Chapter Text
It was no secret that Fintan Pyren was losing his mind. If anything, it was a few whispers short of becoming a well-known fact. It certainly wasn’t the first time, either—though his current freezing in his ice-encrusted prison made the descent into madness feel much more slow and sluggish than he had originally anticipated. More agonizing. Holding onto his last scraps of sanity was taking more energy out of him that he would have liked to admit.
The reflective walls didn’t help. Day by day he was forced to watch himself deteriorate, eventually becoming numb to his reflection and unable to recognize it as his own. The face that stared back at him in cracked, splintering fragments no longer seemed real to him. Yet it was impossible to escape. The faces encased him in a frostbitten bubble, leaving him with the impression of solitude but never a true moment of peace. Sometimes the glass seemed to be taunting him, hurling insults that only his ears could hear. His fingers were often bruised from punching the wall in frustration, though the last time he tried he had ended up in handcuffs for a day. The Council had clearly been frustrated at having to continually tend to his injuries, and the cuffs were put in place to prevent him from breaking any more fingers. He could still hear the sickening crack as his bones collided with the icy wall.
Of course, Fintan could always close his eyes to escape his own cold stare, but even then there was always the prickling feeling of being watched. Guards? The Council? Marella Redek and her Hydrokinetic friend? It was almost always impossible to tell, and Fintan was left wondering until his visitors chose to make themselves seen. He would dig his nails into his palms, willing the itching sensation of another’s gaze to recede, pretending that it didn’t bother him that he was constantly being monitored. He always had been. He could rant and rave about the wonder of fire all he wanted, but no amount of talking would be able to rid the world of the fear they carried—the fear of pyrokinesis. The fear of him.
It was impossible for Fintan to spark a flame in his ice prison—the Council had made sure of that. But the deep-rooted prejudice still remained—that much was made clear by the fact that he was the only Pyrokinetic available to train Marella Redek in her ability. Though he supposed he had no one to blame but himself for the fear he elicited, he still found it insufferably unfair that he was being contained somewhere he wouldn’t be able to feel any warmth at all. The ice chilled him to the bone, sucking every last heat molecule out of his body until he was left an empty husk of dark, frozen air. Body temperature regulation was useless, especially since friction hardly seemed to make a difference. Oftentimes Fintan would find himself absentmindedly rubbing the skin on his arms underneath his rough, thin shirt, occasionally turning aggressive and letting his fingernails scratch and scratch until his arms were streaked with angry red lines. He craved heat so desperately, he found himself sighing with pleasure if he was able to break the skin and experience for a moment that warm, comforting trickle of blood that followed. He envied Marella Redek and her friends, arriving for her training sessions in their many layers of warm clothing.
He stared at them furiously now, Marella going on about something that Fintan was sure was rather unimportant, while Linh simply eyed him as she always did with her look of cautious, judgmental suspicion.
“Are you even listening?” Marella asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Fintan suspected that she was rather cold as well—being a Pyrokinetic could be both an advantage and a disadvantage in cold climates. Her body might be able to pull the heat in the air closer to her, but if there simply wasn’t enough heat to begin with, it would be much more miserable for her than it would be for someone who possessed a different ability. Despite his jealousy, Fintan found himself pitying the young girl.
“I suppose I wasn’t,” he admitted, his lips feeling numb and sluggish with the words. “But we don’t have all day. If what you were saying was important, hurry it up. Time is ticking.”
Marella rolled her eyes and exchanged an exasperated glance with her friend. Linh smiled sympathetically, then took Marella’s hand in her own. Comfort. Warmth. Fintan’s envy returned with a nauseating fury.
Marella then launched into her rambling again, though Fintan was only half listening. He was aware of that prickling sensation again, that feeling of being watched. The presence of the two girls was obvious, though Fintan suspected that his observer lay somewhere further behind the icy glass walls. Only a guard, most likely, but still Fintan felt his body tensing in apprehension. And as Marella went on, his feeling of unease only grew, leading him to believe that something must be different this time. Someone much more dangerous was lurking in these walls. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Not with his sole prodigy around.
Something was wrong.
“Perhaps you should—“
He only got a few words out before an explosion sent a shock wave through his body. Shards of ice rained down around the outside of his bubble, barely missing the girls. The two of them had been blasted backward by the explosion, and Fintan was able to see Linh shielding Marella with her cape through his limited view in the window of his bubble. Marella shrieked in terror as another explosion penetrated the side of the prison, knocking Fintan to his knees.
He barely managed to avoid slipping and hitting his head on the floor, clumsily catching himself with his hands and steadying himself in a crouching position. From where he was now he could see a cracked opening forming in the side of his ice bubble, practically begging him to let it swallow him whole.
But Fintan couldn’t escape yet. Not when there were so many unknown variables. Not when he was still in danger.
He struggled to his feet, frantically trying to locate the source of the explosions. The blasts had fractured the glowing orbs that dangled from the ceiling, distorting the light and leaving murky shadows sprawling out over the ice. Fintan had to squint to see more than a few feet past his bubble.
“Get away!” Linh was yelling, having summoned a few frozen spheres around herself for protection. It wasn’t until the attacker stepped further out of the shadows that Fintan was able to see their figure, almost shadow-like themself. The white eye symbol of the Neverseen glared at him from the black cloak sleeve. Taunting him. Even before the figure pulled their hood back, Fintan had no doubts as to who it was. A surge of anger bubbled up in his chest, and he gritted his teeth so hard he was surprised his jaw didn’t crack from the pressure.
Gisela Sencen’s laugh echoed around the room, almost icier than the prison itself. The two teenagers stumbled backward, and once again Fintan felt every muscle in his body itching to run out the hole in the side of the wall. But what would be the point? He would have nowhere to go.
“You don’t look too happy to see me,” Gisela said, addressing Fintan directly.
“I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” Fintan replied, glad his voice remained steady despite his rattled nerves. It was hardly a secret that he and Gisela resented each other—constantly scrabbling for power over the elusive Neverseen group that the both of them had spent decades molding into something to fulfill their respective visions. The only reason Gisela was currently in power was because Fintan had been forced into this awful prison; something he intended to be free of very soon. And despite her having arrived at said prison, Fintan had a sneaking suspicion that he was one of the last people Gisela wanted to see. It hardly seemed like a coincidence that she had decided to show up at the exact moment Fintan was mentoring Marella in her pyrokinesis.
“How did you find this place?” Marella demanded, and Fintan found himself admiring her courage somewhat. Her petite size made her look small and insignificant compared to Gisela—as if the Neverseen leader could crush her under her boot if she so desired. But still the young Pyrokinetic stood her ground, her face flashing a look of anger rather than one of fear.
“Never mind that,” Gisela said. She tilted her head toward Linh, who had stirred the ice shards off the ground and was now pointing them toward Gisela in a rather menacing manner. “There’s no need for your little Hydrokinetic tricks, either,” Gisela told her. She folded her hands together, smiling in a way that made the skin around her mouth tighten as if it didn’t quite fit right. “I simply have a proposition for the two of you. One you would be foolish not to listen to.”
“If you’re going to ask us to join you, forget it!” Marella spat. “You can’t drag us into a trap like you did with Tam.”
Gisela sighed. “Honestly, you would do well to consider it,” she said. “Ever since Lumenaria, it has been quite difficult getting my hands on another Pyrokinetic—one I can trust,” she added with a pointed look at Fintan. Her gaze shifted back to Marella as she said, “You would hold more power in my organization than you could ever dream of having in the Council’s corrupt world.”
“I don’t want power,” Marella replied, her voice beginning to tremble. Fintan found himself wanting to scoff at her sudden show of weakness.
“Of course you do,” Gisela insisted. “Everyone does. Why do you think our species made ourselves hidden from humans all those years ago? We feared that they would take control of what was once ours. It was an act of self-preservation. It’s only natural for one to crave more.”
Fintan suppressed a wince, knowing how true the words were for his own craving for flame. Marella—another Pyrokinetic—was bound to feel the same about her ability. Though surely she wasn’t so idiotic that she would believe Gisela’s empty promise of power?
“I will never join you,” Marella spat, curling her hands into fists. “I don’t care how much you threaten me. I will not change my mind.”
“I doubt that,” Gisela said, reaching into the dark folds of her cloak. Fintan felt the blood drain from his face when he saw the glint of the metal she pulled out; a long, curved blade almost glowing in the eerie light.
“All is not lost for me if you refuse,” Gisela went on. “I’ve made sure to seal the mouth of the cave, so escape is useless. Your leaping crystals are merely shiny accessories at the moment.” She glanced back at Fintan for a heartbeat, something dark and sinister blazing in her eyes. Then back to Linh and Marella she said, “I’ll simply wait here until the Council makes the decision for you. Either they give you up to me willingly, or I cut a deal and get something else I want.”
“You’re taking us hostage?” Linh exclaimed, pulling the ice shards closer to herself for protection. They were starting to wobble, and Fintan suspected that the young Hydrokinetic didn’t have as much control over the frozen aspect of her ability as she would have liked.
“An idiotic plan,” Marella told Gisela, eyeing the shamkniv warily. “The Council won’t cut a deal with you. They don’t care about us.”
“But they care about that one,” Gisela replied, tilting her head in Fintan’s direction.
The laugh of disbelief that escaped Fintan’s mouth was matched with amused snorts from the two girls, the three of them seemingly being on the same page for once in their lives.
“Yes,” Fintan said, “I’m sure you can tell how much they care about me by taking a look at this wonderful cage they’ve put me in.” He waved his arms around the crumbling ice bubble.
“You’re blind if you can’t see they favor you,” Gisela snapped. “Why else would they give you chance after chance to redeem yourself—a luxury those who actually deserved it were never given?”
“I’m a former Councillor,” Fintan stated matter-of-factly. “They were bound to give me special treatment, I suppose. But not anymore. They would sooner have me die than let me see a single sliver of daylight again.” He swallowed a lump in his throat, finding himself shivering.
“I suppose we’ll have to see, then,” Gisela said, taking a step toward the opening in the bubble.
“See what?” Fintan scoffed, stepping aside as she gracefully made her way through the gap. It was his turn to eye her weapon now. The blade seemed clean, possibly sterilized, so it couldn’t have been for bloody intimidation purposes only. Though if Fintan himself were wielding it, he would make sure to keep the blade as dirty and infectious as he could. Perhaps he would treat himself to some of the flesh-eating bacteria he had managed to smuggle from Ravagog, smearing it over the serrated surface to make the gouges as painful as possible. Anything to make the wounds permanent. He hadn’t done so when he and Brant had locked Gisela in an ogre prison when they overthrew her, but as Fintan looked at her now he wished with all his might that he had.
“I’d advise against coming closer,” he said calmly, hoping his unshaken demeanor would dampen Gisela’s confidence.
Gisela simply smiled, beginning to swing her weapon back and forth in an almost gleeful manner. “We’ll see how cooperative the Council will be when they see what I do to people who betray me.”
“They’ve already seen what Vespera did to Alvar—“ Marella was cut off by a light shove from Linh, who clearly didn’t want to provoke Gisela further—and who seemed to be desperately working out a measure of escape. The light was too dim to make a leap back to the Lost Cities, and neither of them had much control over their elements this far deep in the cave. They were trapped.
“Like I said, the Council won’t care if you hurt me,” Fintan told Gisela. “In fact, they’d probably thank you.”
“Perhaps,” Gisela admitted. “But if I deliver you to them broken and bloody? That will send a message. Alvar’s situation was completely different—though I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Vespera clearly never told you what she was planning with him. With her, there was always something bigger at play. Alvar was never meant to be a message. He was always part of a bigger plan, which you won’t be. You’re expendable. And you have a history with the Council. They’ll never ignore a message from you, no matter how much they claim they want to.”
“And if I simply don’t deliver this ‘message’?” Fintan asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s stopping me from escaping as soon as you let me free?”
“Desperation?” Gisela suggested. “Blood loss?”
Fintan tensed as Gisela stepped closer, curling his hands into fists in an attempt to spark a flame—to spark anything. He came up empty.
“Consider this revenge for leaving me to rot in that ogre cell,” Gisela snarled, raising the shamkniv in an arc motion above her head. “An eye for an eye, is that what they say? You cut me, I cut you. All of this pain is only what you’ve inflicted upon yourself.”
She swung her arm down then, but Fintan reached up to grab her wrist before the blade could make contact with him. His muscles shook with the effort—the prison had left him weak, the Council content to let him waste away for the rest of eternity—but he managed to hold her off until he was able to summon the energy to twist away. The blade swung harmlessly through the air where Fintan had been a moment before. He staggered toward the exit, catching a glimpse of Marella’s horrified face as he passed her.
Suddenly there was a fire burning a line down his face, a pain that left him gasping and stumbling backward toward the floor. His hand flew up to cradle his cheek, not able to make sense of what just happened. Gisela had been behind him. The shamkniv now floated in front of of him, held up by telekinesis, but it would have been almost impossible for Gisela to maneuver it through the air that fast—
Conjurer. The word shot through Fintan’s mind like a bolt of lightning—almost as painful as the cut itself.
Conjurer. She’s a Conjurer. Gisela is a Conjurer. Shit. Shit. How could I have been so idiotic as to forget that she’s—
Another slice of pain shot down his arm, and Fintan doubled over in pain, clutching his arm where the wound was inflicted. He turned his head to see Gisela behind him still, holding her precious weapon once again.
Fintan glared with a burning hatred and attempted to struggle to his feet, but he’d barely been able to move a muscle before the shamkniv was conjured on his other side, slicing a deep cut in the back of his leg. He howled in pain, dropping back down to his hands and knees. Through his spinning vision he could already see the ice beneath him becoming stained with red.
He clutched the wound on his arm and attempted to stand again, but this time the gash appeared on his back. The cuts burned like fire—and Fintan realized that he was getting exactly what he had desired so horribly earlier. Hadn’t he wanted to bleed? Hadn’t he wanted to feel the warmth as the blood streamed down his skin?
The sight of all the red made him nauseous, if not for the fact that it was blood than for the fact that it was his own. He’d seen Gisela bleed when he’d thrown her in the ogre prison and condemned her to the same fate. He’d seen flesh being ripped from people’s bodies as his flames ate them alive. It wasn’t the violence that disturbed him. It was his own weakness. This never would have happened if he was able to spark a flame, he thought. Gisela wasn’t fighting fair. Though he had a haunting suspicion that even without Gisela’s ability, she still would have been able to overpower him in his weakened state. He locked his jaw and prevented himself from screaming as he took a blow to the shoulder. The back of the neck. The other shoulder.
Eventually he collapsed on his side, unable to choke back the whimper that crawled its way up his throat. His chest was heaving and he trembled ferociously.
“You’re hardly going to get what you want this way,” he croaked, barely able to speak through the pain. Gisela simply kicked him in his ribs, causing him to let out a guttural scream that had his throat feeling like it was tearing. Then a slice beneath his ribs. Another. His chest. His face. Arm. Leg. Arm again.
He was dimly aware of Marella and Linh’s frantic wails; the sounds of thudding and pounding as they tried to escape. She’d better not hurt them after this, he thought furiously, though why he cared about the fates of two irritating teenagers, he had no idea.
“Alright, stop—“ he tried to plead, but the words were lost in the retching that followed. His whole body burned, hot and sticky and suffocating—a sick and horrifying feeling of drowning in his own blood.
Eventually he felt something being shoved into his hand; a crystal of some sort, he guessed. He was no longer able to lift his head and was on the brink of passing out, but Gisela refused to let him ruin her plans that way.
“Run back to the Council,” Fintan heard her say. He opened his eyes as much as he could and thought he saw her holding some sort of strange jar—though what it could possibly be for, he had no idea. He barely remembered how to think anymore.
Gisela took his red-stained hand and had him hold the crystal up to the light that emanated faintly from the jar, saying something about how she was counting on him to hold himself together through this leap, for the sake of his prodigy. He was welcome to die as soon as he delivered her message, but right now she needed him alive. Marella needed him alive.
The light grated his skin as it swept him away, and the scream that tried to escape his chest was lost in the blank nothingness of the shine.
He wasn’t going to make it. He couldn’t. He was too tired; too angry with himself for allowing this to happen. As his consciousness slipped away, he found himself wishing—contrary to what he had been feeling before—that he had never left Gisela in the hands of the ogres.