body feels like it’s made of glass, fragile, ready to shatter under the weight of it all.

I don’t know how long it takes to reach the wooden pole, but by the time I get there, I can barely feel my legs.

My breath is shallow, the air thick in my lungs as though I’m suffocating under the weight of the crowd’s hatred.

They stop me in front of the pole, and I can hear the chain rattling as it’s undone.

The sound echoes like a death knell, and the moment it’s removed, I stumble forward, my body shaking under the strain of everything .

The guards shove me against the rough wood, their hands pressing me so hard against it that I can taste the dirt on the pole.

My body jerks with the force of it, the rope biting into my wrists, but it doesn’t matter.

I don’t matter. The world outside of this moment—of this place—fades away until there’s nothing left but the sound of my ragged breath and the endless jeering of the crowd.

The ropes dig into my skin, and my arms are going numb, but I can’t move, can’t struggle. Every part of me is too tired. My limbs feel like lead, my body like an empty shell. The world presses in, suffocating me from all sides.

The shouting dies down slightly, replaced by a booming voice that cuts through the noise like a blade, clear and cold.

“Aeris, Líer of my son,” the commander’s voice rings out, and my stomach twists.

“You have been charged with espionage and aiding the Fae rebellion. Your sentence is public execution by whipping.”

The weight of those words sinks into me, their finality crashing over me like a tidal wave. I try to breathe through the tightness in my chest, but it’s like the air has turned to stone, pressing in, choking me.

The crowd falls into a silence, the kind that feels like they’re all waiting for me to break.

To beg, to scream, to do anything but stand there, waiting for it to be over.

But I can’t. I don’t have the strength. I’ve been running on fumes for days, maybe longer, and now all I can do is stand here and wait for the punishment that’s been promised to me.

I bow my head, unable to hold it up any longer, and I let my chin fall to my chest. There’s nothing else to do.

No more fight in me. My body trembles against the pole, but it’s not from fear anymore.

It’s exhaustion. It’s the knowledge that I’m out of time, out of hope, and nothing is going to stop what’s coming.

The first crack of the whip echoes through the square, and I don’t have time to prepare.

The sting of it hits me like a bolt of lightning, searing my back with such force that my whole body jerks, the pain so sharp and intense that it’s all I can do to stay standing.

I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but the tears are already there, blurring my vision, running down my face like a river I can’t control.

Another crack, and this time I can’t hold it in.

A scream rips from my throat, the sound raw, desperate, like something I don’t even recognize.

It feels like the whip is tearing me open, carving me into pieces.

The world spins around me, and all I can hear is the whipping, the crowd, the blood pounding in my ears.

I don’t know how many times it happens, how many cracks of the whip it takes before I’m no longer sure of where I am.

My body is nothing but pain, raw and exposed.

I can feel the blood pouring down my back, soaking into my clothes, mixing with the dirt and the filth of the streets.

But none of it matters. The pain, the blood, the screams—they’re all part of the same thing now, and I can’t escape it.

I close my eyes, bowing my head again as my body trembles under the force of it.

The crowd is still screaming, their hatred a constant hum in my ears.

The world feels distant, as if I’m floating outside of it, unable to feel anything but the pain, unable to process anything except the agony that fills my every breath.

And then, just as I think I can’t take anymore, I hear it. A sound above the chaos. A roar, fierce and primal, ringing out from somewhere in the distance .

A male with massive black wings soars down from the sky, landing with a force that shakes the ground beneath me.

I look up and smile weakly, as relief floods my body.

He came.