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The heavy iron door of cell 513 swung open. The metal slammed against the stone wall of the small cell with a deafening boom. The sound echoed through the cold moss-covered room. Small fragments of dust and stone showered down from the ceiling. The dust reflected in the torchlight, making the already dark space difficult to see into.

The cell was not a large space — only measuring six by four strides. A mixture of dried piss, mud, sweat, and blood covered the stone floors, causing a foul odor to fill the air. As the dust settled, the torchlight of the hall flooded into the darkest corners of the cell, highlighting the filthy state of the prison. An empty stone plate, that once held stale bread and molded cheese, lay discarded on the floor next to an overturned wooden cup.

With the toe of his boot, the prison guard kicked the cup, sending it bouncing further into the cell. The cup ceased its bouncing, rolling the remaining distance to the back wall of the cell before coming to a stop.

The cell looked to be abandoned if it were not for the thin statue-like girl sitting amongst the dirt and grime, half-hidden in the shadows. There was a stillness to her that would convince anyone that she was in fact made of stone. With the grey dirt caked on her skin, she looked as if she had been carved from the wall behind her. She looked to be no more than twenty years of age. Her eyes were sunken in, and her cheeks hollow. Dirt covered the sharp features of her face. Her collarbone stuck out above the rags she wore. Despite her haggard appearance, she looked almost peaceful sitting with her back pressed against the cold stone wall and her legs crossed. Her midnight blue hair, matted with dirt and oil, fell over her shoulders, almost reaching her waist. Despite her gaunt appearance she was beautiful by all human standards, save for the two delicately pointed ears poked out from her hair, marking her as fae.

A monster.

Rae blinked against the flickering torchlight that leaked in from the hall. The light was now much brighter than the small amount that leaked through the small window in the door of her cell. The years held in this prison had taught her just how much she hated torchlight. It was nothing but a mockery of the sun, with the limited amount of light and warmth it gave. All it did was make her long for the real thing. Though it had been so long, the memory of wha the sun felt like on her skin was beginning to fade.

She wondered if the living even remembered she had once walked among them. Now she was far closer to the dead than those who still drew breath. Rae no longer had her freedom. She was nobody; nothing more than the prison number permanently inked on the nape of her neck. 513.

Rae had come to expect the daily guard visits. She had grown used to hearing screams of other prisoners echoing through the corridors of the compound. Some were screams of pain, while others were of madness. Arden was built to break its prisoners. There was iron in everything. It was built into the walls of the prison. Iron dust was even sprinkled into the food and water. In high enough concentrations, it killed the Etherie.

Iron poisoning was a slow and painful way to die. The victims were driven mad as the iron slowly ate away at their magic and blocked them from accessing it. Unable to replenish their magic as fast as it was being consumed, death soon followed — if the madness did not kill them first.

What no one talked about was the pain. Enough iron would burn to the touch, creating almost glowing red marks called iron burn. But after a while, the pain spread to the blood as the iron began to eat away at the magic flowing through it. It felt like your blood was on fire. There was no escaping the pain, no reprieve. It lasted day and night until there was no magic left.

Rae knew her magic was gone. The iron she was chained to no longer burned her. She could not lie and say she did not miss her magic, but she had chosen to let it go. It was the only freedom she seemed to have left at the time, the freedom to choose when and how she would die. Yet, as the last of her magic had left her body, she remained. Still alive, without her magic. It should have been impossible. Yet here she was, still a slave to a kingdom she held no allegiance to. Not that Rae particularly cared. She found it easier to not care. It was less painful that way.

Their small continent was named Dyron, after the first King of the Fae. Even before he became the King of all Etherie and mortals, beings with magic had always held power over those without. It was the natural order, the strong ruling the weak. It was how strong societies were built and maintained. It had all changed when the human kingdom to the east decided to expand their borders and kill anyone with magic in their blood that might stand in their way.

They built prisons to hold and torture the Etherie — people with magical gifts and abilities... those that were different than they were. To the humans, Arden symbolized their strength and perceived power over all magical beings. To the Etherie, it represented hopelessness and death. Real monsters had once prowled the lands of Dyron. The real monsters were hollows, who skinned their victims alive and wore them like clothing. Monsters made of shadows and darkness once hunted in the dark forests — like the shades or wraiths. Even those creatures were tortured and held here. Humans were the monsters now.

"Wake up," the gruff voice of the prison guard roared as he banged his fist on the open iron cell door. Rae’s ice-blue eyes opened to the clatter of her food tray toppling to the floor. Her eyes narrowed on her only meal for the day now splattered across the stone. Rae’s lips pulled back as a snarl ripped out of her in response. She had no energy to be anything more than the monster they believed her to be. She was not even sure if she knew how to be civil anymore. Her only conversations were those she had inside of her own head. She wanted to be left in peace with her shadows and darkness. Apparently, that was too much to ask for today.

The guard standing at the door was an older, unimpressive man. His pale skin had a tinge of pink to it where the cold air from outside had chapped his nose and cheeks. His light brown hair was already beginning to thin. His clothes were worn and thin from overuse. Stains from the noonday meal still stained the shirt of his uniform.

Behind him, a much smaller human cowered, half hiding behind the wall. Rae blinked in disbelief. He was still a child. If his baby face had not given away how new he was to the prison, the still creased lines in his purple and gold uniform did. The heavy cloth hung from his frame like a child playing dress-up in an older siblings' clothes. He did not look like the other guards she had seen. His skin looked like bronzed gold in the torchlight. Rae stared into his golden-brown eyes. Wafts of purple like smoke crowded around his pupil. That is not what drew her interest. No, it was the innocence and kindness in his gaze that made it difficult for her to turn away. An overwhelming instinct in her screamed for her to tell him to run. To run and never look back. To save himself from this horrible place. She pushed away those thoughts, tearing her gaze from him and looked back to the man who held her chains.

"I hear you have become so animal-like you have forgotten how to speak," The guard laughed as he walked closer to her. She could hear the length of her chains shortening as he drew in, the heavy metal kept her from lunging forward. Rae knew his swaggering bravery was solely based on his belief that those iron chains holding her were weakening her. She wondered what he would think if he learned they no longer burned? Would he run screaming from her cell if he knew she had gotten used to the weight of her weak body. Did he know that she did not need magic to kill him?

A small, almost unnoticeable smile flashed across her face, if only for a fraction of a moment, at the memory of when she first came to this Fates damned prison. Her small stature, tall for a mortal woman but small for a fae female, had made the guards underestimate her strength and power. They sent only four armed guards to drag her into that cell. By the time they had realized their mistake, it had been too late.