The endless hours chained in darkness had begun to blend into delirium. Pain clawed persistently at Elara's senses, pulling her toward madness. Every heartbeat echoed Kael's accusations; every shallow breath whispered Lysandra's cruel threats.
Just as consciousness began slipping from her desperate grasp, a metallic scrape of the dungeon door jolted her awake. Torchlight spilled into the oppressive darkness, harsh and blinding. Footsteps approached, deliberate yet uneven—Kael's unmistakable gait.
She raised her head weakly, squinting into the light. Her pulse quickened uncontrollably at the sight of him: torn shirt stained darkly with blood, eyes ringed with shadows, fury and despair warring violently in his gaze.
"You look terrible," she whispered hoarsely, defiance threaded weakly through exhaustion.
Kael paused, tension rippling through him as if her voice alone hurt him. He set the torch into a bracket, casting flickering shadows over the dungeon walls, then approached her slowly, gaze fierce yet haunted.
"You still mock me?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying deeper pain beneath the venom.
"I'm only returning the favor," she said softly, eyes meeting his defiantly despite the chains digging into her wrists. "You imprisoned me unjustly."
Kael's expression twisted with torment. He stepped closer, fingers brushing over the fresh wound on her collarbone, gentle yet charged with dangerous restraint.
"Did you do this yourself?" he demanded quietly, eyes piercing hers, searching desperately for the truth. "Or was it Lysandra?"
"Would you believe me either way?" Elara's voice shook slightly, raw emotion breaking through her bravado. "You'd rather see me suffer than admit you made a mistake."
Kael growled softly, frustration and anguish evident in the clenched set of his jaw. "You don't understand what your betrayal does to me."
"I didn't betray you," she hissed fiercely, tears welling despite herself. "You betrayed me the moment you chose not to trust me."
He flinched visibly, agony briefly softening the ruthless lines of his face. But he masked it quickly, drawing a blade from his belt, eyes darkening once more with grim resolve.
Elara's breath caught sharply, fear igniting as Kael approached slowly, the blade gleaming ominously in torchlight. Her voice trembled, even as she lifted her chin defiantly.
"Are you going to kill me now?"
Kael's lips curled bitterly. "Killing you would be easier for both of us. Unfortunately, I've never been merciful."
She gasped sharply as he swiftly slashed through the shackles, the chains falling heavily at her feet. Her weakened limbs collapsed instantly, and she sank painfully to the cold stone floor. Kael knelt beside her, voice harsh but oddly vulnerable.
"I need answers, Elara. And you'll give them to me, willingly or otherwise."
His fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face upward, forcing her gaze to meet his desperate, tortured eyes.
"Prove to me you're innocent," he rasped, barely controlled rage mingling with heart-wrenching despair. "Or suffer the consequences of betraying a Thorne."
She shivered violently beneath his intense scrutiny, knowing he could break her with ease. Yet beneath his cruelty lurked an agony that resonated deeply within her chest.
"Let me show you," she whispered shakily, grasping onto fragile hope. "Give me one chance."
Kael hesitated, his golden gaze searching hers deeply, battling trust and suspicion. Finally, he nodded curtly, standing and offering her his hand.
"Very well," he murmured darkly. "One chance."
Kael led her through twisting corridors, finally pausing at a massive ebony door carved with intricate patterns of thorned vines, grotesque yet hauntingly beautiful.
He pushed open the heavy door, revealing a chamber bathed in ghostly moonlight streaming through cathedral-sized windows. Paintings lined the walls—disturbing, mesmerizing portraits framed in silver and blood.
Elara froze in sudden horror. Every painting depicted Kael's past victims, pale and still in macabre repose, their final expressions eternally etched with fear and surrender.
"What is this?" she breathed, voice trembling.
"My gallery," Kael said quietly, gaze coldly detached yet deeply wounded. "Those who have betrayed me. Those whose blood stains my hands forever."
She forced herself to move forward, heart hammering violently as she studied the terrifying portraits. Each was painted in painstaking detail, as if Kael had memorized every line, every shadow of their demise.
At the gallery's heart hung the largest painting, framed in obsidian and silver thorns. It portrayed a young woman, ethereal beauty twisted into a mask of tragic betrayal. A jagged crescent-shaped scar marred her collarbone—precisely matching Elara's recent wound.
Elara stared in stunned silence, understanding crashing through her brutally. Her heart stuttered, nausea rising sharply. She spun to face Kael, voice shaking uncontrollably.
"Who is she?"
Kael stepped closer, expression hardening into something feral and wounded. "My sister, Lyra. Murdered by someone she trusted—someone who wore a wound exactly like yours."
Elara swallowed painfully, her voice trembling with desperate sincerity. "Kael, you must believe me—I had no part in this."
His eyes darkened dangerously, despair flickering beneath his rage. He gripped her shoulders painfully, leaning close, voice a tortured whisper. "Then why does fate repeat itself?"
She shook her head weakly, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. "Because Lysandra wants you broken—just as she wants me dead. Please, Kael."
He searched her gaze, agony and suspicion battling fiercely within molten-gold depths. Finally, he released her abruptly, stepping back as though physically pained by her presence.
"I cannot trust you," he whispered, voice raw and haunted. "Not yet."
Elara stood motionless, betrayal slicing deeply. Yet she forced herself to lift her gaze, voice shaking yet fierce.
"Then let me earn your trust. Help me prove Lysandra's guilt."
Kael stared at her, conflict burning visibly behind his tortured eyes. Silence stretched agonizingly between them, his emotions warring openly.
At last, he spoke, voice low and heavy. "You have until dawn. If you fail, your portrait will join my gallery."
He turned sharply, leaving Elara alone amidst ghostly portraits, their tragic gazes hauntingly mirroring her own fear and determination.
In the suffocating silence, she approached Lyra's painting, fingers brushing softly against the scarred collarbone, her own wound throbbing painfully.
"I'll find the truth," she whispered fiercely. "For both of us."
Outside, thunder rumbled ominously, lightning briefly illuminating Lyra's accusing eyes—eyes that mirrored her own, dark with defiance and desperate hope.
Elara turned from the haunting gaze, knowing time was mercilessly against her. But even as shadows closed around her heart, a fierce resolve ignited.
She would shatter Lysandra's lies, reclaim Kael's trust—and rewrite the bloody fate chaining them together.