Necromancer Malachar held up a vial of thick red liquid, examining it with disgusted satisfaction. The dim light from the wall torches reflected off the glass surface, making the liquid inside sparkle like a blood gem.
"The High Priestess's blood," Malachar murmured, his voice echoing with supernatural tones. "The most powerful weapon to open a portal to the realm of darkness."
Elira took a step back, her back touching the stone wall of the cage. The monsters that had been fighting now stood still, as if sensing the presence of a force far more terrifying than they were.
"You will not succeed," Elira said, her voice shaking but steady. "The gods will surely stop you."
Malachar laughed loudly, the sound echoing throughout the corridor. "Gods? Where were your gods when you were captured, priestess? Where were the miracles when you were dragged here?"
From my cage, I watched this exchange with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. Necromancers always had a way of poisoning people's minds with their dark logic.
"I will not surrender," Elira raised both hands, soft white light shining from her palms again. "Lumina Sanctus Maxima!"
The light that appeared this time was brighter, stronger. The entire corridor was lit up for a few seconds. The monsters cowered, their eyes hurting from the blinding light.
But Malachar didn't even blink. He raised one hand, and dark shadows flowed from his fingers, extinguishing Elira's holy light as if blowing out a candle.
"Impressive," Malachar muttered. "But holy power means nothing without the support of your god."
Elira fell to her knees, breathing heavily. The intense use of magic had drained her strength. But she didn't give up, blue eyes staring at the necromancer with the fire of defiance still burning.
"Jorik," Malachar called without turning. "Move the priestess to the ritual room. Tomorrow night we will begin the ceremony."
"Yes, Lord Malachar," Jorik bowed respectfully, but I could see the cold sweat on his forehead. Even a brutal guard like him feared the necromancer.
Before Jorik could make a move, I decided to speak. "Hey, naive priestess."
Elira turned to me, blue eyes meeting mine. There was a hint of desperation there, though she tried to hide it.
"Do you still believe your god will save you?" I asked, my voice deliberately flat.
"Of course," Elira replied, but her voice was not as confident as before.
I laughed softly. "You said earlier that every creature has a conscience. But now I'm curious—does your god have a conscience too?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," I leaned against the cage bars, "how many times have you prayed since you were captured? Dozens? Hundreds? And how many times have your prayers been answered?"
Elira fell silent, fingers digging into the stone floor.
"Zero," I continued. "The answer is zero. There were no miracles. No angels descended from the sky. No heavenly voices guiding you out of this prison."
"The gods work in mysterious ways—"
"Nonsense," I interrupted. "That's just an excuse people give when their prayers go unanswered. When they're too afraid to admit that maybe, just maybe, no one heard."
Malachar turned to me, and I could feel a smile beneath his black hood. "Interesting. This particular prisoner has an interesting philosophy."
"Not philosophy," I replied, looking at Elira. "This is reality. You healed the cannibal goblin because you believe every soul deserves a second chance. But where is the second chance for all those who have died because of these monsters?"
The goblin Elira had healed shrank back into the corner of the cage, eyes gleaming with newly realized guilt.
"Where is the second chance for the thirteen children the goblins ate?" I pressed further. "Where is your god's justice for them?"
"You don't understand," Elira said quietly.
"Goodness has to start with someone. If not me, who?"
"But your goodness doesn't change anything," I glared at her. "The goblin you healed will still kill again once he gets out of here. The wolf-man will still rip out the throats of innocent people. The berserker orc will still eat human flesh."
"At least I tried—"
"Tried?" I stood up, hands gripping the bars.
"You're not trying, priestess. You're playing with other people's lives. You feel superior because you 'give monsters a second chance', while their victims never get a first chance to live in peace."
Elira looked at me with tears in her eyes. "Then what should I do? Let hatred rule my heart?"
"Learn to distinguish between goodness and stupidity," I answered loudly. "Between mercy and naivety. Between forgiveness and injustice."
Malachar clapped his hands softly. "Bravo. A most entertaining philosophical conversation." He turned to Jorik. "Move the priestess now. And this prisoner—" he pointed at me "—bring him to the ritual room as well. He will make an interesting witness."
"No," Elira suddenly shouted. "Leave him alone! He is innocent!"
I laughed bitterly. "Innocent? Priestess, you don't even know who I am. How can you say I am innocent?"
"Because you still talk about justice," Elira replied, tears streaming down her cheeks. "The truly evil do not care about justice."
"Or," I said softly, "I care about justice because I know exactly what it feels like when justice never comes."
Jorik and two other guards entered the monster cage, carrying heavier iron chains. Elira didn't fight as they tightened her arms, but her blue eyes never left my face.
"I will keep praying," she whispered as she was dragged out of the cage. "For myself, for these monsters, and for you."
"Don't waste time," I shouted as she nearly disappeared down the corridor. "How many prayers did you say before you were captured?"
Elira paused, body shaking. She turned back, blue eyes staring at me with a strange mixture of hurt and determination.
"A thousand prayers every day," she whispered, voice barely audible. "For ten years."
And then she disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, leaving me with a question more terrifying than I had ever thought possible.
Ten thousand prayers. And her god still let her be captured.