The Tapestry of the End

Drip...

Drip...

The rhythmic sound of drops falling on the stone floor echoed in the silence. In a dark, damp, moldy cell, leaning against a cracked wall, sat a young man. Struggling to breathe the stale air and staring at one point with his lifeless, dull eyes, he kept thinking the same thought over and over again.

"I want to go back," the thought flashed through his mind again.

But for what? He didn't know. However, the myriad of scenes, beautiful in their bloody cruelty, gave him no peace. Despite the abundance of memories in his mind, he once again failed in his futile attempt to remember his past. Not even knowing the name that once belonged to him, the blue-eyed young man replayed everything that had happened to him in his mind. During this week, he had already undergone three power evaluations, each time failing. Neither the second nor the third attempts changed the result. And now, after a week, sitting in a decrepit cell, he awaits the decision of his captors, a decision that will change his fate.

Step...

Step...

Heavy footsteps were heard from the end of the corridor. With each second, the sound of steel hitting the stone floor grew closer to the cell. A moment later, a guard appeared at the door, holding a bowl in his hands.

"Eat," he said irritably, throwing the bowl on the floor.

The young man looked at the bowl, filled with something that only vaguely resembled food.

"Why am I here? For what?" he muttered in a hoarse voice.

"You've asked this question for the third time," the guard said wearily.

"And each time I get no answer," he reproached, looking at the man's face in armor.

"Pfff... I don't know the exact reason, but rumors say a lot of money was spent on the ritual. It was completed. However, you have no powers, which means it was all in vain," the guard said with a tired sigh.

"And what will happen to me?" he asked again.

"I don't know. You could be sold, used for potion components, or left to rot here for the rest of your life—anything could happen," the man replied with a slight note of pity in his voice.

"And what should I do?" the young man stammered quietly.

"Nothing. Wait and pray to the gods of fate for mercy," the guard replied, then headed for the exit.

"Why..." the prisoner said quietly, hugging his knees.

=====

Two days later.

The prisoner, sitting in the dirty, old dungeon, heard the familiar heavy footsteps again. After several dozen seconds, the same guard appeared in front of the cell.

"Get up," he ordered, opening the cell door.

"What's happening?" the young man said in a lifeless voice.

"An order was given to take you to the auction house," the guard said.

With great difficulty, the young man stood up, seeing the shackles in the hands of his guard, and obediently extended his hands. Feeling the cold metal of the shackles on his wrists and ankles, he trudged towards the exit. Each step echoed in his heart. He felt hope fading, overshadowing the last glimmers of faith in salvation. Despair enveloped him like a fog, depriving him of the strength to resist and forcing him to accept the inevitable.

After 10 minutes of wandering through the narrow, poorly lit corridors of the castle, they finally reached the main gates. The huge palace doors, covered with light rust and traces of time, seemed like the last barrier to freedom. The wind, penetrating through the cracks, brought with it the smell of rain and dampness, but the young man did not feel it—he was overwhelmed by an endless sense of hopelessness. When the huge gates began to open slowly, a dull creak was heard. The heavy doors, creaking and banging against the stone jambs, broke the dead silence. A breeze blew through the opening, bringing with it a slight stench from the dark city. Finally, when the gates opened completely, the young man saw a gloomy landscape outside the castle: a low sky, covered with heavy leaden clouds, hung over the city, as if pressing down on it with its hopelessness, gray roofs, narrow streets filled with shadows, monolithic old houses stretching for miles. Ten meters in front of him stood a black carriage, reinforced with metal. On its doors were the familiar coats of arms. The grilles on the windows almost completely obscured the view of the interior of the carriage.

"Why are you standing?" the guard asked, pushing him slightly in the back.

Walking slowly forward, the young man continued to survey the surroundings. The castle they were leaving was surrounded by a huge moat filled with water. On either side of the gates and on the defensive walls, sentries in light armor with plate segments stood guard. Finally, they crossed the bridge. The taciturn escort pulled on the carved handle. The metal-reinforced door creaked open. Inside was dim. Wooden benches lined the sides of the carriage, sharply contrasting with the rich exterior decoration of the provided transport.

"Where are we going?" the young man asked, sitting inside.

A slight jolt and the subsequent shaking indicated that the carriage had started moving.

"To the auction house," came the brief reply.

"Why?" he asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"Why else would we be going there?" the guard said with a slight mockery in his voice.

The young man just bit his lip, understanding his hopeless situation. Could he try to escape? No. An escape attempt would only lead to death. It would take the guard only a couple of seconds to neutralize or kill him. And the unfamiliarity with the area, combined with his exhausted body, did not add to his chances of a successful escape. Turning these grim thoughts in his head, he looked towards the window. Beyond the dirty bars stretched countless narrow streets. Most of the dirty alleys had long been hidden in the shadows. Occasionally, voices reached him. People standing on the streets watched the carriage passing by with curious glances. The elegant coats of arms, sharply contrasting with the grilles and the intimidating appearance of the carriage, aroused genuine curiosity among the passersby, mired in the routine struggle for survival. They stopped and whispered among themselves.

"Who is that?"

"Hey, look, there are imperial coats of arms on the carriage."

"Seriously? But why are there grilles on the windows?"

"Idiots. That's not the imperial family's coat of arms, but that of a knightly order subordinate to them. Most likely, there's a war criminal inside."

"But why are they going to the commercial district?"

"How should I know?"

Dozens of voices echoed from the streets, creating a dull echo in the air. But the young man sitting inside, completely immersed in thoughts about his future, paid no attention to it.

=====

An hour later

The carriage, which had been traveling through the narrow streets all this time, began to slow down.

"Get out," the guard ordered, opening the door.

The cold wind that burst through the open door hit the face of the nervous young man. Gathering his strength, he took a step outside. In front of him stood a majestic, ancient, gloomy building. Dozens of torches poorly illuminated the vast courtyard, paved with stone slabs. Ivy climbed the walls, and gargoyles stood menacingly on the eaves of the gutters. Shadows danced on the arched windows, cast by the mysterious figures of the visitors. The noise of voices, interrupted by laughter and shouts, reached him, causing his legs to go numb.

The carriage behind them moved away.

They had arrived at the auction house.