The chill of the stone floor seeped into Segun's bones, a constant, gnawing reminder of his confinement. He shifted, the weight of the chains anchoring him, not to the wall, but directly to the cold, unyielding earth. They weren't forged of iron, but of something darker, something that pulsed with a faint, unsettling energy. A magic that felt alien, yet familiar, a subtle hum that vibrated through his very being. His wrists ached, bound by the strange, shadowy substance that seemed to solidify from the very air itself.
He opened his eyes, the dim torchlight casting long, distorted shadows across the chamber.
Kiaren stood before him, an imposing figure of quiet power. The light danced across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the unwavering intensity of his green eyes. He did not move, did not shift his weight, did not betray a flicker of impatience. He simply stood, radiating an aura of quiet command, a silent assertion of his dominance.
Segun's muscles tightened, a primal response to the presence before him. It wasn't fear, exactly, but a wary alertness, the instinct of two predators forced into an uneasy truce. A reluctant curiosity gnawed at him, a desire to understand the motivations behind this strange encounter.
And then, defying the gravity of his situation, he began to sing.
The melody started as a low, mournful whisper, a thread of sound weaving through the oppressive silence. It was a song of his people, the Naij, a lament and a defiance, a plea to the ancestors. As the notes swelled, his voice gained strength, resonating with a raw, ancient power.
Abéré á rèwè
Abéré á rèwè
K'ó nà okùn kó tó di ò
A ò ní dé bá won
A ò ní dé bá won
Ení bá ní a máà de ò…
The air itself seemed to shift, the stagnant silence momentarily disturbed by the resonating power of the song. The echoes lingered, clinging to the damp stone walls, refusing to fade, as if the very chamber strained to hear.
Kiaren's crimson eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. "What was that?" he asked, his voice low and measured.
Segun exhaled, the breath heavy with unspoken defiance. "A tradition," he replied, his gaze flickering towards the unseen sky above. "Among the Naij, when a man is shackled, he sings so his ancestors may hear him. If they deem him worthy, they remind the world of his voice."
"A quaint custom," Kiaren mused, a hint of sardonic amusement in his tone. "Do you truly believe your ancestors concern themselves with the fate of a prisoner?"
"They hear," Segun said, his voice firm. "Whether they act is their own concern."
A long, pregnant pause stretched between them.
Kiaren's lips curled, not in amusement, but in a strange, almost unsettling appreciation. "You have a remarkable voice," he mused, his tone thoughtful. "A shame… you are still in chains."
Segun's pride, raw and untamed, flared at the Dragonoid's words. He would not allow the weight of his captivity to diminish him. "You insult me, Dragonoid," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "You speak as if I have already lost."
Kiaren stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, each step a silent assertion of power. "Lost?" he echoed, his voice even, almost casual, yet his words struck with the precision of a blade. "You are bound to the earth, held by a magic not your own. You kneel in the darkness while your masters dwell in palaces built upon the suffering of others. Tell me, Naijirian, where is your pride now?"
"My pride remains," Segun retorted, "even in chains. Unlike you, I do not mistake subservience for strength."
"Subservience?" Kiaren's brow arched. "I serve my nation, not a single master. A distinction you seem incapable of grasping."
Segun scoffed, tilting his chin defiantly. "And you are any different?" he countered, his gaze unwavering. "You serve a prince. What distinction exists between our roles? At least I acknowledge the chains I wear. Yours, you merely pretend do not exist."
"My chains are of my own choosing," Kiaren said, his voice a low growl. "Yours are forged of desperation and delusion."
The flicker of amusement in Kiaren's eyes died, replaced by a chilling coldness. "Our difference is stark," he stated, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "You live and die at the whim of those you call masters. You bear their mark like a branded animal. I, on the other hand, could walk away today, and be hailed as a hero. I serve by choice, for my nation. You serve by compulsion."
Segun's muscles coiled, a surge of rage threatening to break free. "Say what you will," he hissed, his voice laced with restrained fury. "You speak of my masters with contempt, yet they have bestowed upon me power. They fight for those who are defenseless."
"Defenseless?" Kiaren scoffed. "Or merely pawns in their twisted games?"
Kiaren's expression remained impassive, his eyes like chips of ice. "Do you truly believe that?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "If so, it is no wonder they have kept you alive for so long."
A flicker of doubt, barely perceptible, crossed Segun's face.
Kiaren stepped closer, his voice a low, insidious whisper. "I have witnessed their deeds. I have fought against them. I have seen the depths of their cruelty with my own eyes. They breed captives like livestock, twisting their flesh into abominations. Not for honor, not for protection, but for the insatiable hunger of greed, for a power that should never be wielded."
Segun's fingers clenched into fists, the strange magic of the chains biting into his skin. "Why do you tell me these things?" he demanded, his voice thick with suspicion. "What game do you play, Drako?"
"A game of truth," Kiaren replied, his voice flat. "A game you seem ill-equipped to play."
Kiaren's gaze held his, unwavering. "Why do you tremble?" he countered, his voice laced with a subtle mockery. "Are you afraid to confront the truth?"
"I fear nothing," Segun snapped, but the fire in his eyes wavered, a flicker of uncertainty betraying his bravado.
Kiaren leaned in, his voice a low, almost conspiratorial whisper. "You know, don't you? Deep within you, you know the truth."
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
Kiaren stepped back, his gaze piercing. "I see the markings on your face… the symbols of the Naij. Those markings hold ancient wisdom." His voice softened, as if recalling a forgotten memory. "You are not the first I have encountered."
He exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with unspoken history.
"We called him Raiden. He Who Hunts the Sky With Black Lightning."
The name struck Segun like a physical blow, a foreign word imbued with the weight of ages, of blood and thunder.
Kiaren's expression darkened, his voice echoing with a rare reverence. "Ghostrider. Stormbringer. King of the Wild Hunt. But his true name… was Sango."
The name hung in the air, a forbidden word, a whisper of forgotten power. Segun's breath hitched, the weight of that name crushing the air from his lungs. Sango, a god among men, a force of destruction, a storm given flesh.
Kiaren's eyes drifted, lost in a memory only he could see. "Sango. A man named after a forgotten god, a beast in human form. Fangs like a lion's, hair the color of a storm, and eyes like the heart of a thundercloud. One of the few who could match me in battle." Kiaren's voice softened, a hint of nostalgia creeping in. "But he was more than just power… he possessed a heart."
A long, heavy pause.
"When slavers descended upon his village, he slaughtered them all. Five thousand men. He hunted them down, one by one, until none remained."
The air grew thick with unspoken dread. The torchlight flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls.
Kiaren's voice dropped lower, his words cutting like shards of ice. "But even legends fall." His gaze hardened. "Your masters captured him. They tortured him. Drove an arrow through his throat. Hung him. And severed him in two."
His eyes burned with a cold, unwavering intensity.
"They murdered him."
Segun's breath was shallow, measured, but the storm within him raged, barely contained.
"And they will do the same to you," Kiaren stated, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "The moment you cease to be useful."
The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with unspoken truths. Segun kept his gaze fixed on the rough stone floor, his mind reeling.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. "…You lie." His fingers clenched into fists, the strange magic of the chains biting into his skin. "How do I know? How do I know you speak the truth, Drako?"
Kiaren's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing.
Without warning, he took a step forward. The shadowy magic of the chains loosened, the darkness materializing into a more tangible, though still ethereal, form. He then rolled up his arm.
"Look at me."
Blue flames ignited in Kiaren's eyes, flickering like lightning across a storm-wracked sky. His hair darkened, deepening into a shade of midnight blue. His fangs extended, sharp as daggers. His claws lengthened, gleaming like polished steel in the dim light.
And then, the final transformation—runes and symbols, ancient and powerful, etched across his skin, glowing with the raw energy of storm-forged lightning.
Segun could only stare, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"When I found his body," Kiaren's voice crackled with power, "he appeared dead. But he was not. He lingered on the brink of death, even with half his body gone."
He revealed an ancient marking etched into his flesh. "The Ketsurai. The blood-bound pact. A ritual we forged before the world forgot our names." His voice grew rougher, more guttural. "As he died, he used the last of his power to transfer it to me… through this pact."
The mark pulsed with hidden energy, a testament to an ancient bond.
"He lives on within me," Kiaren declared, his voice firm and unwavering. "The words I speak are true. And you know it."
He glanced at Segun's own skin, at the runes etched into his flesh. "Those runes of yours are not mere decoration. The wisdom they impart is sufficient that even a fool would recognize… I do not lie."