It pressed in on her from every side, thick, suffocating, broken only by distant screams echoing through stone corridors. Wailing rose and fell like a tide, voices cracking, pleading, fading into hoarse silence. Her head throbbed. Her body felt wrong, lighter, exposed.
She pushed herself upright.
Her armour was gone. Her bow. Her satchel. Everything that had made her feel capable, protected, herself, stripped away.
Cold iron bit into her wrists. Chains rattled as she moved, the sound sharp and accusing in the stillness. Zara stood and staggered toward the bars of her cell, gripping them, peering out into the narrow corridor beyond.
The cell was small. Stone walls slick with moisture. A floor permanently damp beneath her boots. The air smelled of rot, rust, and something older, despair layered upon despair. Somewhere nearby, something cried until it choked itself quiet.
She leaned forward, heart pounding.
“Hello?” she called.
No answer.
Across from her, in another cell, a man sat slumped against the wall, unmoving. She leaned farther out, straining to see down the row of cages. At the far end, candlelight flickered. A Shoven sat there, hunched, watching.
He noticed her.
Slowly, deliberately, he stood and shuffled toward her cell, scales scraping softly against stone.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” he snarled.
“I wanted to see the city again,” Zara replied quietly, exhaustion weighing down every word.
“You were safe where you were. Now you’re trapped again.”
Before she could answer, a voice echoed from farther down the corridor.
“Zara? Is that you?”
Her breath caught.“It is! Who’s there?”
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“Krivnarr. I helped you escape. They found out.”
Her chest tightened. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he growled. “I’d do it again. A hundred times.”
Zara let out a shaky laugh. “Could you do it now?”
For a moment, silence returned, thick, heavy, broken only by coughing, shuffling, the occasional clink of chains. Guards passed intermittently, their footsteps marking time she could not see. There was no sun here. No way to know how long she’d been gone from the world above.
She thought of the other Chosen. Of their training. Of whether they even knew where she was.
Would they come for me?
A voice came from directly across the corridor.
“Zara… I didn’t want to say anything before.”
Her heart leapt.“Dad?”
Scythe stepped forward, the torchlight catching the edges of his face. He smiled, small, tired, but real.
“How did they know?” she asked, grief cracking her voice.
“Krivnarr told them. They tortured him until he broke.”
“What?” she shouted. “I thought—”
“Please,” Scythe said gently. “They promised him freedom. I would’ve done the same.”
Down the corridor, Krivnarr sobbed.
“I’m sorry,” Zara whispered. “This is my fault.”
“No,” Scythe replied. “We knew the risk.”
A guard stormed down the hall, slamming an animal bone against the bars.“Silence, worms.”
Time dissolved.
Sleep came reluctantly on straw-filled mattresses, itch and cold gnawing through the body. Zara stared at the dripping wall, listening to water strike stone again and again. She watched mice scurry across the floor. She imagined the ghosts of those who had occupied the cells before her.
Then, humming.
Soft at first. Then words.
Under stone and scale we lie
Breath by breath, we learn the dark.
Names are taken, day erased.
Only scars remember time.
“No singing!” the guard roared.
The dungeon fell silent again, but something lingered. A warmth. A reminder that spirit still existed here.
Then the dungeon doors crashed open.
A body tumbled down the steps.
“Another one for you.”
The guards dragged him forward.
Zara froze.
“Chef?” she breathed.
Jaren wouldn’t meet her eyes.
They shoved him into the cell beside hers. He collapsed onto the bed, staring at the floor.
“I’m sorry,” Zara whispered, tears cutting through the grime on her face.
“It’s not your fault,” Jaren said hoarsely. “I believed them. I was wrong.”
She looked around, her father, Krivnarr, Jaren. all here because of her.
She knelt beside the puddle on the floor, staring at her reflection, hollow-eyed, stripped, chained, barely recognisable.”
In that moment, something settled inside her.
She was Chosen.
And this, the dungeon, the guilt, the weight was part of it.
But she was still alive.
And she would not break here.
Thanks for reading!
Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.
If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.
A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.
No pressure at all though—reading the story is already huge support.
Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?
See you in the next chapter.
— Matthew Cooke-Sumner