Faterii Dawnhollow. Bring your blade forward.

The slender limbs of the young Delphixi trembled compulsively with dread rather than fear as he unsheathed the diamond-white sword, whose rune-carven metal blazed in the thousand lights which gleamed far overhead. Slowly he paced forth and stood before the massive disk of cold, cruel blue steel, out of which there vigilantly peered two eye-like carvings that burned with silver flame. A pregnant hush fell over the entire interior of The Factory, it seemed, as Faterii inserted his blade into the first of the niches to be refined and tested by fire. He held his breath and halfway closed his eyes, for he knew that if his workmanship did not endure the fire, both it and he would be immediately captured and very likely incinerated. Imperfections, however small, were never once overlooked or pardoned by the bionic Officers of The Factory, which kept ceaseless patrol over every passage and production line; every chamber and every doorway.

Most of all, they kept watch daily over the arch which led down a plummeting stairwell into the dungeons far beneath The Factory itself. Here were the prisoners kept: either those awaiting execution or "trial", or those whose Magyk was being slowly channeled through the labyrinth of many scarlet chutes beneath the ground, finally being used to fuel the massive Darke Towere, the supreme guardian of The Factory. Faterii inwardly shuddered as he allowed his eyes to stray out the bulletproof window at his left, wandering for a thousand miles across the vast and barren plain to where the Towere stood; a rearing dark shadow which seethed with the crimson light of many barred windows. He had known many other workers at The Factory whom had been sent to their doom to that same Towere, and of course none had ever come back. Very often now, the Dungeons were completely empty. So many had rebelled. Yes, so many, and so many had died as a result.

That was, all save one particular soul which Faterii always grieved in secret for. Sweet Rylley, he thought, shivering outwardly as he pictured the unspeakable torment that his fourteen-year-old twin sister was doubtlessly enduring a hundred fathoms beneath his very feet. I would give my own life if only she could have hers- and her freedom. But this is Darke. They know nothing of freedom, and when they do, they care for it not.

By some miracle perhaps, Faterii's marvellous sword passed the test of fire and he was presently allowed to return to his small and claustrophobic cell at the northernmost end of The Factory. Having been given his meagre rations (consisting of rotten meat and bread spangled with black mold), he made the evening trek drearily, lowering his gaze to the ground so as to avoid eye contact with the many Officers who patrolled that interior footpath.

Once inside his cell, he closed the heavy steel door behind him and drew a soft gasp of relief, his hands trembling as he unfastened the buttons of his tattered cloak and cast it aside. Against his bare skin there lay a large and crudely-carven jewel, blazing with innate illumination which filtered in ameythst-coloured shafts throughout the entire cubicle. He touched it briefly with his bleeding fingers and once more breathed a sigh as the hideous memories of his day at The Factory vanished as swiftly as the morning mist on the highlands. The wounds of his hands and face from where the Officers frequently struck him, either for punishment or amusement, presently faded. He felt a new and remarkable strength returning: one he must always keep secret.

The Benkel Crystale. Faterii still recalled the aftermath of the Desolationes in Boundlesse, and how Coillia Burneheart- the only mother he had ever known- had slipped this marvellous gem of healing and memory round his neck, and bid him to keep it hidden eternally, no matter what the circumstance. And so Faterii had done, for he knew even its greater power. Of all the Voide Crystales, the Benkel Crystale was the most potent; granting its possessor a clear glimpse into the mind and heart of every living being in all the Realmes, even those in which clefts had not been opened. Never would Faterii forget the terror he had experienced when he and his sister Rylley had been abducted by agents of the Darke Towere, brainwashed, and enslaved to become worker models in The Factory. Would they find the Benkel Crystale, and would they seize it for their own use? If such a horror came true, doubtlessly Lighte's one remaining asset would be lost forever. Evankyanesse would never be redeemed and rebuilt, and Darkeness would forever claim the upper hand in its drunken and bloodthirsty lust for ultimate power.

Once more Faterii swiftly covered the Benkel Crystale's luminous form with his cloak, bathing the narrow cell in bleak and gaping Shadowe. Again his own thoughts of rebellion against The Factory and the Darke Towere had begun to arise in him, but still he shied away from them, knowing the gruesome and disastrous end that each previous attempted revolution had come to. He could not act on those thoughts. At least, not yet, for he knew what the Officers would do if he made such an attempt himself: he knew they would kill Rylley once and for all. A dreadful realisation came upon him as he resolved that his sister's fragile life carried far more weight than his own freedom. Yes, far more weight indeed.


~~

Rylley Dawnhollow covered her scarred face with her hands, biting her lips until the blood came to avoid giving forth a scream of both agony and rage as the thongs of the fiery whip lashed her again and again. She could hear the raucous and guttural laughter of the Watcher as he derived great pleasure from her pain, his scarlet eyes burning with amusement. At last, just when Rylley felt she could remain stolid for no longer, the Watcher let fall his whip and stepped away, sardonically kicking the small and bloody form lying on the ground as one might kick the corpse of an animal.

For a great length of time Rylley lay there in a gathering pool of blood, clutching desperately at the tiny pale healstone she kept concealed in one pocket. Her wounded fingers could scarcely clasp it. At last she felt the searing pain of the whip's lashes begin to ease, ever so slightly, but it was enough to drag herself to a sitting position and scan the vast Dungeon for any sign of the Watcher's return. He seemed nowhere in sight, but she knew that they could easily weave Shadowe-spelles of Unseene to conceal their presence.

Covering her bloodied back with a beige cloak, Rylley doggedly crawled across to shield herself behind a massive outcropping of rock, which gleamed red in the geysers of distant flame as if doused too with blood. Her eyes roved over the frightening mouths of each scarlet tube surrounding her in the colossal circular room. Beneath each chute there lay a shallow basin of still water, which she knew possessed the ability to turn one, essentially, into stone the moment their skin made contact with it. She shuddered as she recalled having watched many times as her fellow Delphixi were placed in these basins, their heads inserted backward into the mouth of the tube; and they had writhed and screamed in fathomless agony as the minds were probed and scried, all their knowledge and Magyk channeled instantly to the Darke Towere. When the victim was finally released, they often died within the hour from the pure shattering of their minds and wills.

Thankfully, this had never been done to Rylley- at least, not yet; but she knew she could not dodge the horror forever. Time was running out. So many of the imprisoned Delphixi worker models had been killed already, their small and broken bodies presently incinerated in a communal bonfire. Rylley covered her mouth to keep from retching in fear and disgust. How long could she keep on hiding? Yes, how long?

"How long?" A voice, echoing her own words, spoke close to her side then: a dreary and mechanical voice it seemed, utterly lifeless and devoid of any hope. Frightened, Rylley whirled and found herself gazing on a peculiar and unfamiliar figure. It appeared to be a young girl about her own age, yet she was neither human nor Delphixi- hybrid, perhaps; for her form was somehow graceful and catlike, and indeed a slender and tapering tail was curled round her as she lay huddled in a ball beside Rylley. A mass of dark and unkempt curls surrounded her proud and stately head, from which there burned two large eyes, as brilliant as refined gold.

"Who are you?" Rylley demanded, fearing that this was yet another of Darke's cruel tricks that would soon lead her to her demise.

The girl hesitantly uncurled, her countenance as expressionless as a graven image, yet resentment flared in her striking eyes. "I am Darke Flower," she responded at length, in a deep and husky voice which laboured over the unfamiliar accents of the Delphixi language. "At least, that is what they call me now. It is a name I deserve."

Rylley's eyes narrowed. "What do you want with me?" she snapped, drawing sharply away.

"Nothing, you idiot. How dare you think that you wield the Power to free us from this miserable prison?" Darke Flower reached a hand out as if to strike Rylley's cheek, but then ironically drew back, a look of genuine dismay entering her eyes at her own words. "What did I say?" she gasped, almost compulsively, beginning to tremble as she lay upon the ground and shrank rapidly away from Rylley. "What have I done?"

Rylley gazed at her in silence, completely caught off-guard. "Who are you?" she found herself asking aloud, her curiosity swiftly growing alongside her scepticism. "How came you to be here? You are not Delphixi."

Darke Flower released a sarcastic laugh. "I betrayed her," came her answer, delivered in a bitter snarl. "A curse was placed on my head- a Shadowe-spelle." Her eyes burned with hostility before once again she passed a hand over them. "Don't come near me," she wept in despair. "I am a murderer- I am Darke. You will die if you come near to me."

Strangely Rylley's justified fear had begun to diminish, leaving her with a nonsensical compelling to violate Darke Flower's tearful warning. On an impulse she reached into her pocket and withdrew the small healstone, shielding it in her palm, before reaching a gentle hand across to lay the stone against Darke Flower's forehead. The latter flinched and gave a single violent writhe before abruptly quieting, her voice becoming nothing more than a soft and wordless whimper. Rylley kept on rubbing the healstone against the pale white face until at last Darke Flower drew a long, shuddering sigh and wiped the blood from her lips, blinking widely round as tears streamed silently down her cheeks.

"I tried to escape," she confessed in a trembling whisper, closing her eyes as she reached her hand towards Rylley's, as if either to implore or restrain her. "They cursed me.. cast me here. My children were taken from me, and I've never known them." Wrenching sobs tore from Darke Flower's throat: sobs of fury and suppressed revenge, and above all a tearing grief. "And I can't get to them," she continued, her voice growing louder as her rage rekindled suddenly into a wild flame. "Morpheus, and Alyssa, and Felix- Darke will hold them from me no longer."

"Are they your children?" Rylley queried, careful to keep her voice low and even, lest she aggravate this strange and volatile personage.

Darke Flower nodded savagely. "Yes, and they belong to no Darkeness. I'll kill anyone who has ever laid hands on them!"

Hands trembling with doubt at her own actions, Rylley closed her eyes and did not release her clasp on Darke Flower's tense hand as she cautiously entered into the latter's thoughts on gentle feet. She presently drew back in both relief and confusion as she sensed no deception in Darke Flower's tale. "Where are they?" Rylley asked impassively, referencing Darke Flower's children. "Are they here, in the Dungeon?"

"Have I said nothing this entire time? They were taken to the Underrealme, and there is a cleft there. It will only be a matter of time before they're brainwashed into being servants of Darke. All their power will be taken away!"

Rylley's entire form quaked with a frightening combination of dread, doubt, and absurd resolve. "Don't be afraid," she said, softly and gravely, as she clenched Darke Flower's cold hand in a firm clasp. "You'll see them again, I promise. And they will not be corrupted by Darke."

(Coming soon.)