The last thing Zephren wanted to do, was open his eyes. A sudden real fear that he was going to be back in the cell and locked behind that massive metal door held him frozen. His body ached, and his lungs felt dry. He was hungry…and he wanted water; all that Zephren could taste was smoke and ash in his mouth. He exhaled, his lungs sore as he squinted his eyes open, surprised to be alive.
He was lying on a dusty hardwood floor, wrapped tightly in blankets beside a warm lit fireplace. Glancing around covertly, he saw that he was in a large room, dark room. There were a few old and rotting doors on the left of him and no windows.
It was somehow unsettling, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The only furniture was a long wooden table in the middle of the room and the only light was from the small fireplace. Its flickering hue made Zeph wonder how far away he was from the raging city fire.
As his gaze traveled across the wood floor; he could see a large stain where there had once been a rug. There were footprints in the dust that seemed to coat the wooden floors in multiple layers. ‘Who brought me here?’ Of all the questions he had, that was the one he couldn’t help but think.
Zephren’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, flinching as he heard someone walk across the floor.
He immediately shut his eyes, hoping they wouldn’t notice that he was awake. When the clomping sound of heavy boots was safely to the other side of the room, Zephren peered over, staring up at a tall stranger cast in shadows.
His eyes were large and round, orange like fire. His hair was black, layered and spiked away from his dark brown face. He wore a dark trench coat and shirt, his pants dusty and frayed.
“Are you out of your mind?” His voice was deep, and though it was a whisper it echoed in the silence of the room.
He spoke to someone in the darkness that Zephren could not see.
“He’s a siren. You do realize that if he works for Crimson, we’ve led the entire army right to us! You can’t know that it’s him. And even if it is…look at him.” It was a harsh accusation the stranger hissed, the tension making Zephren’s stomach drop.
Zephren tried to slowly crane his neck to see who he was talking to, his eyes searching the darkness. Heart pounding, his focus drew to the other side of the room.
As his eyes adjusted, he could finally make out the lean but muscular silhouette of a man. ‘Has he been there this whole time?’ Zephren swallowed down his worry, watching the shape. The man stood in the corner like a spectre, hidden away in the shadows just out of reach from the fire’s light.
Finding where the top of the man’s head ran nearly parallel to the top of the door frame, Zeph realized the stranger must have been almost seven-feet tall.
There was a heavy sigh before the figure moved, hands behind his back as he stepped into the light.
He had long white hair that reached his waist, shining like silk in the gloom. His face was young and handsome, but older than Zeph he was sure. His paleness held a strange shimmer; nothing compared to his eyes, which were a bright silver. The man’s thick white eyelashes blinked slowly.
He was a siren…just like Zephren.
Dressed completely in black and wearing gloves that covered his long fingers, Zephren was held transfixed. The siren wore a long black leather coat, emphasizing his broad shoulders and narrow waist; his high collar and cuffed sleeves were adorned with elegant clasps. The man stood with a regal, ominous air.
He was beautiful.
The man’s face was grim, walking forward with conviction as he stated, “Well, why don’t we find out?” His voice was deeper than his companion’s; smooth and cold, crashing over Zephren like a wave. His high boots kicked up dust as they moved across the boards.
Zephren felt the shiver coat his spine as the silver eyes slid to meet his. He didn’t have a chance to close them, completely and utterly stunned by the siren’s presence.
“How are you feeling?” he asked Zephren, holding his gaze.
With his voice caught in his throat, Zephren couldn’t help the thought, ‘He’s been watching me?’
As Zeph went to push himself up, he felt his body fill with pain. He gasped, looking at his right hand that was wrapped in gauze, his left arm tucked neatly to his chest in a sling. The thick bandages were stained translucent yellow with dark blotches visible underneath the several layers. With his wounds tight and swollen, Zephren was faced with extent of his injuries.
Staring down at his body, the shock began to wear off. His dirty white rags had been replaced with a large black shirt that reached just above his knees, and dark pants that had been crudely cut off at his ankles. It smelled sweet and floral.
‘Soap?’
Zephren gazed up at the two men, watching them with slight confusion as questions raged inside his mind, going unsaid.
The siren didn’t move, observing Zeph from a distance. “Well? As my friend here so badly wants to know,” he looked over his shoulder to the man with orange eyes, before asking Zephren, “are you Zephren Kyne?” Though he was calm, his voice rang with a certain authority in which Zephren felt compelled to answer.
Zephren’s brows furrowed as he sucked in a breath. “I am… How do you know my name?”
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