Sacrificed to Surpass

The torchlight blazed in the Warden’s metal-clad hand, illuminating the makeshift elevator as the guards lowered the cage down the shaft to the lower levels. The clicking of chains echoed all the way down as they made their descent until the bottom was reached. The morning light had no place in the dimly-lit prison. Out from the cage the Warden guided Lord-Clairvoyant Silas down the halls. Two guards followed close behind, halberds in hand as they passed the cells.

The two paid no mind to the voices of the prisoners. Whether they were begging for release, cursing the Warden’s family, or questioning what business such a powerful psychic had down there. One of the guards, however, banged against the cell bars with the butt of their polearm, commanding them to silence. This made no difference to Silas, as the combined effort of all of the inmates’ yells and curses could not make so much as a dent in his composure.

For a man in his position and reputation, he had become accustomed to studying, observing, and dealing with the occult and supernatural. After twenty years, he would need quite a bit more than some barbarians shouting empty threats to phase him. He continued further down the hall with his escort, a selection of books under his left arm and a staff cradled in his right, all while he gandered at the Warden’s stern and chiseled face with an almost quizzical look. He sensed something off about him. The man had not said a word to him since they made their descent.

“Go on,” Silas said abruptly. The Warden just looked over to him out of confusion.

“Pardon?” he asked as he kept his pace.

“I sensed your pulse drop from here. You’ve wanted to say something ever since we got on that elevator,” the Lord-Clairvoyant responded with a confident smirk. “Fear not, Sir. I won’t bite.”

The Warden laughed. “Nothing gets past you, eh?”

Silas shrugged. “If something did, I wouldn’t know about it,” he joked back. “So what did you want to say?

Pausing for a moment, the Warden took a breath. “Are you sure it’s wise to visit him, my Lord?” he asked hesitantly as he came in closer. “Over the past week he’s been sitting in that cell...thinking. Of what I haven’t a clue, but he hasn’t eaten, spoken, or even so much as flinched.” His freehand grasped the hilt of the longsword strapped to his belt as they neared a large vault-like door at the end of the hall. “After what he pulled with those poor folk, who knows what he’s capable of? What if he’s set a trap for you and he’s just waiting to spring it?”

The old telepath’s face became puzzled again, the smirk having hid beneath the gray hairs of his beard. “The only reason Gregor is imprisoned is because of his own insistence. He never meant to harm those people and I don’t believe he has any trap waiting for me in there.” He pointed his staff forward down to the end of the hall as they approached an enlarged chamber door. “If I recall, that cell was designed to quell his power. Even if he had a trap set for me, I’m certain it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

The Warden’s face showed his lack of belief. “How can you be so sure?”

As the end of the hall--and with it the large door--drew closer, he hastened his pace before turning his head to the Warden. “I think you’re forgetting who trained him.”

In mere seconds, Silas and the guards found themselves inches from the door. He handed his gilded staff over to one of the guards as he took the newly freed hand and slid it across the metal door out of admiration for the craft. It was cold and smooth across all seven feet of its length. A single touch told Lord Silas of the sheer weight the seal carried. It must have been several tons in weight and several inches in thickness. Engraved runes illuminating a brilliant blue festooned the door. Runes of protection and severance befitting for a cell. They seemed to glow in a harmonic, yet unusually feeble pattern with each other as they slowly blinked on and off. Accompanying them were several locks and precautions put in place by the order of the Warden.

It had always struck Silas as an odd defense to implement. As if the runes did not provide enough protection. Perhaps it’s more for the Warden’s peace of mind, he pondered as he politely reclaimed his staff from the one guard. Without saying a word, the Warden knew Silas had made up his mind and when a Lord-Clairvoyant had their mind made up, it was final and any resistance was a null effort.

He motioned his men to unlock the vault. They nodded as seals were loosened, keys were churned, bolts were unfastened, and locks were lifted before they pulled the door open. The creaking of heavy steel echoed through the halls as Silas glimpsed into Gregor’s chamber to see him there just as the Warden had detailed.

His legs were crossed, his eyes were closed, and his staff settled atop his legs as he had himself propelled in mid-air. The chamber was near empty yet well-lit in contrast to the rest of the prison. Silas looked to the ground where a tray of food lay untouched from last night. Hell, he thought, it could have been from the night before. One of the guards picked up the cold dinner and in its place set down a much warmer tray of breakfast. It was a larger one carrying two plates with enough food for two, either that or for someone who had not eaten in several days, both of which were applicable.

About a half-year had passed since his imprisonment. It all started with a cult interrogation gone wrong. Silas had always seen Gregor as the young boy he discovered in a humble village, unaware of his own strength, and yet gave him the responsibility of a master telepath. It was a poor mix in hindsight as in the midst of plundering his victims’ minds of information, their minds bursted, overwhelmed by the sheer power of an unkempt spirit.

Silas had been willing to write it off as an accident as the forgiving man he claimed himself to be, yet Gregor exiled himself into the prison with the support of the Lord and his advisors. However, his robes, his staff, and all the books he had used over the years as Silas’s apprentice remained with him in the cell at the behest of the Lord-Clairvoyant. All of that in spite of several men, including the Warden, several advisors, fellow psychics, and even the Lord of the city himself fighting back, Silas’s status and reputation prevailed. He wanted Gregor to control his abilities. To learn from himself. To better serve his master, his liege, and himself as the one thing he had in his student above all else was faith.

Lord Silas bowed his head out of respect for the Warden. “Many thanks. You may leave us.”

The Warden returned his thanks. “I wish you luck with our living statue my Lord,” he joked before having his guards close the door shut once more. For a moment Silas watched as his former student laid deep in meditation. The books from under his arm started to hover from his grip and flew around Gregor slowly and delicately. His eyes remained closed and he did not seem to notice his master’s presence at all.

The Lord-Clairvoyant smiled with an odd sense of pride in his ability. Laying his staff on his lap he too lifted himself in the air, his eyes closed, as he met with Gregor face-to-face and mind-to-mind.

It was then that the words: “Ah, so the great Lord-Clairvoyant finally makes time for his fallen student,” began echoing through the old man’s mind.

“I see you have used your time here wisely to hone in on your skills,” Silas shot back telepathically.

Though his lips remained shut, his lips curved into a smirk not dissimilar to his teacher’s. “The seclusion this cell offers makes it all worth the sacrifices made to get here.” As these words pulsed through Silas’s mind, he grew confused to the point that he broke the silence and spoke aloud.

“Sacrifices?” he questioned as he opened his eyes. He searched Gregor’s mind to understand what he meant, but could not make heads or tails of his words. It was as if his mind had been shielded from his infiltration even as it allowed psychic conversation.

Gregor opened his eyes as he and Silas remained in flight. “Let us eat. I’ve grown quite famished after these days deep in meditation.” He lowered his hood and the tray came to them just as the books had done earlier.

Silas, however, was not ready to eat, especially as his words continued to boggle him. “What sacrifices?”

His student seemingly avoided the question once more as he played with the scrambled eggs displayed on the plate with a fork. “I actually prefer breakfast here anyway. You know more than anyone that it’s hard to mess up breakfa--”

“--Damnit Gregor! Answer me!” Silas shouted, smacking Gregor like a disobedient child with impatience lacing his words and actions like butter on bread. “What sacrifices?” he asked again, recomposing himself.

The younger telepath looked displeased as he rubbed his reddened cheek. He stared back at Silas as if he already knew the answer. “For one so renowned for the breath and strength of his psychic abilities, you really can’t seem to see the obvious.”

The old man’s eyes widened with shock. “Gregor...did...did you kill them on purpose?” Gregor kept that disappointed look for every word. That was all Silas needed to see. It was then that his mouth ran dry, unable to think of anything meaningful to say other than to ask: “Why?”

“When one is imprisoned, all they can do is think. To bide their time, to train, and to grow stronger in isolation with no disruptions. No distractions. There, with nothing more to hinder them, they can learn to overpower even the strongest of runes, mightiest of minds as they rest in peace and freedom without shackles.” With his master’s guard down, Gregor telekinetically forced Silas out of focus and into the wall where he then plummeted to the floor. “I needed to know how I could grow in such solitude and sacrifices needed to be made,” he continued as he descended down to his fallen master.

Silas tried to get up to face his former student, only to have a shockwave pulsate through his brain, sending him back to the ground where he laid as meek as the blinking glow of the runes on the door. His faith in his student’s innocence had brought him where he was so he could do nothing but lay there in complete and utter defeat.

The tray had followed Gregor as he made his descent before stopping in between who were once master and apprentice. Gregor took up his fork again and dug into the eggs, bread, and oats that awaited. “Now that I have enlightened you...will you finally join me?” he asked, gesturing to the second plate on the tray.

A rush of uncertainty filled the Lord-Clairvoyant as the pulsing came to an end. A degree of focus returned as his mind was put back to rest. There was not much else left for him to do then to join him. Any retaliation would most likely have him end up like the alleged cultists he had foolishly allowed Gregor to interrogate. He lifted himself up in mid-air once more, took a spoon and scooped up some oats before eating it while staring right back at Gregor as a means of appeasement. His voice and mind remained blank all throughout as he continued, for with every doubt he could feel his brain begin to rupture again. With one ear at his mouth and another at his mind, there was no way he could repent for displaced faith. No way to reassure his safety. No way to panic and no way to scream.