Salamin awoke with his senses on fire. Face down in the dirt, he scraped the soil with his fingers as voices floated down from above. His lips burned with thirst, and the smell of old blood and dirt invaded his nose.

  He stretched and arm outward and stopped. How was this possible? He’d been immobilized by the curse for an endless amount of time. Salamin’s eyes snapped opened. Instead of the cloudy images, everything was crisp and sharp.

  Old bricks circled him upward towards the darkness. Each brick was imprinted with runes praising the old god Argor. A skull grinned up at him from the corner.

  Salamin gazed down at his hands. His right hand was burned and black and his left hand smooth with pale skin. How long had it been since he’d had control of his hands? Then memories hit him. The flash of light, and then darkness. This was not Salamin's hand anymore, it was the chubby hand of the boy, Sedwick Draken. He now was Sedwick Draken. How could that be?

  Slowly, he reached around his neck and felt a cool chain against his skin, and trembled. He grasped the chain with his fingers, and pulled it off, letting it fall the ground. The boy's tunic was rough on his skin, and he reached into the pocket. The blue orb the boy possessed was gone. A measly dagger for ritual at his belt. He opened and rubbed the blade against his finger. He wanted to laugh both with frustration and absurdity. The blade was dull and unlikely to cut even a field chard, let alone help him escape. He slipped it back on his belt and gazed upward.

  “There should be two of them!” A third mage’s voice raged above. “There’s only the boy down there. Where is the burned man?”

  “Please, Lord Kaldon,” another voice said. Salamin recognized Tanas’s slippery voice. “We did the spell correctly.”

  “It was a failure. Go back and find him,” the other mage hissed. “If there is any chance Salamin Ator is alive, he needs to be contained. Tanas you will get information from the boy then sacrifice him.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Tanas said. “It will be done.”

  Blinking, Salamin stood, letting a wave of dizziness pass. He recognized the runes, the bricks. This was the Order's Pit of Fear, the brick and mortar place where enemies were made to talk and magic extracted the subject's deepest fears. Salamin had once led the fight to shut it down. He regarded a bone sticking out of the dirt and shuddered. It now appeared to be used frequently. Cautiously, he stepped outside the circle.

  He circled the pit, feeling the bricks, and memorizing the runes. The spell was exactly as it was all those years ago. Did he still have access to the void? Salamin let out a deep breath, centering himself. Still standing, he closed his eyes, welcoming the energy of the deep void. The place he had without emotion, without thought.

  There was nothing.

  Cautiously, he squinted his eyes, accessing the strange energy within he didn’t even recognize. HIs breath caught when he got the response:

  Sedwick Draken ? Moonpath Tier 2 ? Class Healer

  Health 30/100 ? Intelligence 10/100 ? Power 1/100 ? Stamina 20/100

  Abilities: Lunapassus (Minor Healing Spell)

  He shook his head at the continued absurdity. Moonpath didn’t give him a chance in all the hells. He knew nothing of this area of magic, and its capricious god. It was a weak, dead-end path only for those with leisure time on their hands.

  Still, the boy had said he’d wanted it to heal his father. “The fool,” he muttered, and was surprised when the voice was not his own.

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  “Boy,” a familiar voice called from above. “Tell me where your companion is.”

  Salamin stood, staring up at the ghostly face above, and remained silent.

  “Was that Salamin Ator?” Tanas’s black eyes gazed down expectantly. “Boy, do you know of the Pit of Fear? You can save yourself intense suffering by cooperating.”

  Crossing his arms, Salamin held the mage’s stare. He’d seen a million mages just like him in his lifetime. A middling wizard who would never reach the heights. Power was just a crutch for him, and an excuse to hurt others.

  “You had your chance,” Tanas said, pursing his lips into a scowl. “We will begin.”

  The Pit made the subject face their greatest fear, root out the worst in the subject's psyche. It was long argued that it be eliminated, that it was not voidmagic but something darker. He shuddered. Mages had gone mad or died from their fear.

  Salamin thought about what the Pit may hold for him. Complete paralyzation had been his worst fear when Haldar had cursed him. Being only able to use his senses for a decade, unable to interact, a prisoner in a shell of a burnt body.

  His mind raced. He had to escape. Tanas chanted overhead, the words that would activate the pit. The energy cascaded down from Tanas and enfolded him. Tripping over a bone in his haste, Salamin searched for an exit, a way out. The runes on the bricks pulsated with a deep red as the spell took hold. Deep down Salamin knew there would not be an escape. The ancient mages made the punishment exact and pure.

  He wouldn’t beg or give in but if the fear was right, Salamin shuddered, the Pit of Fear always got what it wanted. Resistance led to more suffering.

  Malum, malum, ignatius, rigoras

  The words flowed down, igniting burning every inch of Salamin’s skin. He screamed and fell to his knees.

  He’d been through worse when he was captured by the on his northern armies, and he’d had his magic then. It was so long ago. Salamin clung to his memories as the burning increased. Make it go away, he thought. Let me die.

  All memories and thought vanished with a sharp crescendo of pain. Salamin tried to remain awake, but then even that failed him. A moonpath had no power. The boy was a fool. It was the last thought before he passed out on the dirt floor.

  “It isn’t too late,” a calm voice said from above. “Tell me what I want to know, and you will be free of the pain.”

  Never, Salamin tried to say, but the words didn’t come out, only a pitiful moan.

  “I am not your enemy, but your friend,” Tanas continued. “Only I can save you, but I need your friendship and trust.”

  Without knowledge, Tanas’ words would work, Salamin realized. The chance to salve the pain wracking through his body. But the centuries in a charred body had strengthen his capacity for pain. He took it one wave, one moment at a time, focusing on his breath. Soon it would be over, and he would embrace the death. Death was a salvation, a gift, and it was only breaths away.

  “We can go on a long time,” Tanas said, eyes squinting. “Many, many days like this, but it could all go away in an instant with only your word.”

  One breath, one moment. Salamin let the pain in, welcomed it, and did not resist it. It flowed through him, all he had to do was breathe.

  “There is another way to go,” Tanas’s voice echoed down. “It is much worse than pain. It will be your greatest fear, because the Pit knows and it will destroy you.”

  Salamin had hoped for an easy death. In fact, he’d hoped for it those many years, welcomed it in his mind to rid himself of the charred remains. He was not his body, he was the void and its many mysteries.

  “Go to the deepest hells,” Salamin heard himself say. He hadn’t meant to say it, and the words surprised him. It was a moment of weakness. It was not what a seasoned void mage would say. Slowly, he let out a centering breath. Salamin was more than this.

  “So be it,” the mage said from overhead. Once again, Salamin heard the words of the curse and braced himself.

  The Pit had broken stronger mage’s than himself. Moonpath, he thought and shook his head in dismay. What fear would the pit bring to him? There were many things he was scared of, things that he’d kept deep down inside so that it would never be used against him.

  Malum, malum, dominus, Argor, pavor, pavor, PAVOR

  The chanting grew louder, and with a crescendo, Salamin screamed when the energy struck him in the chest. The sound was deafening as it echoed off the walls. Tears of agony blurred his vision. He bit his lip, then his cheek and tasted salty blood, concentrating. Salamin was still alive, he still had his breath.

  A black haze filled the room when Tanas stopped chanting. As it dissipated, Salamin jumped when he realized he was not alone. His greatest fear was being made manifest.

  There was something in the shadows beside him, watching, and waiting.