It seemed like ages before the cage was opened, that man stood there before him, torch light flickering across his features. Now that he thought about it, he never really had a chance to look at the man and get an idea what he looked like. Now he could see the scarred face that seemed more a cutting board, and body covered head to toe in white robes, a red cross across his chest. Dark hair cropped uneven and short, probably by a dagger.
The man stomped closer, grabbing him by the front of his robes and pulling him up. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help thinking how awfully familiar this was. But he wasn't aware a smirk had grown across his lips, and it earned him a slap across the face.
"Don't mock me, Assassin." The man hissed in a snakelike voice. "Now tell me what I wish to know, and I might let you live."
Assassin? Where had he heard it before? Every time he blinked, images would flash under his eyelids, too fast for him to remember in detail. Mostly it was of an old man correcting a boy on holding a weapon. Other times it showed dead glassy eyes staring up at him.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by the man shaking him. "Don't make me ask you again! What is your name?"
His name... he couldn't recall it... He knew he heard it as of recently, but he couldn't seem to figure out when or what. Or who said it for that matter. "I don't know..."
Now the man's fingers coiled around his throat. "Ha! You wish for me to believe that pitiful excuse? How could a man not know his own name? You're hiding it from me! Speak up now and I will not break your neck!"
To resist being strangled, he tugged on the fingers with his only set of his own, gasping for air only to find it harder and harder to get it. Growing desperate, he twisted his head and tried to bite down on the man's large wrist, grazing the skin with his teeth. Now because the man hadn't readjust his grip to handle him with more causion, the second time worked better. His jaw clamped down, causing the man to scream and shout, throwing him around to get him off. He finally settled to kick him in the stomach, and he opened his mouth, the taste of iron washing over his tongue, to cry out in protest.
"Bastard!" The man shouted at him, gripping his bleeding hand against his chest. "You'll pay for this!"
He simply coughed in responce, holding his possibly bruised midsection.
...
"Brother?" He stared at the door, nervously, he was fidgetting. Why was he so edgy? Once again he knocked on the door. "Kadar, please open this door."
The door creaked ajar and there stood a young boy, maybe around early teen years at best. He was short in stature, black hair stuck around his head in a sort of mess only aquired through bedhead, and gray-blue eyes looking up stormily at him. There was an awkwardness to him, a shyness there, almost as though he were terrified and trying to push himself away from something.
"What, Malik?" He asked quietly.
He sighed, "Kadar, I know you were watching when I was... ridding the world of that man. I saw you run, so don't play innocent on me."
This boy, Kadar, casted his gaze down. "Why did you have to kill him?"
"It was an assignment, and he would have continued to threaten more lives if I hadn't killed him." He explained. "It was for the best, brother."
Kadar only shook his head. "And your leg? Was it worth having it gashed?"
He patted his shoulder in assurence. "It's fine. Don't worry about me." This didn't seem to help the younger, so he asked calmly, "It's something else, what is it? You can tell me."
To this, his brother looked back up, meeting his eyes with guilt. "It's just... what if I am not strong enough, Malik? What if I get hurt with these missions."
"You are still learning, Kadar. There is nothing to worry about for the time being."
"And when I am done training?" Kadar questioned. "Then what? I don't think I would last long."
He stared right at him, grasped both his shoulders and stared right at him before telling him assuringly, "I won't let that happen. I will make sure no one hurts you."
"You promise?"
"With my life." He answered.
...
He shook heavily, pain coursing through his chest, his head, with the memory. It hurt to remember, recall what he apparently lost. It made him feel like crying, but no tears dared form. He figured he was beyond them, and laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Wishing to escape from this prison.
