7. The Timeless Prisoner

Deep underground in a place only a few know of and fewer ever visited lay an ancient man in chains, his hair was grey with age, his beard was long and unkempt, his body was weak and frail. In his eyes, a soul as pure as the moon shone, yet his body was chained to a wall of unforgiving black rock, unable to see in the dark and cold space, his skin untouched by sunlight for decades. As the man lay in the suffocating darkness, he never moved, he never spoke, he never ate or drank. Yet the man persisted throughout the years.

One day, just outside of the man’s cell, unrest grew. Men in grey suits and expressionless faces walked through the long and dark corridors of the agency. They chattered and argued, some of them loudly, others quieter. Right in front of the cell, one of the agents stood calmly, his figure was slender, his hair was brown, and he held a black briefcase in his hand. He was waiting for something or someone. The man’s movements were controlled; every twitch and muscle pull was suppressed; his face lacked any identifiable expression - just as his training had demanded. At first glance, the man appeared calm, but to a careful observer it became clear quickly that he was repeatedly wiping off dust from the exact same spot on his black suit every couple of seconds. A tic, a simple gesture he had not yet learned to properly suppress, and it was an indication that deep down, the young man was anxious.

A group of three came to the cell. An older man led, around 40 to 50 years of age. He had black hair, with some streaks of aged grey. His eyes, a deep, saturated blue, stared empty and cold. His face was square, the edges rough, framed by a well-kempt beard. His look was stern, his posture was upright, almost mechanical. His demeanor projected unyielding authority and thus he led the group right to the door of the cell.

Right behind him was a young man with a heavy-framed pair of glasses, an advisor to the agency. The man had no name, not to the members of the agency at least. In fact, most referred to him only as “The Oracle”. Most also had not the slightest clue what his role truly was, but he always seemed to be present in the most important of places. And so, no one dared question his purpose.

A young woman followed the two men. Her apparel was unmistakably distinct from the rest of the group. She had hair as dark as the night framing her narrow, graceful face. Her lips were as red as ruby; her gown was long and straight and black as a shadow. It slithered around her slender figure, ending just barely above the ground, the fabric shimmering in the cold light of the fluorescent tubes. She walked upright, her steps were firm and elegant, her posture almost royal, but her expression hinted at a subtle uneasiness. Her green eyes darted around between the agents, carefully observing them. She clearly did not trust them.

As the three arrived in front of the cell, the leader of the group began to speak. “Here we are,” he said with a deep, firm voice, his hand gesturing towards the young man waiting at the cell door. The woman with the green eyes passed the two men in front of her. She went right up to the young agent with the number 584 and studied him from top to bottom. The agent stood still, not moving a single muscle, not even wiping the imaginary dust off his jacket anymore. As the woman stood before him, he did not dare move anymore.

“I see you have found her,” he said, his words dripping concern. “It was not difficult,” the leader replied with a booming voice. “After all, we both seek the same thing.” The leader, designated in the agency as Special Agent Ryker, stepped forward and motioned to the black briefcase Agent 584 was holding. “Show it to me. I need to be sure,” the woman said, her voice quieter than usual, an attempt to suppress her nervousness. “How on earth did you manage to obtain it?” she continued. “I’m afraid that is confidential,” Agent 584 replied, his voice contained, a slight smile on his lips as he lifted the briefcase. “Show it to me!” the woman demanded, but Special Agent Ryker stepped between the two. “Not so fast, madam. Allow us some time to reiterate our exact agreement regarding your task at hand.” The tall man positioned himself right in front of the woman and pointed behind him to the black cell door. “Mr. Astor will be waiting for you in the courtyard. You will execute the ritual. After that, the crown stays with us, non-negotiable.” The woman stared at the man intensely, her lips sharpening, her eyes narrowing. “It’s a diadem. And it was mine long before your agency existed,” Aurelia hissed. “Emphasis on ‘was’,” Ryker responded. “Without my help, this diadem is worthless to you - just a pretty decoration,” the woman pressed, but Ryker closed in on her: “I know exactly what Mr. Astor means to you. And I know you will not walk away from a chance like this.” “You have no idea what he means to me,” the woman spoke, spitting every word harshly as she took another step forward, leaving no room between herself and the Special Agent. As her black dress dragged through the air, Agent 584 quickly took a step back towards the prison cell door. Only the Oracle remained calm. “Why is his death so important to you?” the woman asked, shaking her head slightly. “I’m afraid that is none of your business,” Ryker responded, slightly fazed by the woman’s sudden approach. With a sly grin, the woman brushed her black hair back over her left ear. She tilted her head a bit and stepped back, just a small way. “What if… You tell me why you’re going through all this trouble just to see him dead. And you tell me how you got your hands on MY diadem. If I like the answers, I’ll kill him for you without hesitation.” Special Agent Ryker looked down at the woman before him. Her initial wavering expression had faded; in its place was a newfound confidence, a seriousness he had not anticipated from her. Just through the promise of the diadem’s presence, the woman’s demeanor had drastically changed.

The agent briefly fidgeted around with his tie, moving it from side to side, adjusting it with no purpose. In the end it remained just as before, but the gesture bought him a few valuable seconds of thought. “Mr. Astor has become a liability we can no longer afford. He’s meddled with our operations across centuries and due to his… anomalous nature of existence, several of our attempts to dispose of him were unsuccessful. We are now prepared to take… drastic measures.” The woman studied the agent closely, her brain analyzing every word, evaluating the sincerity of every syllable spoken. “Where did you get the diadem from?” she asked before the agent had even finished talking about the prisoner. “We retrieved it from another time,” the agent responded without hesitation. “As you know, in our current time it is… unavailable.” “I’m well aware,” the woman responded coldly, her gaze quickly jumping to the black door of the prison cell, then back to the agent. “Fine,” the woman exclaimed after a brief pause. “I’ll kill him for you, and you get to keep the diadem,” she continued, her gaze lingering on the black container. “We appreciate your cooperation in this matter,” the special agent answered, staring intensely at the woman before him. The two shared an intense moment of silence, then Ryker nodded and signaled his agents to prepare the prisoner.

Astor awoke with a massive headache. Before he could even see, he felt the cold burn of metal around his wrists. They had shackled him again, as if he had anywhere to run. He slowly pushed his body off the cold, grey stone ground. He looked around. The room had the structure of a small makeshift arena made from mostly black rock and concrete, with weak construction lighting illuminating the main court and some of the platform above where observers were seated.

As Astor looked up at the spectator area, he recognized some of the faces. Ryker was there, another agent, younger, sitting by his side. More agents sat in the upper ranks, watching, observing. And of course, all the way up in the very last row sat the man named “the Oracle”. Astor had rarely ever seen him, but he possessed an aura of mystery that was unlike anything Astor had ever experienced before. As his view shifted back to the court, he finally recognized the woman coming in through the large gate.

Astor shuddered as he realized who was walking up to him from the other side of the small court; he had not expected to ever see her face again. “You,” he whispered, his voice weak, coarse, old. “The Queen of Snakes herself,” he muttered, spreading his arms in a mocking gesture, the shackles weighing heavily on his arms. The woman in the black dress stopped just a few feet away from Astor. She looked at him carefully. She took in every detail of his presence. Then her lips curled and her nose wrinkled. “You look pathetic,” she said, her words full of genuine disgust. “And you look awfully lost,” Astor responded, his voice cold, spiteful. “Walking straight into their cage… Do you really think you can trust them?” he continued while lowering his voice. The woman kept her eyes on Astor for a moment, but she chose to ignore his warning. Then, she turned to a small table that had been brought in just for her, on top of which the black briefcase lay. Astor’s gaze flickered between the woman and the container. For a moment, a thought flashed through his mind, but he repressed it quickly. What could the briefcase hold?

“Did they call you to kill me? Is that all it took for you to come out of hiding?” Astor yelled at the lady in black, his hatred for her raising his otherwise weak voice. By now, however, the woman barely perceived his presence. Astor did not matter to her anymore. Neither did the agents. She was focused on only one thing: the briefcase before her. And so, she gently placed her hands on it and let them rest for a few seconds. It was just a simple, sturdy case, but to her it meant so much more. Subtle hesitation guided her every action. In some ways, she feared what would happen next. Her skin began to tingle, a slight ringing started in her ears; she knew what was in there, and she could feel it calling to her. Astor studied her closely. His heart began to race. His fists began to clench. He knew what was about to happen, and he had feared it for centuries. He knew his journey was about to come to an end.

The woman opened the briefcase. Her slender fingers activated the mechanism and lifted the upper half of the container. A subtle silverish glow greeted her from the inside of the container. For a moment, time stood still. The woman stopped breathing. This moment belonged only to the diadem. Its elegant silver shine protruded from the dark velvet lining it was placed upon. Its mysterious sleek form made it appear almost liquid, like a whirlpool of mercury. And at its center throned the large dark green crystal, which commanded an unmistakable aura of power and control. The woman in black looked down at the diadem both in awe and in fear. It was beautiful, elegant and otherworldly, yet equally threatening and dangerous in its appearance. Without a doubt, it was not made for mortals to behold.

Astor stared at the small briefcase on the table. He tried to move but he couldn’t. His body was frozen in place. A slight shimmer in his eyes reflected the silver glow of the diadem. He saw it right there on the table not far from him, yet his mind was unable to process its presence in this room at this time. It was unnatural. It was against the order of all good things. It was the culmination of everything he had thought against for so many centuries. Slowly, Astor began to move, trying to back away from the lady in black and the diadem in front of her, but the chains held him in place. He sank to the ground in disbelief, his hands straining against the metal in panic, but it was no use. He cowered at the edge of the small court, creating as much distance as was possible. “How the hell did you get that?” he whispered, his eyes open wide. “I saw it FALL! I saw it BURIED!” he yelled, not just at the woman but at the entirety of the court. “Unreachable for all! It was prophesied! What you have done…” he continued, his throat straining against its own weakness. “YOU DISGRACE THE FABRIC OF REALITY ITSELF!” he yelled, this time directly at the agents carefully observing the scene from the upper ranks of the court. While Agent Ryker casually shook his head in response to the accusations, the lady in black did not hear Astor’s yells at all. His words reached her ears but not her consciousness. Now, she was only listening to the whispers of the diadem. And then, in one swift motion, she picked it up and placed it on her head.

The temperature in the room dropped immediately. The yells of the chained man were silenced. The glow of the construction lights began to fade. Aurelia stood alone in the room, just her and the diadem. Her eyes began to glow with the same green shimmer of the crystal on her head, and suddenly she heard the slithering voice of the diadem whisper to her.

“You have found me again. I watched you seek; I saw you cry. Your determination did not go unnoticed, my dear. But I must warn you, this reunion must not last. The diadem is strained; our connection is weak. It shouldn’t be here, it is heresy,” the voice from the diadem hissed.

“I know, I know, but they have found the fugitive, my lord,” Aurelia whispered and the diadem answered: “I see him through your beautiful eyes, my child. I know your task; I see your heart. Worry not, my dear: I will end his suffering for you.” Aurelia stood still, a weak tear running down her pale cheeks. For decades, she had not felt the cold embrace of the diadem. And now that she was so close, she could not help but fear what this reunion meant for her and her future. She stood silently in the dark realm, the power of the diadem - the touch of a god - coursing through her veins. Suddenly, she felt a weak sting in the dark, like an insect penetrating her skin. She looked up to the court where the others sat in complete darkness and for a moment, it felt like someone was watching her commune. She narrowed her eyes, but the feeling soon faded.

“Let us return to them, my dear. It is impolite to keep them waiting. Close your eyes, and I will lead you,” the diadem whispered. Aurelia hesitated briefly, then she followed and closed her eyes.

“YOU DISGRACE THE FABRIC OF REALITY ITSELF!” Astor yelled, but the moment Aurelia placed the diadem upon her head he fell silent. Her eyes started to glow with the same dark green color of the diadem’s crystal, and it felt as if all the air in the room had been sucked out in a single instant. Astor wanted to scream again, but he couldn’t. He struggled to even breathe as Aurelia lay her gaze upon his frail body. Then she approached him, slowly, one step at a time, and as she spoke, it was not her voice anymore that reached his ears. The onlookers, the agents above, watched the scene unfold in horror, and even Special Agent Ryker now had his hands cramped around his thighs. The anticipation was unbearable.

“I feel sorry for you. You were given paradise, just like your father. You were promised a kingdom by your god, and now you lie here to die, in the same dirt you were shaped from,” Aurelia spoke, her voice changed, metallic, inhuman. Astor couldn’t respond. He stared at the diadem in pure disbelief. “It would appear…,” Aurelia continued, “your god has forsaken you. But worry not, Son of Adam, I will absolve you from your painful existence.”

Astor tried to push himself further away from the diadem, but the chains restrained him. He scratched the dusty floor like a wild animal, but it was no use - there was no escape. After all these centuries, his time had come.

Aurelia looked him right in the eyes and began chanting an ancient summon. Her words were audible to all, yet none in the room could make out any sense in what she said. It was beyond what mortals could comprehend. Only Astor understood; he knew the words; he had heard them once before. And he had dreaded the day he would hear them again. Aurelia’s distorted voice became louder and louder, her words booming throughout the arena. Around her body, a weak storm of green fog began to twirl, encircling her slender form. A deep hum emanated from the crown and filled the room. From within the fog, black lightning arose, flashing through the air aimlessly, charring the ground around her with ancient fire. The fog slowly began to spread, slithering across the floor like a serpent on the hunt for prey, reaching out towards the chained Astor. He tried to struggle against it, he tried to hold his breath, but as the fog and the lightning reached him, they violently forced themselves through every crevice of his old body, into his ears, his eyes, tearing at his skin. His body began to twitch in pain, his arms flicking from side to side, his head trembling up and down. As he tried to scream, the green fog poured into his mouth, suffocating him. Aurelia’s chants became louder and louder, thundering through the small court. Astor rolled back and forth trying to resist the poison, but as his legs flailed across the floor and his hands began to dig into his eye sockets trying to claw out the green fog, he felt his heart burst apart from the sheer trauma of the violence done unto him. Slowly, blood began to seep out of his eyes, then his nose, and finally the very pores of his skin. As the green fog was tearing at Astor, trying to rip him apart, his body twitched wilder and wilder, until his consciousness finally gave out.

The agents above had watched in horror as the green fog tore Astor apart. Special Agent Ryker had gripped his own thighs so strongly that his fingernails had already pierced his thick, rough skin. Throughout his years in the US government, he had witnessed many horrible crimes and ridiculous acts of violence, but he had never seen a display of hurt quite as intense as the horror that the diadem held within. The young agent next to him had looked away halfway through the torture, a few soft tears running down his cheeks as he covered his eyes in shock.

Aurelia looked at the mangled corpse and the pool of blood beneath it. The green fog had retracted itself just as quickly as it had appeared. Her chants had fallen silent and Astor was dead. Aurelia’s expression was cold, unfazed by the display in front of her. It was not new to her. She turned around and walked towards the ranks where the agents sat, their shocked expressions flickering from Astor’s corpse to the young lady in black. “It is done,” Aurelia yelled at the men. “A thousand deaths in one. The pain will follow him beyond.” Aurelia looked directly into Ryker’s eyes and continued: “He won’t resurrect again. He will not bother you anymore.” The agent stared at the woman below and pressed himself against the back of the rock he was sitting on. Ice-cold sweat was running down his forehead. He slowly nodded, then he whispered: “The diadem. P- please remove it.”

Aurelia stared at him for a few more seconds, then she went back to the table with the black briefcase. There, she stood in silence for just another minute, lost in thought. “We must part ways again, my child,” the diadem whispered. Aurelia had feared this moment, but she knew she had no choice. “I will find you again, my lord,” she responded. Then she reached for the diadem but paused just before lifting it off her head. “My lord, before when we communed… I felt something new. Like someone was… watching us. Is that possible?” She waited for a moment for the diadem to respond. Then it hissed, “There is danger close, my child. A mask worn by an ancient power. Great evil sits among them.” Aurelia looked up at the spectators and in the back of the very highest rank, she saw the Oracle, the man with the glasses, sitting still and calm, observing her closely. While the agents cowered in fear in their seats, the Oracle was clearly not affected by the display of violence and cruelty it had witnessed, and neither did it fear her power. Aurelia now understood.

Finally, Aurelia lifted the diadem from her head. It whispered in reassurance once more - “Our time will come soon, my dear” - and the lady in black placed the silver form back inside of its container. She looked at it for one last, brief second, before turning towards the large door at the end of the court. She walked towards it and silence fell across the court, her rhythmic clicking footsteps the only sound to fill the room.