†
The Dungeon: Five a.m.
The cell lightened ever so slightly as dawn broke, creeping toward the sleeping town and across the window slots high above. D’ata leaned his head against Ravan’s shoulder. The two sat quietly for a span, each considering the story of the other.
It was a sweet and melancholy moment, raw in its honesty. There was an uncomfortable recognition that time was scarce. It would not be long before dawn counted down the final minutes in the life of the mercenary.
This was not what bothered Ravan now. “How do you live?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” D’ata countered.
“I mean, with the pain? How do you live with that?”
There was hesitation when Ravan only heard D’ata’s quiet breathing. A strange and cool breeze blew across their laps as they sat next to each other in the cell. Both men peered down into the darkness of the hallway.
Finally, the young priest looked back at his hands, lying in his lap, and answered in a whisper, “I don’t…”