"'Well then, shall we dance?'
Fate asked, grinning.
Her soulful eyes were sharper than a lance,
Powerful, blinking.

Who was I to refuse?
She took my hand, urging me on,
Resistance was of no use
For her hands were gentle, holding me like a pawn.

We danced, always seeking to gain the upper hand;
In a battle of elegance, none seems to rise above the other.
With a silent spell, she guided me to a little land,
Where she hoped I would become lost in her wonder.

I stayed a fool; I resisted!
Not knowing that all was futile.
Soon, upon her list of victims, I was listed,
Among names stretching many a mile.

And in the heavens, I was judged
As a man who forgot the roads he had trudged.
For I should have known, at a glance,
That it was foolish to leave anything to chance."
- Author.

*

Pontus gently poured a flask of blue liquid as he wrote notes with his other hand. He was conducting another experiment.

It had once been a hobby to pass the time, but now that he was king of all Alruntia, he had been working on more serious projects, like weapons. He liked to think he was doing it for his kingdom.

Of course, even if what he was doing was actually for his citizens, he wouldn't let a single one of them know about the atrocities he commited here.

Especially ones concerning that boy. The one he had taken prisoner years ago. The dungeon was finally breaking his spirit. He chuckled to himself. The seasoned warrior he had encountered long ago in the plains of the surface world had withered into a helpless, pitiful little boy. No one, even the sturdiest soul, could endure the torture without slowly going mad.

He grinned to himself. He really was a great architect. Who could have known how easy it was to make someone mad?

The Merman king turned his attention back to his experiment. He put down the flask that had once held the blue liquid and observed the larger one that now contained it.

The liquid in the larger flask was once a sickly green. Now that the blue liquid had been poured into it, it had turned cyan.

He brought the flask to another table and pulled out a small cage. Inside it was a Lisces, a lustrous fish that was invulnerable because of its metallic scales. It was for this reason that Pontus was trying to create a chemical that could possibly react with the fish's skin and break down its scales to hopefully extract the mysterious metal.

If it did react and form a compund, Pontus could separate the chemical from the metal and maybe use it to improve the armor and weapons of Alruntia's warriors.

Tedious as it was, his work was important. He knew that, but that wasn't the main reason he kept going.

There was an intercom above the table, propped on the wall. He pressed a button. A voice purred from the speaker.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

He snorted. He didn't care much for the fancy titles bestowed upon him. He hadn't failed to make that clear; his subjects usually had brains the size of barnacles.

"Bring the boy here. It is time."

*

Hylassa dodged and sidestepped her way across the rough terrain as her sense of urgency grew.

It was Fate herself that had given her the gift of Frost. And through it she beckoned. Hylassa felt a force tug on her, growing stronger by the second.

As she emerged from the canyon into a flat plain of sand, foreboding halted her step. She knew - only Fate knew why - but she knew that she was flying headlong into the very disaster she was trying to avoid.

From the start, she had considered her mission as suicidal, one that would end horribly for her. Saving a boy stuck in a dungeon deep in a powerful kingdom ruled by a shrewd king? Impossible. But Fate had her way. She always did.

Right now she wanted to curse aloud at that damned deity, but she trudged on, this time more slowly. She didn't want to sink deep into the sands, never to be seen again.

Soon, she saw a strong glow on the horizon. She had to blink a few times before she realized that it wasn't one large beacon, it was actually a cluster of varied lights, each with a different color and brightness.

After taking a few more steps, she stopped. The clump of lights was clearer now, and now she saw that it wasn't what she had thought it to be.

It was a city.

*

Enoch sat in his cell, his mind close to madness.

All he wondered about now was when the torture would end.

Maybe I can end it myself, he thought, eyeing the electric bars of his cell.

His hands were close to gripping them when he heard footsteps approaching. He hurriedly sat back on the floor and pretended to be asleep.

Before, he had been caught awake during his designated sleeping hours. The guard had slammed him with a barbed rod dipped in venom that only caused pain, not death. The fact that he was going to live did not comfort him as he had writhed in agony on the cell floor.

The pain had been worse than when he had been zapped by the bars. The agony was enough to slowly, but steadily, begin his descent into madness.

Sometimes, like when he had gripped the bars, he had been in the middle of a bout of madness. The brief episodes of sanity between those bouts provided him comfort. But it was too small. It was better for it all to end.

The footsteps grew louder, until the guard appeared, holding a set of keys. The jangle of metal was a glorious melody to his ears.

Am . . . am I free?

His wish seemed confirmed as the guard lifted one of the keys and opened the door to his cell.

"Out."

Enoch responded to that one command with a liveliness that stood out starkly from his dull, hopeless surroundings. He scrambled up, too happy to speak or even thank the guard.

But as he stepped out, the guard kicked him in the knees. Both of his kneecaps shattered under the sheer force of the merman's muscled, scaly leg. Enoch felt his legs giving out from under him. He fell.

His knees screamed. For a moment his throat threatened to do the same, but with sheer willpower, he pushed the cry down. He was afraid of what the guard would do to him if he cried out.

The guard looked at him, stoic as ever, and gripped one of his arms. Then he turned away and proceeded to drag Enoch across the dungeon floor.

Enoch swore that he could see a smirk on the guard's face right before he looked away. It did not mean well for him. And, of course, it did nothing to remove the deep hopelessness he felt.