Chapter Text
Kaladin could no longer guess how long his life had been screams, death, and nightmares made real. His prison was deep within the Circle, far from any doors or windows that might have shown that time still passed outside. Maybe it had only been a few days. Maybe it had been weeks. He wasn’t certain which possibility was more horrifying.
His father’s calm, quiet voice whispered that he could make a guess based on the effects of his extended dehydration. His mouth felt cracked and dry, his body feverish, and his skin shriveled. Considering how he felt, it had probably been well over a week since they’d taken him, and the meager amounts of food and water were not enough to stave off this debilitating weakness. The surgeon’s son in him knew how dangerous that weakness truly was now. Of all the things in this Circle that might kill him, it could be something as simple as lack of water that finally did him in. He couldn’t help but think he might prefer that.
At least if he died of thirst, he would die as himself.
Originally, he’d tried to keep track of the days by his sleep cycle, but it was impossible to actually rest in here. The warded circle that was his prison was barely large enough to lay down in with his legs curled to his chest; any semblance of comfort was out of the question. The screams echoing in the halls woke him every time he managed to drift off anyway. After a while, he realized he’d started to pass out periodically. Though medically, he couldn’t help but be concerned about that, a part of him was grateful that his brief snatches of rest weren’t really sleep. The lyrium withdrawal’s nightmares were nearly as unbearable as being awake.
Oh, lyrium. Kaladin had only been a templar for a few years, and he had thought that it would be years before he felt the negative effects of lyrium addiction, but that had been before his blood mage captors had cut him off entirely and without warning. That gnawing need seemed to be eating at him from the inside, the crooning song inescapable as it clawed at his psyche. He vowed, if he made it out of this alive, he’d never again look down on the templars who’d started to be addled by the lyrium’s influence. He now knew how deep and powerful its hold could be, and he suffered through every second of it.
There was only one thing for which Kaladin could thank the Maker: Tien wasn’t here anymore. He’d hated Knight-Commander Amaram for giving his brother to the Grey Wardens – and Andraste knew he had more than enough reason to despise Amaram after what had just happened – but he was glad Tien was away from all of this. Maker send that the rest of Ferelden wasn’t just as bad as here, though. There’d been rumors of Voidbringer darkspawn rising up in what might be a Blighted Desolation. Of all the times for the Circle to shatter, this was one of the worst. Still, his only concern on the outside was Tien, or very seldom, a stray thought for his parents. With what he was enduring here, he didn’t have the strength to worry about much beyond the Circle.
Maker knew, he could barely think beyond the confines of his own glowing cell and the desperate sense of self-preservation that his torture had evoked. He tried not to look outside, beyond the confines of his ring, but it was impossible to forget the horrors of the scene around him. Even with his eyes closed, the cloying scents of blood, death, and decay clung to his every breath. Even in the rare moments of silence, the screams of his squad’s deaths still rang in his ears.
Amaram had said Kaladin had had real potential. The youngest templar to be promoted to Knight-Captain in recent history, and his squad was one of the most disciplined and well-organized. But what had their success won them? They’d stayed controlled and committed when everything had started to fall apart, worked together to protect the Knight-Commander and get their group to a rendezvous to reassemble. And when they’d finally reached the ground floor, rather than regrouping and mounting an assault as had been the original plan, Knight-Commander Amaram had chosen to take his chance at safety and seal the rest of the tower off completely.
Leaving Kaladin and his squad trapped on the other side, outnumbered by a horde of abominations, shades, and blood mages.
After that, Kaladin was proud of how well his squad defended themselves, but they were exhausted and outnumbered. Enchanter Taravangian and his fellow traitors had overwhelmed the small group of templars and taken them prisoner, holding each of them in their own enchanted ring, each barrier an impenetrable wall of light.
What remained of his squad was now strewn about this section of the hall. Only one was still alive, besides himself. Knight-Lieutenant Dallet, his second-in-command. Originally, when they’d all awoken, Kaladin had thought the mages meant them to be hostages, used for negotiation if the outside forces broke in.
Then the torture began, and he realized the truth instead. They were playthings. Toys to be broken by mages seeking any kind of petty or insidious revenge. These mages didn’t wish to punish specific templars for abuses or cruelty, either. Kaladin had realized that when they’d started with Cenn. The boy was barely more than a recruit, but that didn’t matter. These captive templars weren’t being attacked for anything they personally had done, they were being tortured simply for what they were.
Kaladin sat, knees bent before him, leaning back against the boundary, and hated that he could almost understand his captors’ twisted logic. He grew up in an apostate family, hearing his father say similar things about the templars, that they hunted mages down for no crime other than existing. That they’d lock anyone with magic away and punish them simply for what they were. With Taravangian’s takeover, the power roles had flipped. The mages chose whoever they wished and tortured them, often to death. Of course, those who died were the lucky ones. The templars who didn’t die? They were turned into monsters.
“Kaladin,” a voice rasped beside him.
He opened his eyes, slowly focusing on Dallet in the gloom. “Yeah?”
“She’s coming back for me.” Dallet looked down the corridor, but Kaladin couldn’t see or hear anything. “I think she’s going to finish me off this time, sir.”
Kaladin managed to sit up, the words mustering what little protective instinct he had left. “Don’t talk like that. We’ve survived this long.”
Dallet found a small smile, but Kaladin could see his words hadn’t meant anything. “It’s been an honor serving with you, sir. I only wish I weren’t leaving you alone.”
Now Kaladin could hear the steps. Figures began to coalesce from the darkness, and selfishly, Kaladin’s first burst of panic was for himself alone, despite what Dallet had just said. Kaladin’s Knight-Lieutenant bowed his head, lips moving as he breathed one last prayer to the Maker or perhaps spoke a passage from the Chant of Radiance.
Taravangian himself wasn’t present with the approaching group – he tended to spend his time with the captured mages rather than the templars. In his stead, Enchanter Adrotagia led a party of four. As they drew near to Dallet’s ring, Kaladin found his voice and his courage again.
“Stop! Leave him alone. Take me instead.”
Adrotagia locked eyes with him and he forced himself not to look away. She was a poised woman who had always carried a great sense of control, wearing mage’s robes as if she belonged in them. She had always looked upon others as though they were inferior without magic, and now, standing over captives, the effect was even more pronounced. As Kaladin held her gaze, he could see there was something inhuman behind her eyes now.
“That one,” she said, pointing to Dallet without breaking eye contact with Kaladin. She flicked her staff to the side and as the boundary went down, Dallet jerked as lightning arced across his body. Templars were normally resistant to magic, but that came from lyrium. Without it, they were as weak as everyone else. Starved as they were now, they were probably weaker to magic than the average person would be. Dallet didn’t stand a chance of resisting.
In a moment, it was over, and Dallet’s unconscious form slumped in a heap. Kaladin yelled, pounding against the conjured wall powerlessly. The magic made a deep hollow sound as he hit it, vibrating beneath his hands like the skin of a drum. It was strangely smooth, but not flat, like a pane of glass warped from melting. The surface shifted subtly back and forth in a calm, even pattern, as if defiantly serene in contrast to his horror. After ensuring that Dallet was knocked out, one of the blood mages walked over and picked him up.
Assured that her companions had the situation in hand, Adrotagia walked over to Kaladin, knelt down to his level and cocked her head. “And then there was one.”
Kaladin forced himself not to look away. “Let him go. Please. I’m the Knight-Captain. Take me instead.” He’d learned quickly in his time like this that he wasn’t too proud to beg. Not if it might save someone’s life.
Her mouth quirked slightly. “Very noble, Knight-Captain. Alas, you are off-limits for now. Spoken for.”
He couldn’t help but feel a chill at the sinister tone. “Spoken for,” he repeated. It wasn’t quite a question.
“The last group of captured mages are now being taken to the Harrowing chamber. Enchanter Kholin will be among them.”
Kaladin surged with a powerfully ambivalent response. Renarin was still alive? But if Adrotagia spoke the truth, he was as much a prisoner as Kaladin himself was. He’d hoped that Renarin had been able to escape to safety on the other side of the seal before it closed, but he’d also feared that Renarin might have been killed in the chaos of the aftermath. At least now he knew, he told himself. At least he knew.
“In a way, we have you to thank for that, don't we?" Adrotagia continued. "He was scheduled to be made Tranquil and you pushed for him to be tested."
"He passed," Kaladin growled.
She chuckled, and there was something multifold in the sound. "Yes, and a fortunate thing, too. He'd be useless to us Tranquil. Powerful, but unstable. Perfect for what Enchanter Taravangian has planned. Your fellow templars would have made him a soulless husk. We will make him our crowning achievement. Though I fear you may come to regret saving him, Knight-Captain."
Kaladin was afraid to ask, but he forced himself to, for Renarin’s sake. “What are you going to do?”
“The same we are doing to all the mages who refuse to join us willingly. He will be possessed.”
Kaladin set his teeth. Renarin was a Dreamer, though that fact was not widely known in the Circle. While other mages might see that he was more sensitive to the Fade, they didn’t realize he also had more extensive experience in resisting possession than almost anyone else. If anyone could survive this, Kaladin knew it was him.
“Why tell me this?” Kaladin asked carefully. Surely she didn’t just come to gloat.
“Ah, child. It’s no secret that the two of you were close. You deserved to know. The king’s own cousin falling to possession and becoming an abomination amidst blood mages? It will be the blow that finally shatters the already fracturing Kholin rule. Elhokar is not his father and the Blackthorn is past his prime. People whisper that the revelation of young Renarin as a mage shows that the bloodline is tainted with magic, and they are unfit. This will break everything wide open. As the royal family’s hold on this nation is destroyed, we will build a new order in the chaos, powerful enough to force back this Blighted Desolation. Sometimes you must tear down a structure to build a new one with stronger foundations. And we will be strong for what’s to come.”
“You’re a monster.”
She gave a small shrug. “Some might call me that, for what I’ve chosen to become. It is no matter. Your… friend will soon be the same as me, though. His turning will simply require a more delicate touch than the others if the proper possession is to be achieved.”
At the end of the hall, the mages carrying Dallet paused and looked back, checking to see if Adrotagia was going to follow. She gave a small wave of dismissal, indicating that they should go on without her. Kaladin wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that it was now just the two of them in the bloodstained hall. This woman had tortured him countless times over the course of his captivity. She was a merciless creature, but at the moment she seemed… almost casual. Relaxed, even. It was less threatening than usual, even if she was not actually less dangerous. Still, she’d also mentioned he was “spoken for.” Perhaps that meant she wasn’t going to do anything to him right now. Or perhaps it was a trick.”
“Somehow,” Kaladin said, “I doubt ‘delicate’ is the word I would use for whatever twisted thing you have planned.”
“No,” she said, “you probably wouldn’t. The fact of the matter is, Enchanter Kholin’s usefulness is derived from his ability to be recognized. How could one tell one twisted monster from another, and how can we show that a Kholin has been corrupted if no one can see who he is? Turning a mage against his will, is a simple enough task, given adequate resources and knowledge. But forcing the possession disfigures the subject. A different approach is needed.”
She paused, as though waiting for him to ask her what she meant. Though he felt a protective anger starting to boil up, he held his tongue, if only because she seemed to want him to speak. He had a feeling she was going to tell anyway. When it became clear he wasn’t going to play into her self-imposed script, she made a small “tsk” and continued.
“If forcing a spirit on him unwillingly would cause a transformation, he must instead be convinced to accept without resisting. The mages we’ve turned up to this point have been practice. Now we move on to our most important conversion. We have time, experience, and no shortage of healing magic, so there is no chance that he might be lost if our efforts go too far. Taravangian has already drawn the Greater Terror here in the Fade and the spirit is compliant. It has agreed to be patient while we prepare its host.”
Kaladin felt sick, though he tried not to show it. He’d keep a strong front before this woman, no matter how horrifying the plans she spoke of were. “You’re going to… torture him until he agrees to be possessed? It will never work.”
Adrotagia raised an eyebrow. “Commendable loyalty, but I don’t believe Kholin will be too difficult to persuade. You, young templar, might have a defiant will that could withstand our efforts for a time, but I do not believe Renarin can say the same. This will be over quickly, and then after we have turned him, his first task as ours will be to turn you.”
Her words sparked a true terror within him. The image of a Renarin whose eyes were not his own, standing over Kaladin’s cell, intent on using magic to force Kaladin to become one of those monsters. Yes, he could speak defiance at Adrotagia now, but he knew without lyrium he had no defenses. If Renarin were to become possessed, a powerful demon could subsume Kaladin’s will entirely.
All Kaladin had to hold on to was hope that Renarin could hold out. If these mages had decided that turning him was to be Renarin’s responsibility, in some kind of sick revenge, then so long as Renarin resisted, Kaladin might be safe. “You won’t turn him, maleficar. He won’t break.”
The blood mage rocked back on her heels, pulling herself up to stand with the support of her staff. “You still don’t understand just how powerful we are, templar. Do you know how much stronger magic powered by the Fade is when a living being of that realm lives within a mage? How much more we are capable of when we stop letting your Chantry rules hold us back?”
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as cracks of cold blue light shattered across her face. When she opened her eyes again, they too had been overtaken by the same light. In a smooth motion, she flipped her staff and laid the sharpened staff-blade against her hand, then pulled it across. The sharpened metal crystalized with frost as it drew blood into the air between the wound and staff. A few drops fell free, and shattered against the ground, frozen solid. The webs of light on her skin illuminated the suspended liquid in a strange contrast of blue on red.
Kaladin’s back hit the far side of his barrier as he tried to push himself away from her and her spell. It was no use – he was trapped – but he knew what was coming next. He knew exactly what he planned to use that blood for, and he couldn’t help trying to get away.
“We are now everything your Order feared, templar, and more.” Her voice now sounded like many, layered atop one another. “You cannot begin to comprehend the power we wield. Know the fate of your dear mage. Know what his fate means for yours. Look upon your future, and despair.”
Her staff yanked to the side as she finished casting and the thrall hit him like a battering ram. Her magic set his blood on fire, worming its way through his veins and taking control. He couldn’t even scream as the spell held him like this. He was consumed, burning as the spell began to tear at his mind. He tried to shove it back, keep it out of his thoughts, but the pain was too intense, too distracting. In moments, the thrall took him completely and his vision went dark. The last thing he was truly aware of before succumbing was the voice of Adrotagia’s demon in his mind:
“You are not mine to claim, so instead, enjoy your taste of what is to come.”