Devouring Hollow Hearts || ONC'24

》Chapter One《

She felt the scalding heat of boot treads mashed against her neck - as if the Ceirvani brute still held her to the molten iron within the mines.

One moment, the scent of ore and sage caressed against her cheeks in thick swathes of smoke and the next-

A cold sweat bled through Chyrie's turbulent visions as she backed away from the roaring forge. Her calloused fingers traced over the phantom pains, leathery skin distorted from those moments before she broke.

Brutal scarring on her neck and shoulder remained, marking her a traitor.

She swallowed roughly, unwrapping and tightening the bandages on her palms. Powdered for grip. The steam baking her exposed frame a soothing lull to the chill in her bones.

Chyrie blinked - purging both molten flesh and wicked screams from her senses - and gripped a canister of water. Despite the taste of ash, she managed to ground herself, gaze bearing down on her sloppy cast in the corner.

The iron had split, cracking down the center and leaving a useless scrap of metal in its wake. Warped beyond repair.

Exhaling sharply, Chyrie slumped against the cavern wall and tipped her head back. A prison. Her home, her most prized possession, had become nothing more than a prison.

Iron bars had become the teeth of Courmasse Mines, a legendary forge now bound to the whim of her captor. Chyrie flinched as the wretched gate opened, its squeal as grinding as a newly hatched drake. It took every ounce of strength not to snarl at her visitor.

Without lifting her gaze, she could make out the sweeping green tunic, sliced on either side for breathability. Gold embroidery, finely sewn loafers, as if the rock beneath his feet couldn't stain them in an instant. Such finery was a waste in the mines, sure to be torn or scorched.

Yet the billowing charcoal smoke evaded those thin legs, wafting over the short frame with each step.

Her fingers gripped the gravel beneath her.

Those idiotic, tractionless shoes stopped next to her anvil, still rippling with heat waves.

"Chyrivelle," a sinister voice purred.

A guttural growl rumbled in the back of her throat, but Chyrie refused to lift her head, to answer such a summons.

No. Not for him.

"Rise, Chyrivelle," he said with pure command this time.

The oath sizzled in her veins, but she managed one deep breath, then another. No. The word dampened the static of his demand.

Fingers much too pale gripped her chin and yanked upwards.

Chyrie hissed, her scalp scraping against stone walls. She was certain the hatred brimming within those topaz eyes was mirrored inside her own. She couldn't fight the snarl peeling her lips back, the urge to sink her canines into that boney hand all-consuming.

"Your highness," she ground out.

Spitting in his angular face - those hollowed out, vengeful eyes framed by a sharp chin and cheekbones that rivaled the cliffs of Sikshan forest - was a mistake.

One Chyrie took pride in as her saliva dripped from those jutting features.

Her skull connected with bedrock, his hand on her throat.

"You wretch," he snapped. "You ungrateful wretch!"

"Mind yourself, Anryth. I might be contained by the blood oath, but I am not without my claws."