Void: Book 1

About the Author

Elyatha Eli fell in love with writing at the age of 13. While other children feared vampires and mythical creatures, she spent her free time creating her own fictional characters, believing that magical stories ran through her veins. During her sleep, she sees supernatural events, wanders enchanted worlds and wakes up to share those experiences with you by turning her fantasy into books. Elyatha believes that every tale has a purpose of inspiring someone, and since all of her books are based on her dreams, if a book falls into a stranger’s hands, it was meant to be.

Dedication

To you, my love,

Because you’re always my greatest inspiration.

P.S. Sorry for making you feel lonely while I wrote this book.

Copyright Information ©

Elyatha Eli 2024

The right of Elyatha Eli to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398438699 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398438705 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781398438712 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Nameless, I Wander, but I Exist

My senses awoke to the sound of my cracking bones. An agonised scream escaped my gaping mouth as the pain shot through my exhausted body. My bloodshot eyes filled with tears as I tried to fight back the urge to rip my seized hands from the steel cuffs that held me tied to the cold chair. But I had to focus.

I had to focus, was what I kept reminding myself if I wanted the torture to be over. If I lost consciousness, it would start all over again.

Breathing heavily, I forced myself to open my eyes and look at the white walls that imprisoned me in an empty room. No mirrors, no furniture apart from the chair I was tied to, only one door, four white walls, and a lamp above me as bright as the sun. Or at least what I imagined the sun would look like.

I had no memories of my life before being captive. I had no clue what I had done to earn the pain, and I knew nothing about the world beyond the walls that I was forced to see every day, following the same routine over and over again. Nothing ever changed, as far as I could remember. Each day consisted of agony, a voice from the walls, a medical check-up, hygiene, one meal—if I deserved it—and a few hours of sleep to start it all over again. I was unsure if I was the only prisoner in this nightmare, but I had never seen anyone else apart from armed guards who escorted me to different rooms and chambers.

Their faces were always covered with black leather masks, their arms gloved; all of them wore the same grey uniform with a label saying COF on their chest, and there were codes instead of names. None of the guards ever spoke to me unless they gave me orders.

I was no longer foolish enough to disobey.

When they told me to strip naked and change into a clean gown that reminded me of what I thought people wore in the hospitals, I did. When they told me to empty a glass of water that somebody had left on the floor while I was asleep, I did. When they told me to follow them into the torment room and sit in the cold chair without any resistance, I did so again. Because, during the eternity of this endless cycle, I learned that the less I resisted, the easier it became. Perhaps I wasn’t even human, and this was just an experiment. Or maybe this was a hospital after all. Possibly, I was insane, and this was my treatment. Or this was somebody’s cruel game. Whatever the reason for my being here was, I couldn’t remember a thing. I knew only pain.

Two guards stepped into the room to surround me, dressed in grey uniforms, wearing white COF labels on their chests. Both faces were fully covered by shapeless masks. One of the men carried a large gun, and the other had only leather gloves. My heart started to race—I knew exactly what would happen.

I forced my eyes upwards to the lamp, my only distraction from the impending pain. Ready, sweetheart? The man with the gloved hands stepped closer, holding my fingers.

I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded. If I cooperated, I could earn myself some nice dinner. If I remained conscious, I would have a free evening to take a shower and rest after the doctor had healed my injuries.

I had to focus! I had to!

The man ripped my fingers backwards, and I screamed under the sound of my breaking bones. Tears filled my eyes, my lap, and washed my feet. I shouted so loud that my voice broke through the walls, and I tried my best not to resist the pain because resisting meant I would kill both men without even touching them.

Are you still there? The same guard lifted my head, trying to find eye contact.

I nodded, breathing heavily.

Again! he announced, squeezing my broken fingers.

I failed. Adrenaline shot through my body like a hurricane. My heart rate increased abnormally, and panic took over as my eyes started to burn like acid. My self-control slipped away, my tears turning to blood, leaving dangerously red trails on my lap.

Shit! The man holding my fingers backed off, ripping a gun out of the other guard’s hands. We have to shoot her. Now!

My head jerked upwards, the adrenaline taking away my pain. I could feel my blood transforming into poison. Each new teardrop landing on my lap turned into steam that spread across the room.

Shoot her! the other guard shouted.

No, please! A broken voice escaped my mouth because I knew I’d have to go through worse experiments if I failed to control myself. I’ll try harder! I’ll tame it, I promise!

These weren’t the first guards to experience my destructive power. I had been shot in various places so many times that I had lost count, yet it never resulted in my death or any type of freedom. Each time a guard died because of me, I was placed in a worse environment than before. My only option was to try my best to pass each test, succeed, and try to survive. If I didn’t try, they made sure I’d regret it badly.

Suddenly, a familiar sound echoed through the white walls, freezing my hot blood. It was the same noise that meant the invisible speakers were turned on. Soon, I’d hear the same voice I had to listen to every day without ever meeting its owner. There was something captivating about it, something mysterious yet alarming at the same time. My heart skipped a beat when I heard him speak for the first time that day.

Stop! The voice drummed through the walls, crawling under my skin, tingling within each cell inside my body. Look at her fingers.

Although the order was given to the guards, I couldn’t resist and glanced at my hands, too. For the first time in two years, something happened differently—my broken fingers healed by themselves. Seeing my skin regenerate before my eyes, I had no clue what to expect.

Take her to Dr Shyres, the mysterious voice demanded before disappearing.

I stared at the guards, scared for myself more than ever. My blood stopped flowing the moment I heard the familiar stranger’s voice, and the poisonous steam had dispersed, too. Yet, my heart kept jumping with panic, turning my skin cold. The guards unstrapped me and forced me to stand up. Usually, I would be too exhausted to do anything at all, but this was different. It felt like I had grown myself brand new skin. All my bruises had healed, my eyes cleared as if I had never cried, and my body was energised as if I hadn’t starved a day.

Follow us, the guards requested, pushing me towards the door and dragging me through the endless hallways and countless floors. Finally, we reached the medical wing, where a spacious room was decorated with different plants, beautiful paintings on the walls, and colourful lights above them. There was a large white sofa in one corner and a wall of cabinets full of bottles, pills, syringes, and other medical-looking objects.

In the farthest corner, there was a large table with tools and a bed for patients. A giant hologram with a blue background gleamed over the doctor’s desk. Finally, I saw a familiar face, a tall silhouette covered in a white latex suit from neck to toe. A few black belts stretched from his neck to chest and from hips to thighs, holding different tools and bottles strapped to his body. Black hair strands fell over his forehead, but his blue eyes remained uncovered. He was the only person who never wore a mask.

Dr Shyres, I greeted him quietly, still worried. Although my body felt fantastic, I was trembling with fear. In the past two years, I followed the same routine daily, and nothing ever changed. But when it did, it was never a good sign. I either killed someone and was punished, or I became more dangerous and got tortured even more.

Miss! Dr Shyres bowed at me as if I were royalty. Considering the circumstances, I was surprised I hadn’t fallen in love with him because he was the only person who did not hurt me when absolutely everyone else did.

The guards pushed me closer to the doctor, forcefully holding my arms. Their grips were too tight, and I could already feel my hands turn numb, but I was trained well not to squeak.

Leave us! Dr Shyres moved his hand dismissively. I don’t want your dirty uniforms to contaminate my space.

But we haven’t even reported… one of the guards tried to object.

Dr Shyres said nothing. One warning glare was enough to turn both guards pale and force them to step back. Both of them saluted and left the room immediately.

Please, sit. The doctor pointed at the patient’s bed and smiled at me politely. His smile was addictive and always made me nervous. I wasn’t stupid; I knew my feelings were caused by torture, and his kindness simply mesmerised me. I couldn’t allow myself to get attached to anyone, especially not Dr Shyres. The way others feared him made him the most suspicious, and I could never be sure who was behind this experiment—or whatever this was. I was smart enough to trust nobody. I was smart enough to be polite in return.

Thank you. I curtsied and sat on the bed like an obedient child, watching the doctor read something from the hologram on his desk. It was a report on my results.

Miss E-117, second year, the third day, Dr Shyres muttered into a device that resembled a silver pen, allowing me to keep up with the time I’d spent captive. Unusual activity—regeneration of somatic cells. Cause—unknown.

After he spoke to his pen, new records appeared on the hologram as if written by hand. I saw it happening daily, but usually, I had no energy to pay any attention to the reports. This time, I glanced at the hologram, unable to look away.

You must be curious, aren’t you? Dr Shyres smiled without moving his eyes away from the report. It’s been a while since you had any changes within your body. I’m as surprised as you are.

Somehow, his presence calmed me. Although there was a high possibility Dr Shyres was the head of the experiments, my insane life made me enjoy his company as it was the only company I had. Usually, he didn’t speak to me unless I had to answer his questions, but he still treated me somehow humanly. I wondered if his existence was what kept me sane.

However, on days like this, I couldn’t stop thinking about him being the reason for all that was happening with me. A part of me blamed the doctor, while the other part was impatient to meet him every day.

Dr Shyres took one of the bottles from his desk and poured its contents onto a cotton ball, smearing the liquid over my fingers, which had been badly broken a few minutes ago. His touch was gentle. I enjoyed scanning Dr Shyres as he was my only entertainment since I could remember, yet his face remained unreadable to me. After light stinging, my fingers painted blue, and my heart began to beat louder. The ointment had been applied to my skin to cure my injuries countless times, but it was the first time it turned toxic blue. My body trembled as I tried not to break or cry when the fear struck me.

Dr Shyres smirked but didn’t say anything else. Instead, he prepared a syringe and took a sample of my blood in a special container so it wouldn’t melt. Interesting… Dr Shyres murmured, inhaling the scent of my blood carefully while shaking the bottle in a circular motion.

I swallowed hard, my body tightening with anxiety.

It’s time for a shower, don’t you think? He glanced at me, still smiling kindly.

Is it? I jumped in surprise. Usually, I’d undergo countless examinations and procedures to heal my wounds, and only then I’d be allowed to shower—that is, if I managed to stay conscious. If not, somebody else washed me, and I’d wake up in my cell right before the next torment and skip my only meal.

Yes, there’s no need for me to heal you today. You’re absolutely fine. Go. Dr Shyres pointed at the glass door behind him. Enjoy the warm water.

But… I had thousands of questions that would never get answered anyway, and wasting my breath was pointless. I wanted to know my results and what was so interesting about my blood. I wanted to know what happened and why this day was different from others, but I knew I’d never know the answers.

I closed my mouth and disappeared behind the glass door.

It was a large shower room with plenty of space to fit around ten people between those walls, but there was only one shower head in the centre of the ceiling. Each corner of the room had a different colour lamp stretching from the ground to the ceiling like a glowing stick. There were two hangers near the glass door, one with a clean towel and another with clean clothes ready for me. Underneath, there was a mechanic basket where I had to put my dirty clothing.

After removing and disposing of my old gown, I went further into the room to stand in the centre, and the warm water poured over me like rain. I ran my hands through my long, black hair, enjoying the shower for the first time in a very long while.

Usually, I’d be too tired to stand and too weak to understand what to do. My tensed body didn’t know how to relax, but the sudden change in the temperature startled me when the warm water began running hotter. I checked the screen on the wall displaying the temperature, but it hadn’t changed at all.

I was about to step out of the water, but one of the corner lights lit brightly red, causing a robotic voice to alarm me.

Warning: do not step out of the water. Warning: all patients must finish the hygienic procedure before leaving the area. The robotic voice repeated the same message until I stepped back into the hot water.

I thought I’d boil, but nothing happened to my skin. I was simply uncomfortable but not harmed. Focus, I said to myself.

I had to do what I was told. I had to survive the unbearable heat to earn myself at least a few hours of rest and dinner that I hadn’t seen for days. I had to stand there until all four lights from the different corners turned off themselves, just like they always did.

I waited, and the red light dimmed, causing some scented steam from the walls. I hated the smell—it reminded me of bleach—but it was necessary to ensure I was clean. After the red light went off completely, another one lit up brightly yellow, turning the water into something thicker. It worked like a painkiller and was my favourite part of showering. The next light was green, returning the water to wash away everything else.

Finally, there was a blue light that would make the temperature a little colder. It neutralised the bleachy smell and made my skin smoother. Once the last light went off, I was finally free to go. I dried myself in a towel and rushed to get changed into a clean set of clothing—a white shirt and pants made of light fabric.

When I left the shower room, different masked guards were already awaiting me. One of them was a female I didn’t seem to recognise. Not like I could—behind the layer of materials covering her entire face.

I wonder if I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr Shyres said instead of a goodbye, causing my anxiety to play violent tricks inside my chest.

I wondered if I was about to die. Honestly, I hoped so. Unfortunately, things didn’t work that way in this place. It was either torture or much worse agony. If the only doctor I had ever seen doubted meeting me the next day, it couldn’t be a good sign.

I glanced into his blue eyes as if it was the last time I’d see them. My chest tightened, my thoughts exploded, and my entire soul—if I even had one—panicked.

Follow me, the woman in the grey uniform ordered in a cold voice, sending shivers down my spine. My knees went numb as I tried to step forward.

Without any control, my eyes filled with tears like buckets of water. My cheeks drowned in the salty liquid as I tried my best to keep my mouth shut while imagining the worst scenarios of my existence. The woman escorted me back to my cell a few floors lower than where I was tortured. It seemed so deep under the ground that I could be living in the basement—the concrete walls were cold and damp, the door was made of steel, and there were no windows.

I had a mattress on the floor instead of a bed and a dirty lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. In one of the corners, there was a toilet and a sink—no mirrors to tell me if I was a human or not. There was only a single speaker hanging on the tall wall, but it looked like an old wooden box.

I was pretty sure there were cameras somewhere in the walls, but I couldn’t see them. Sometimes, being watched seemed like a good thing. If I came up with something clever or entertaining enough on the days I was doing well with my tests, I could even get myself a bar of soap. It was useful for washing hands, but I’d use it to draw on the walls, even though all of my drawings faded over time.

My hair was still wet. Normally, I’d feel cold and try to get warm under my rough blanket, but I was fine this time. The cold temperature seemed refreshing for a change. If not for the anxious thoughts about why I might not be able to meet Dr Shyres the next day, I’d feel energised and happy just to spend the day on my own. Not today.

I walked from one side of the cell to another, impatiently waiting for the worst. I played with my fingers, swirling them nervously in the air as if I were in front of an orchestra. I rubbed my face with my palms, trying to remind myself that if I survived like this for two years, I could survive anything.

I’m glad to see you awake. A sudden, gentle voice startled me.

I jumped backwards and turned around to discover my imaginary friend. It was a young boy with ruby-red hair and warm sunset eyes. His harmless face couldn’t be older than sixteen, but his childish smile made him look even more innocent. The boy was always dressed in the same clothing—black jeans and an oversized red hoodie with a picture of a blue fox holding a moon in its paws. My imagination was my only strength, and I could do better than that, but no matter how much I tried to imagine the boy wearing something else, it never happened.

He only appeared when I was in my cell. It would be easy to mistake him for a real person, but nobody else could see him apart from me. I would think he was a ghost who died in this cell long before I was here, but he didn’t seem to know a thing about himself. However, he knew me well enough to be the fruit of my insanity.

Yet, I had no control over him. He appeared and disappeared as if he had a mind of his own. Are you still not telling me your name? I asked the boy.

I already told you, I don’t remember. The boy’s cheeks flushed as he avoided my eyes. It wasn’t a surprise my mind had created a harmless imaginary friend. He was a sweetheart. The cutest being I could ever think of.

I crossed the room a hundred more times, trying to stop my thoughts from eating me from inside. Why are you silent? Say something! I demanded nervously. Not like I could hurt the imaginary feelings of my imaginary friend, but I was desperate for a distraction. I wanted him to say something, do something. Anything!

What do you want me to say? Nothing happens in my life when you’re not here. It’s as if…as if I don’t exist without you. The boy’s voice was sad. His cheerful smile faded as he became silent.

Please…Don’t be silent. I love listening to your voice. Great, I was about to apologise to my imagination for being too harsh. Hey, if you can’t tell me your name, why don’t I come up with one for you?

You would? The boy’s eyes lit up again, and I smiled.

I don’t want to call you a boy forever, you know. I giggled. This was it. I was officially crazy, talking to an imaginary boy and offering him a name.

What would you call me? He sat on the cold floor as if it were a soft cloud in the sky.

What about Tomato? I imagined you red, after all. I pointed at his clothing and hair.

Tomato? He rushed back onto his feet, blushing brightly. I’m not a tomato! Why can’t you give me a beautiful name?

You could be my…Sunshine! How about that? I offered.

He considered it for a while.

Hey… A sudden punch of sadness overwhelmed me. You know, I don’t even know my own name. Nobody has ever called me anything. I’d really love to have a name, even if it was a silly one, but I know nothing about myself. I’ve thought about names billions of times, but there’s none I can relate to. And I’m sorry if you don’t like the ones I’m trying to give you. I’m…

That was it—I broke. I crawled into the cold bed, curled into a shapeless ball, and started to cry what seemed like a river. I couldn’t focus on my imaginary friend any longer, although he still sat on the floor on the other side of the cell. Out of all the things that had happened to me, having no name shattered me.

Please don’t cry, the boy whispered.

I wish you disappear! I shouted, throwing a blanket right through my imagination.

I’m sorry, I’ll come back another time, he said before dissolving.

Suddenly, the speaker on the wall made a cracking sound, and I knew I was about to hear an announcement. I just wished it would be clear enough to stop me from thinking about my next punishment. My heart froze when I realised it wasn’t just an announcement. It was him again. The same man who gave orders during this cruel game. The same hypnotic voice that could paralyse me with the sound.

Are you hungry? he asked an incredibly unusual question.

Whenever I’d hear his voice, it was nothing good unless he stopped the guards from attacking me, or prevented me from attacking them. This was the first time he asked me a simple question. For a second, I thought it was just another part of my insanity, but he spoke once more.

If you’re not hungry, I’ll tell them not to bother you. His voice shot through me like a mighty wave of energy.

Finally, I realised it was him, not just my imagination. The same nameless voice I kept hearing daily. The same voice that haunted me, the nameless voice everyone obeyed.

I am! I’m incredibly hungry! I shouted out, scared I’d be starved if I said the wrong thing. The speakers went silent, and I sighed, hitting my head on my knees. I failed. I either spoke without thinking or overthought before saying anything and ended up with no food again.

An unfamiliar tread in the hallway startled me. I’d learned to recognise every guard by their gait, although I didn’t know their faces. I’d memorised their movements and voices, but these footsteps were something new. As if followed by the rhythm of some music indiscernible to my ears, they sounded somehow graceful. Confident.

My heart started beating faster. I pressed against the cold wall behind me, fearing the stranger coming after me. My pulse drummed in my ears, and my chest tightened when the steel door made a creaking sound. Then, I exhaled in relief, realising it was just a tray of food sliding through the little hole at the bottom of the door. I crawled to it immediately, trying to peep through the tunnel to satisfy my curiosity and see the stranger, but I could only discern shiny leather boots walking away with grace.

Left alone, I glanced at the tray. I expected a bowl of tasteless porridge or a sandwich, but my eyes locked on the wooden plate full of beautiful salad and grilled fish. There was also a little bottle of orange juice. I spent a moment assessing the food in disbelief. Was it my last meal? My mouth watered, but I could only stare at the plate. It was the first time I had seen anything so beautiful, and a part of me was scared to eat it because it would no longer be there.

Aren’t you going to eat? You said you were hungry. The hypnotic voice snapped me out of my shock, sending shivers down my spine.

I happened to find myself crying once more, dicing the fish with my fingers and putting it into my mouth, piece by piece. I was too famished to chew it, too shocked to believe it, and too scared to lose it. My taste buds came to life for the first time, as if the meal was the greatest pleasure I had ever experienced. After almost swallowing all of it within seconds, I calmed down and crawled back to the mattress to get warm, but I resisted sleep, knowing it was the most relaxed day I had experienced in years. I had no clue what awaited me the next day. But I was too exhausted to obsess over it any longer. My eyelids became heavy, and I missed my imaginary friend. I even felt bad for shouting at him earlier.

Tomato Sunshine, are you here? I whispered in a sleepy voice. No response. I’m sorry for shouting at you. I didn’t mean to. I sent my apologies to the air.

I know you didn’t. The imaginary ghost appeared again, sitting right next to me.

I’m tired of life. I wish you could just kill me, I whispered.

Don’t say that! Sunshine objected. We’ll figure out something. Today, you’ve been awake more than ever, and so have I! I had so much time to think about this all. If you managed to stay alert more often, it would give me enough time to explore this place, gather some information, and find out how to free us.

I don’t believe in freedom anymore. I don’t think I’d be able to comprehend it anyway. I don’t know my own name, nor who I am. I just want this to end, I said quietly, not wasting too much energy speaking with my imagination. Can you sing? If you can, I’d love to hear it. Maybe I’ll change my mind about my will to live.

I wish I could, but I don’t think I remember how to, Sunshine admitted in a sad voice. Can you sing?

I think I could sing for you if you were as sad as I am, I murmured, sleepy. I think I used to like music before this…Before I lost whoever I was.

Suddenly, the speakers made a noise again, startling me and my imaginary friend. Both of us expected another announcement, another tricky question. Nothing. The initial crackling morphed into a slow piano waltz. My eyes shot open for a second, stunned by whatever was happening. I either did extra well with my results, or I did so badly that they were preparing to get rid of me, and this was my last evening alive.

Oh, somebody must be listening to what you said to me. My imaginary Sunshine got onto his feet, checking the walls for cameras or microphones. They are tracking your every step and breath. But why?

I couldn’t care less. I was fatigued, and I wanted to fall asleep forever. If this was my last meal and somebody granted my final wish to hear some music, they did a fantastic job. The meal was delightful, but the piano waltz gave me something much more beautiful. It gave me calmness.

I fell asleep with a smile on my lips.

Usually, all my dreams were either nightmares or I didn’t dream at all, but the enchanting melody swept me away into a magical world. I had never seen the trees, not since I awoke imprisoned with no memories. And there I was, dreaming about a beautiful field surrounded by tall trees, green and gold, dancing in the playful wind. I stood between them with my arms wide open and inhaled the fresh air. I swirled around, pretending I was a leaf, until a childish voice distracted me. It called my name, but I couldn’t hear it. There was a nameless sound in the air, a faint memory of something that once mattered to me.

I woke up with sharp pain all over my stomach. Somebody had kicked me, and I gasped for air desperately.

I said, get up! the woman from yesterday shouted, giving me another kick.

Stop, please! I begged, trying to get up, but it was hard when I was being smeared against a wall by somebody’s foot.

Get up! she yelled, grabbing me by my hair and pulling me up.

I stood, holding my arms wrapped around my stomach, trying my best to keep my knees from trembling, when a dozen other armed guards entered my cell. Each wore a black, shapeless mask, covering their entire faces.

You’re being transferred to C1, so get your ass moving! Now! the woman roared right into my ear, pushing me towards the opened door. I followed the guards without the slightest hesitation. There it was, my final day. I always thought I’d be excited about the possibility of dying, but I ended up terrified.

I’d never been escorted anywhere by so many people, and I had no clue what C1 meant. I had memorised all the hallways, all the rooms I’d ever visited. I knew exactly how many floors I’d have to go up in the lift before reaching the torture level, but I had never been taken so far. I lived in a proper basement, so far under the ground that I could have easily reached the other end of the world. Upon leaving the lift, we entered a giant hall, with the walls so far from each other that crossing the room felt as if it would take years.

After a long walk of being pushed and pulled in all directions, we reached an indoor bridge spanning an artificial river. The water there shone like a blend of gold and fire. I was unsure if I was somehow still dreaming or not. On the other side of the bridge, there was another hall, full of plants. It was as if we had stepped into an artificial paradise. I noticed a couple of comfy-looking sofas and chairs between the potted trees.

Move! The woman pushed me forwards, poking my spine with her gun.

Finally, we entered another enormous room. Unlike any other place inside the building, it had floral wallpapers painted in dark shades. One of the walls was covered in bookshelves, large enough to mistake it for a library. The wall on the other side was full of different paintings hanging over three black sofas placed in a triangle. Next to them, there was a round glass table with a holographic screen and a few chairs around the table. Across the room, right in front of us, there was a large desk. A couple of files towered in front of a leather chair that resembled a throne.

But most importantly, there was a window behind the throne.

Absolutely stunned, I stared at the room, my eyes shooting in all possible directions. When all the guards lined up in two rows like perfect soldiers, I noticed another silhouette sitting on the throne. The contrast of the light from the window made him appear as a shadow, embraced by the darkness of his seat. I hadn’t seen real sunlight in two years, and my eyes became watery instantly, blurring my vision. The pain in my chest and difficulty breathing didn’t help me either. I was unable to focus, and all I could think of was running towards that window and hoping it would be high enough for me to die if I jumped out.

A gloved hand lifted above the dark throne, waving elegantly to dismiss the guards. Only the rough woman remained standing, pointing a gun at me. She smashed the back of the weapon into my knees, forcing me to fall. Landing down had never been more comfortable as there was the softest carpet I had ever felt. I stroked its red surface with my fingers, trying to understand if any of this was real.

Everything felt like a dream until a pair of black army boots stepped between my hands. They were so shiny I could almost see my reflection. My eyes slid higher in curiosity, following the leather trousers up to the belt, then to the white shirt, and the gloved hands crossed over his chest. I forgot to breathe when my gaze reached the man’s neck, where a crescent moon tattoo rested under the pierced ear. My eyes slid over the high cheekbones, over the perfectly sculpted face