I sat silently, relishing the few stolen moments of peace, as I watched the sun rise, its cold morning light filtered through the iron bars of my prison window.
It had been a month.
A month of staying in this cell, watching the sun rise, and then set, looking out into the world as though I was apart from it.
As if the prison was in a different dimension, and the trees that seemed so very close, were in fact, impossibly beyond my grasp.
Still, I was grateful for the window within the cell, it provided a brief illusion of freedom and peace. A small tether to the outside world.
So when I heard the chirping of the birds, and felt the morning breeze, as I relished in the sight of dawn, and the slow swaying of the trees…I could almost believe I was free.
If only for a moment.
The echo of boots disrupted my solace as the guard approached.
I turned expecting to see some stale bread, maybe some water. But, the man held nothing. He opened the gates, his dark eyes blazing with a quiet, inexplicable anger.
"Get out" he half growled, fists clenched.
I obeyed silently. There was no use in asking questions or trying to resist.
The guard grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, not bothering to cuff me as I was dragged outside the cell for the first time in a month.
I was taken to the front of the estate, where there was a horseman waiting. Now they bound my hands, the end of the rope tied to the saddle like a leash.
'Ahh, it seems I'm finally being transported to the frontlines.'
Images of my old life flashed through my mind.
The various missions and excursions I had gone through. The battle I had faced. The scars they had left in me, beyond what medicine could heal. Those types of scars, they marred my soul, not my skin.
I would go through that again for my freedom.
'Three years' I repeated to myself. That was all the war I would go through in this life. The rebellion had taken a further three years to be defeated in the novel, lasting for a total of four.
In three years I needed not only to fight within the army, but to excel. To be seen as a prodigy, only then would I have the chance for the army scholarship into the Thoracen Royal Academy.
Otherwise, I'd have no chance of ever getting stronger, and my life would be spent stuck under someone else's thumb.
I had lived like that in the Republic, I couldn't do it again.
As I was bound, I turned, and spotted my parents.
Duke Gravewalker looked at me with his usual unrelentingly harsh scarlet eyes.
Then there was my mother. Yennefer Gravewaker. She was a beautiful lady, with white hair and ocean-blue eyes.
I could see the disappointment reflected in them easily.
Not sadness, not grief, worry or care. Nothing beyond a cold disappointment.
But their gazes didn't matter to me as much anymore. I had Reshi's memories of a loving family to temper against the constant desire of validation that had shaped Arthur.
Instead, my eyes rested on a little girl, who was standing on her own two feet, holding my mother's hand.
Elsie.
Her round cherubic face, and wide red eyes were fixed on me, and I could see she had been crying.
She had adored me, comically blind to my faults. Elsie was the only sibling I ever truly loved, maybe it was because she was younger, and had yet to be corrupted like the rest of us.
I felt little attachment to the Gravewalker name.
Another effect of Reshi's life, but that noble blood that used to mean so much meant…nothing.
And, while my father had certainly been my idol.
Someone who I had yearned the approval off and feared greatly, I didn't love him. Neither did I love my elder siblings, or my own mother.
But Elsie. She, I would miss.
The horseman started, and I was dragged along, my eyes fixed on the slow disappearing face of Elsie.
Funnily enough, I was scared. Not of the battle, not fighting. But in those three years, I might forget how she looked.
And so, as I left the Gravewalker estate, I kept my eyes fixed on her, trying to memorise all the details of a dear younger sister, that I had never before appreciated enough.
By night, we had reached Oatharl.
It was the nearest city to the Gravewalker estate. I kept my head down as I walked through the streets, trying to ignore the gazes of the citizens that stared down at me.
They laughed and jeered as I was dragged past, enjoying the sight of a noble punished.
In the heart of Oatharl lay the teleportation gate.
It was constructed from metal, with various runes pulsing across it. The horseman quickly gave his credential to the person guarding it. Then, after a brief conversation, we entered through it.
As I passed through, I felt a chilling sensation down my spine, as if I had been submerged in ice. When I emerged, the warm bustling brilliance of Oatharl was gone.
Instead it was replaced by the harsh barren field of war, whereupon, a city of war was built.
City of wars had come about due to magical advancements. As a result construction could now be performed at unheard of speeds. From that, the concept of City of war had been founded. Instead of forming temporary bases or reinforcing existing castles, entire walled cities could be built on the frontlines. They acted as both a HQ for frontline Officers and a base of operations from which they could stage attacks.
After the war, most would turn into Ghost towns, or be developed into fully fledged military bases.
A young soldier, in his twenties at least approached me, a lantern in one hand. He took the leash of rope off the horse, dragging me along.
"You are Arthur I presume?" He asked, his tone high pitched and sharp.
"Yes sir" I barked back, my instincts as Reshi taking over momentarily. I might've even saluted had I not been bound.
The soldier stopped walking. Turning around, with a faint smile. Then he drove his fist into my gut, causing me to drop to my knees with a grunt. A boot followed, pressing against my head, forcing it to the floor.
"You are not a soldier, Lordling. You're a prisoner" he spat. "Try acting above your station and see what happens."
I tucked away the burst of rage, controlling myself. 'If I get free, you, I'm going to hurt' I vowed silently. It took me a moment of vengeful muttering before I realised he had called me Lordling.
My identity shouldn't have been known. All details of my past were meant to be kept secret, for my own safety.
I should have realised that I wouldn't be so lucky. If that was true, if my past was known. Then these two years were going to be much more difficult.
The soldier yanked me up with the rope. "Follow me then Lordling. Let's see how far the gods have abandoned you."
I smiled softly to myself.
'All but one I think, and even he's a bastard.'