Chapter1
The stench of rot was what woke me up. It always did and I was already used to it. That sharp, bitter stink of decay that seeps into everything, my thoughts, my nose, my skin, and my soul. Bastion doesn’t just imprison your body, it traps your mind, suffocates your hope, and buries your memories in the layers of cruelty and cold stone.
I can’t remember the last time I saw sunlight. The last time I heard laughter, apart from the cruel disgusting laughter of the guards. Bastion is a way of erasing everything, changing time into one long, endless nightmare, where each day feels like the last.
How long have I been here? Days? Months? Years? Time was a forgotten luxury behind these walls.
Hope? It doesn’t survive long here. It is a weakness that gets you killed faster than the guards’ fists or their blades.
The heavy clunk of the iron door slamming echoed outside my cell, followed by the slow, angry stomps of boots on stone. My heart tightens as I know what it means. The guards are coming.
I curl my body tighter against the cold, damp corner, my muscles trembling as I brace for the blow I know is coming. Silence might save me, but silence is a lie when pain is waiting just beyond the door.
“Get up, rat,” a familiar voice snaps. It was harsh and unkind but I was used to it.
Before I could react, the cell door screeched open and a baton jabs roughly into my ribs. I bite back a cry. Showing weakness feeds the guard's hunger for control.
“Visitor,” the guard sneers.
For a moment, I thought I’d misheard. Visitor? Here? For me? The word ‘Visitor’ felt strange. It doesn’t belong to this place.
The guard grabs my arm with iron fingers and hauls me to my feet. My knees buckle under me, but there’s no mercy in Bastion. Two more guards flank me, dragging me down the corridor like a rag doll. My bare feet scrape against the jagged stone floor, every rough bump sending a fresh dose of pain.
My prison rags hang off my body like tattered shame stitched together. I barely recognized the reflection I imagined in the puddles beneath me. Pair skin, sunken eyes, and hair a wolf mess. This place steals everything from you until all that is left is survival.
They took me to the Black Chamber.
The room is reserved for the worst of us, or sometimes, the most important. My body shook with fear as I wondered who it was that came to visit me. I didn’t know who to accept as my memory felt jagged and blurred. I couldn’t even remember my name.
The moment we got to the room, I was shoved inside and I dropped to my knees.
The silence here was thicker and unsettling. I felt cold instantly and I shivered. From the way the guards were behaving, I could tell it was a very important person. I tried racking my brain for who it could be, but couldn’t come up with anything. I held my breath as we waited in silence.
Then, I heard footsteps.
It was slow, confident, and heavy and a shadow stood in the doorway. He stepped in like he owned the world and when I saw him, I knew he did.
I didn’t know how I remembered him, but somehow, I did.
Valerio Nero.
I’d heard the name being whispered in Bastion like a curse. The man who commanded empires behind the scenes. The man who killed without mercy or hesitation. The one everyone feared and avoided like death. I had also seen him once at a party my father took me to. That was how I could still remember him.
He didn’t sit. He just stared at me. His gaze made me feel like a little prey in the trap of a large predator.
I lowered my gaze, the weight of his eyes like chains around my throat. The way he gazed at me burned me like a fire. I felt ...trapped.
“So this is what remains,” he said finally. His voice was nothing like anything I have ever heard. It was the kind that silenced rooms. It just subconsciously wants you to listen to it. It was low and precise. It was also smooth and laced with danger. It made you want to listen to it whether you wanted to or not. “The last of Rossi’s blood.”
My heart drummed painfully in my chest. It was my name. My family. No one said it here. Not unless they want to die in the most brutal way possible.
With struggle, I finally spoke. It has been years since I last spoke. “What…do…you..wa..want?” I raised out, my voice rough and my throat scratchy.
He moved closer, to me, his footsteps echoed like death approaching. I tried not to flinch when he knelt before me.
His face was inches away from mine and I stared face-to-face with him. His eyes, which were colder than ice, were green, but not like the grass or emerald. They were something darker, deeper—veined with gold like something not entirely human.
He didn’t touch me, but I felt as if his fingers were wrapped tight around my soul.
“You belong to me now,” he whispered.
I felt as if time paused at his words. My eyes widened with difficulty as I stared at him. “Wh..what do you mean?” I questioned thinking I heard wrongly.
“Your father owed me a debt. One he never paid.” His eyes narrowed, sharp and deadly. “Since his corpse can no longer repay me…”
His hand reached out and lifted my chin. I froze in shock and fear.
“You will.”
My whole body trembled with fear…and something else. Something buried deep under the years of suffering. I wanted to spit in his face, scream that I wasn’t a property to be owned. But that would’ve been a lie. I stopped belonging to myself the day I entered Bastion.
“I...I didn’t choose this,” I whispered.
“No,” he said, an amused glint in his eyes which disappeared immediately leaving me wondering if I imagined it. “But choices are a luxury you’ve long since lost.”
He retracted his hand and stood up abruptly, turning towards the door like he was done with the conversation.
“Prepare her for departure,” he ordered the guards. “I want her clean, fed, and dressed.”
I stared at him, numb and hollow. What did he mean by departure? Where was he taking me? Am I to be transferred to another prison?
As the guards pulled me to my feet again, I heard his voice one last time.
“Tell her—if she runs, I’ll break her legs myself.”
And then, the door slammed behind him.”
For the first time in years, I felt something other than numbness.
Deep, rooted fear.
Because whatever fate Bastion might have given me, Valerio Nero might be worse.
