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[Agostino]

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There was music in the darkness. Like bells. Or wind chimes. Sleep was vast, dark and thick, and Agostino struggled to the surface of abyssal slumber. He rolled over, feeling stiff and unrested. He rested his forehead against the cold, stone floor, and the the chimes sounded cheerfully again.

Slowly, he forced opened his eyes. They were black in the darkened, torchlit chamber. He couldn't remember where he was, or how he got there. There were bars for walls. Bars for a door. He watched the world sideways as he searched his memory for how he came to rest on the floor of a cell. More slowly, he sat up, pushing off the sandstone floor. The inside of his forearm stung hotly and he rubbed it gingerly. The chimes sounded again.

Agostino looked down to find himself chained. Heavy, hammered iron shackles held his wrists, bound by a sturdy iron chain. Fire radiated through his forearm, and he held it up in the torchlight to examine its source. An arcane symbol had been tattooed upon his flesh in black ink. The shackles had done nothing but irritate the freshly etched design.

A wave of nausea overtook him, and the veil of sleep covered over him, dragging him down into the abyss again. He took a slow breath as his limp body fell to the floor. Somewhere in the darkness, the music of chains decorated the void.

[Agostino]

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What happens to the soul of a man enslaved? The question burned in Agostino’s heart and enflamed his mind as the sun blazed overhead. Already the seasons had begun to transition, and the cool, cleansing breeze of spring had given way to summer’s inferno. Or had the solstice passed without his knowing? Memory was still beyond his reach, save for a few beautiful moments that manifested themselves brightly on the canvas of his mind as he sweated and toiled over the palisades he gathered for the fortress.

A smile. Her smile. Hidden behind flowers. A smile he gave her. And her name. Oriana. Somewhere beyond these fortress walls, she waited for him. He felt it to his core. Someday, he would find his way back to her.

Someday, if he outlived the blight that crept through his soul and obliterated it steadily, day after day. Hope, he found, was quickly becoming a plague that tormented him. He felt nothing but the chains, the shackles, the sun, and stinging sweat in his eyes. And his own fire, dying a slow and languid death, inside.