TW: Description of violence

They tortured and beat him badly.

His face was so swollen he could barely open his eyes, just narrow slits through puffed flesh. Bruises layered over bruises, some black, others already turned yellow-green. Blood crusted at the corners of his mouth. They took pleasure in tormenting Valis, as if breaking him brought them amusement.

Finger Cutters Gang burned the skin of his back with hot irons and glowing embers, branding him not with symbols, but with painful, ugly, bubbling welts that oozed and tore open again every time he moved. They twisted his fingers and toes with slow, cruel precision, delighting in the snap of bone and the muffled cries he tried to stifle. Every movement became agony, and every breath was a struggle against a body screaming in protest.

But the pain didn't stop there.

All his dignity was stripped. When he collapsed from exhaustion or injury, they forced him to crawl through filth, through mud, and through whatever was spilled from the buckets they upended over him. They mocked him with sneering smiles and spat words like venom:

"So this is their proud heir? This is the Sea People's son?"

Every insult was ripping apart his past, reducing his noble lineage to a joke. His captors made him eat spoiled, maggot-infested food, then watched him gagging on every bite, laughing when he vomited, and forcing him to eat it again.

At night, when the pain faded to a dull throbbing and he lay half-conscious in the dark, the name haunted him.

'It's all that bastard Raven's fault.' "Raven... Raven... Raven..." Valis was whispering quietly like a mantra, forever wanting to carve that name in his memory. He would rub his wrist, thinking about the leather bracelet given to him by Raven. It used to be one of his most precious possessions, now merely a symbol of betrayal, lying somewhere in the Ladven castle.

"Is he saying he wants another beating?" laughed the bigger thug and started kicking Valis lying on the ground, until he lost consciousness.

After a week, Valis began to lose his mind. Of course, no letter from his family arrived. They cut his hair, urging his family in the next letter to act, but their patience was running low.

Valis slowly realized that only death awaited him. Either from these men or the Shadow Army of Ladven.

...

One day, the door opened and the thugs stepped inside, carrying a pot of water. Valis already knew it wasn't soup: he could see the steam rising from the boiling liquid.

The larger of the brutes looked particularly displeased. The shorter captor turned to him and said:

"Relax, I'll talk to him."

He leaned in so close to Valis that the prisoner could smell his rancid breath.

"Imagine this, a little bird told us your noble house fell ages ago. Should've said so right away! Even the Shadow Army isn't looking for you anymore. This is your last chance to make yourself worth something, to give us a reason to keep you alive."

He leaned in further, his voice dripping with scorn.

"Haven't we given you a roof over your head? Didn't we feed you? You must have some gold hidden somewhere. Now's your moment to share it."

But Valis had nothing. He simply lowered his head in silence.

The shorter brute was already kneeling next to Valis, with the pot in his hands.

"Here?" he poked Valis's face. "Or maybe... here?" he muttered, tilting the pot. The first drops of scalding water landed on Val's hand.

He jerked it back instantly, hissing from the pain.

The thug let out a cruel laugh.

"Come on, this is hilarious! Let's put him on his stomach."

Moments later, he was sitting on Valis's back, straddling him, and slowly began pouring the rest of the pot's contents onto the higher part of his back. Tears streamed down Valis's face as the searing pain tore through him.

The torturer leaned in one last time, bringing his mouth close to the prisoner's ear.

"Are you sure you won't tell us?"

But before he could hear the answer, the taller thug lost his patience, grabbed a filthy wooden plank leaning against the wall in the corner, and swung it with all his strength, striking Valis in the head.

Val blacked out once more.

"Hey, did you kill him?" the other asked.

"He's still breathing," the first muttered.

"Should we just finish him off?"

"Here? No. Not worth cleaning the mess. Let's drag this thing out of here."

In grim agreement, they stuffed Valis into a burlap sack. One of them slung the bundle over his shoulder, and together they carried him outside.

At some point, Valis regained consciousness but couldn't see anything, trapped in the darkness of the foul-smelling sack. One thing he knew: he wasn't going back to that filthy cellar. They wouldn't keep him alive any longer.

In his mind, he still cursed Ladven. It had all begun with them.

After some time, seconds, maybe minutes, something felt different. He felt himself rising.
As if... flying?

'Is this death?' the thought flashed through his mind. 'Is this the end?'

And then, he knew... sudden impact. Piercing cold feeling.
Ice filled his lungs, and the waves shattered the sack.

He was thrown off the cliff and into the ocean.

The water was icy, as if the entire ocean had conspired against him.

Valis thrashed beneath the surface, struggling to free his limbs from the remnants of the sack that clung to him like chains. His lungs burned with the sharp sting of cold water flooding them, each breath a searing agony. His heart hammered violently in his chest, like a relentless drumbeat in the suffocating darkness. Around him, there was nothing, only the darkness of the deep sea and his own terror.

He opened his eyes underwater. And then, fury consumed him.
Burning fury.

He screamed beneath the surface, a silent roar that churned the water around him. He cursed Ladven with every ounce of his being, every betrayal, every wound inflicted.

'May the storm swallow you all,' he spat in his mind. 'May your hearts shatter under the weight of what I feel now. Pain. Loss. Betrayal. May you suffer as I suffer. As those I loved have suffered. As my mother suffered...'

Deep within, a storm began to rise. One born of anguish and wrath, swirling and growing in the depths of his spirit.

He had nothing left. No one left.

Only rage.

And the sea.

He felt something had changed. As if the water... was answering him. As if it raged with him.

The ocean turned black.

He was still sinking, deeper and deeper, farther from the surface, but this wasn't just drowning. He felt the current accelerating, unseen forces clashing around him. As if the very depths had stirred, as if the seas itself was alive.

And then he felt it clearly: something was slowly pushing him upward.

When he finally broke the surface, the sky above was dark grey, almost black, veiled in storm clouds. The exact color of his eyes. And he was at the heart of that storm.

Somewhere deep inside, he understood: perhaps the sky and the sea had given him strength. Perhaps their fury was for him.

Something had awakened in him. Something that kept him alive. Something that promised him revenge.

He lifted his hand through the churning water, and the waves responded. They twisted and curled, obeying an unspoken command. The sea swirled faster, forming spirals as if dancing to his will. He reached to the sky, wind howled through the storm clouds above, bending and swirling like a living thing shaped by his fury. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating his face in jagged flashes.

Valis realized he could reach into the storm's heart and pull its power closer, harnessing the violent energy rather than being crushed by it.

His mind sharpened. The sea was no longer just a threat; it was a weapon.

The storm answered his emotions, growing stronger as his resolve hardened.

This was no mere survival. This was power, raw and devastating.

And utterly his.

Valis was part of the storm now, and the storm was part of him.

This newfound strength surged through his veins, steadying his breath and sharpening his senses.
No longer a helpless victim, but a force to be reckoned with.

He surrendered to the waves, letting the chaotic sea carry him where it would. When exhaustion and pain finally overwhelmed him, pulling him into sleep, he did not resist. For he knew, in the storm's eye, his fight was far from over.

...

The sea had thrown Valis many kilometers north of Ladven, depositing him on a quiet, unfamiliar beach. The storm that had battered the coast for hours had long since passed, leaving behind a calm, almost surreal stillness. The sky above was a clear, deep blue, dotted with drifting white clouds. Occasionally, the sun peeked through, casting warmth on the sand and sea.

But Valis did not see any of it. He lay face down in the sand, eyes closed, gasping from pain and exhaustion.

After a few hours, an elderly woman found him there and immediately informed the guards about the unusual discovery.

One of the guards approached the lying Valis and gently nudged him with the tip of his boot.

"Hey, get up," the guard urged, voice firm but not unkind. "What's your name?"

Valis moved, blinking against the brightness. After a brief pause, struggling to gather strength, he answered quietly, "Valis of Eldermere," and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position.

The guards exchanged glances.

"We're taking you to the dukedom mansion," one said decisively.