After the death of almost all the citizens of Boletaria, some things were rapidly forgotten.
One was the original purpose of the castle of the self-proclaimed Queen Latria. A grim place even in its original days. It stood as a tall, imposing structure, near the border of the Kingdom of Boletaria. It was oft argued how much power the Lord and Lady of Latria had. It was certainly more than the average jailer, and the two nobles frequently enjoyed referring to themselves as kings and queens in their own right. With their arching, gothic towers built over worthless marshland, King Allant felt no need to force them to swear their allegiance, and would only send his worst, most heinous prisoners to them, to be tortured.
And that was why The Prisoner was here.
No one knew that he had been here before the fog came. No one needed to know. He may have been convicted of "murder", a crime he'd deny vehemently until asked if he had "killed" to which, quietly, he would reply: "Yes. Kill I certainly did"
Their torture had meant nothing to him. The gargoyles enchanted to inflict pain upon him came down every morning and tore at his flesh, and when they were satisfied they flapped away, leaving him a groveling mess. Always, the jailer would ask: "are you ready for death?" And always, he would remain silent, letting the dark robed men stand over him until they were more scared of him than he was of them.
And of course, he was scared. To not be was impossible. But he had a greater purpose than his own fear. And it kept him alive.
He knew only whispers of what had happened afterward. The Queen had gone mad, some said. Others spoke of her vanity and lust, of long-held disputes with her husband boiling over. What mattered was that she had exiled him, the man who technically held claim to these grim, skyscraping towers, and taken them for herself. She redubbed the main prison tower "The Tower of Latria".
And next there were whispers. The King had come back, though no one knew how, and with him he brought demons. His wife's family were imprisoned in the cells and kept there until they lost their sanity, and eventually their humanity. The old woman herself had been exiled…and no one knew what had become of her, but a beautiful, idealized version of herself had been put in her place…something to give the prisoners hope, so that their torture would be even more unbearable.
But he had already been a prisoner. And one he would remain. If anything, after the fog came, it grew easier for him. Other than the occasional meal, the demons ignored him. They didn't know why he was imprisoned, and they didn't care enough either way to free him or kill him. For now, he just stood in his cage, dangling over a bottomless precipice. Its location was obviously supposed to be a form of torture in and of itself. However, even with this fearful location, he was incapable of impatience. That, along with most other things that made him human, had left him long ago.
And out of the shadows, a figure approached.
He looked up. The man was bloodied, but covered in well-polished armor. Human in appearance…but then again, so were many archdemons. He was illuminated by a familiar stone, dangling off of his belt.
When the knight reached him, he merely stood. He did not sheathe his sword.
He's wary. The prisoner thought. Smart, in this land.
"You there," the Knight said. "Are you a demon like the rest?"
"I am here to eliminate the threat of the demons," The Prisoner said. "If you have come for the same purpose, then free me."
The Knight still seemed confused, "You seem almost relaxed."
The prisoner examined himself, and saw that it was true. His arms were crossed, he was leaning against the side of the cage as if he were resting. To a man who had probably just fought his way through hordes of demons, it must have been disconcerting.
"I am a relaxed man," was his answer.
"You're not a demon then?" asked the Knight.
"No more than you are."
The Knight nodded, and then opened the cage. The prisoner cracked his neck, and then casually strolled out.
"Good choice," he said. "I promise, you will not regret it. We need all the help we can get in cleansing this land."
"Yes…" the Knight said. "Yes, we certainly do."
Without turning, the Prisoner spoke, "I notice the stone you have at your side."
The Knight looked down on it, "yes…" he said, "It's an augite of souls, made by Geri, a friend of Sage Freke. He crafted it for me on the condition that I try to find Freke."
"You're in luck," the prisoner said. "Freke is here. Or, at least, in the prison tower."
"He is!?" The Knight said, shocked. "Blast it…I'll have to go back for him. There are so few sane people left; the best we can do is rescue all of them."
"Perhaps," the Prisoner said.
"What do you mean, perhaps?"
The prisoner turned and looked at him, their helmets hid their visages, and neither could see the other's eyes. It was impossible for even they, the participants, to tell whether the conversation was turning hostile or friendly.
"The sane individuals you speak of are practicioners of the Soul Arts. Especially Freke, whose lust for souls contradicts reason. Now, when a man's behavior defies reason, is that not the definition of madness?"
"I understand, but Freke should not be judged so harshly in light of what this kingdom has become. Souls are currency here. His greed is no different than a merchant's greed for gold. It doesn't make him mad."
"Oh, but it does," the prisoner said. "Lust for gold is one thing…but lust for the power of another man's soul? That is something unclean…and it is why the deep fog is threatening to overtake the world."
The Knight nodded, "I know…and I agree. But I cannot judge too harshly. I, too, am using the Soul Arts. It is the only way that I can survive."
"You misunderstand me," the prisoner said. "I do not believe that the soul arts should be removed entirely. Surely there is some benefit to them. I merely mean to say that they have been used irresponsibly. Perhaps if there were rules…restrictions. Not the kind of unrestrained use we have seen in recent years."
The Knight nodded, "I think that would be a good idea, given everything that has happened. However, our first priority must be cleansing this kingdom. Afterward, we can discuss how we will prevent this from ever happening again."
"I would gladly help you," the Prisoner went on to say. "But I am weak. I have been in that cage far too long. If there is anywhere I may rest?"
"Of course, there is an archstone back that way," the Knight said, pointing. "There were demons, of course, but I slew all of them between here and there, you should have no trouble."
"An archstone…to the Nexus?"
"Yes."
"Strange…" the prisoner murmured, looking over the edge of the platform, out into the vast darkness. "The Nexus is nothing more than a doorway, the space between the gates. It says tragic things that this is the only safe place left in this kingdom."
"Yes," The Knight said. "It does."
The Prisoner turned, and asked, "and you will go on?"
"It is my duty...and so I must."
The prisoner nodded, "You are strong. You are brave and I hope you accomplish your goals. Perhaps when I am of better strength I shall assist you further. For now, I must leave you."
"Very well," said the Knight. "But before you go, what is your name?"
The prisoner looked at him once more, the glowing augites made the horns on his helmet seem even more imposing. He spoke quietly, now. "My name is Yurt, The Silent Chief."
"A strange title," the Knight sad. "For you speak and I would not take you as a Chief of anything."
"We earn our names. What is yours?" Yurt asked.
"Sadly, I've lost it in the gap between worlds. Those who speak to me often call me Her Champion."
"…so you are the servant of a Lady?" Yurt asked. Again, his helm hid his expression.
"Due to the strangest of circumstances, yes," The Champion said.
"And she who you serve, is her soul dark, or is it pure?"
"I cannot say. She is an enigma. She wears nothing but black, but her skin glows white like the stars. I know not what this says of her."
Yurt nodded, "understand, even if her soul is the darkest and most violent, not to turn from her. For the black souls are not evil, they are simply those who have slain men, as opposed to demons. And men oft have as many causes to be slain, if not more."
"I will remember that," The Champion said.
Yurt turned away again, "I must make my way back to the Nexus. Best of luck with you…especially regarding The King at the top of the tower, he takes phantoms, and corrupts them, and forces them to fight all who oppose him."
The Champion nodded once more, and Yurt stepped off, leaving the light of the glowing augites behind him. For a few more moments, the Demon-Slayer stood, then he turned, and went into the darkness as well.
The augites continued their sad glow, alone, purposeless in the darkness.
They say that Demons do not create evil. That they merely take what is already there.