** Could an undying love blossom in the ruins of a shattered world? **
And so the world of men was lost
and a new one, our world,
was born.
- Morrígan
Goddess of the Battle
of the Túatha Dé Danann -
4th cycle anno Bellum.
The Second World War...
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An unpleasant mixture of blood, sweat, urine, and fear hung in the damp air of the prison vault. Zane sat slumped against the wall of his tiny cell like a beaten dog. His injured leg stretched out, the other pulled close to him, his upper body bent forwards. Only the chains of cold-forged iron held him upright just enough to prevent him from toppling forward and lying on the dirty stone.
The sobs and moans of the slaves mingled with the rattling of the chains and the coughing of the sick. Prisoners filled the cells. While above their heads, goods, including people, were offered for sale like unique rarities, others waited to be led onto the stage to change hands down here.
No doubt Kaye would have taken pity on these creatures.
The younger brother would have gone as mad as he was angry at the sound of their fear and would have done anything to free them. After all, it had also been his crazy idea to free the treacherous creatures and lead them to freedom that had ultimately robbed him of his life: the humans.
But who cared about that?
Kaye had died an outcast as a nothing and a traitor who had voluntarily followed him to damnation. No one would remember an insignificant Caith-Sith, let alone his name. There was no gravestone to mourn at, even if there was someone to weep for her.
Her parents had died long ago, and everyone she called friends had been killed in the first or second war or had turned their backs on them after exile. Back then ... when he took the blame, even though he had done nothing to deserve the dishonor.
Zane felt empty and powerless. He didn't even know how much time had passed since he had been dragged into this hole like a dog on a leash. His will to fight had been extinguished when the dagger had been pulled from his coat pocket.
He had briefly wondered how the weapon he had searched for so persistently could have ended up in his coat. And yes, the first answer that came to his mind was that of the sneaky Strigoi. She was so close to him... And he was distracted. But the thought vanished as quickly as it had come.
There was no point anyway. No one would believe him whether he denied it or not. He was an apostate, now facing death without justice having been served. He was the only witness who had witnessed the murder and seen the fleeing figure in the catacombs.
