[b][u]Daha[/u][/b]

Having travelled for three days and nights, first by cage-cart, then by boat down the river Kokki to the capital, Daha was exhausted. He had not been fed at all during the journey, and had been presented with a minimum amount of water. The bumpy roads had made it near impossible to sleep in the cart, and on the boat, the floor of the cage he was enclosed in was splintered and worn from the fingernails of those who had occupied the cell before him.

By the time the boat docked at the royal palace, Daha was almost relieved. He was escorted off the boat with a sack over his head, and dragged through winding corridors and down several flights of stairs, the air slowly becoming damper the deeper they descended. Eventually he heard the creaking of metal, and the sack was ripped from his head, and a strong hand pushed him between the shoulder blades, throwing him forward through an open metal door into a large stone room with no windows and high ceiling.

As the young man hit the ground, he let out a gasp of pain as the air was pushed from his lungs, and his knees and hands scraped along the flagstone floor. He twisted in time to see one of the guards slam the solid metal door closed, and hear the clunk of the lock. He remained there on the floor for a few more seconds, catching his breath back, before pushing himself to his feet. He looked around slowly, taking in eight sleeping sacks on the stone floor, which were illuminated burning torches embedded into the walls and made out of reach by metal grates with gaps too small to fit a hand through.

The eight beds sparked a thought in the back of Daha's memory. He remembered the stories of the Chosen. How each year, the legion and guard would set out and collect eight random individuals from across Logaris, and take them to the royal palace, never to be seen again. But until that moment, Daha had believed them to be just that... stories.

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[b][u]Cacus[/u][/b]

The immortal sat atop his throne, carved of white marble. He was in his throne room, a long white hall with pillars carved of the same material as the throne which sat atop a dais at one end of the room. At the foot of the dais knelt a shivering wreck of a man. The man was all skin and bones, and his clothes clung very loosely to his almost decaying form. His hair was unkept and white, and his fingernails were broken and untamed. His eyes watched the base of the throne, not daring to look up at the man seated in the throne itself.

"Are you prepared, Daedalys?" The man sat in the throne speaks slowly, and calmly, with the arrogant air of a man who is rarely if ever refused. "The Day of the Chosen is tomorrow. And I will not allow the ceremony to begin until I am satisfied that your preparations are complete." The Fire God lets his gaze wonder the room lazily as he speaks. The main room is approximately sixty metres in length, with ten huge pillars evenly spaced in two lines, so that five stood either side of the room, running down it. On each pillar stood a guard in full armour, the burning sun carved proudly onto their chests, their spearswords held tightly in their grasp. Another two guards stood at the bottom of the dais, one on each corner.

"Y-yes my lord..." The old man replies, his voice breaking halfway through the short sentence. "Of c-course my lord... I w-wou-would never allow m-my insolence to impede up-upon his greatness' plans and r-routine..." He grovels, bowing his head lower as he speaks.

A brief smirk flickers across Cacus' face. "Very good. You are dismissed in that case." He looked down at the guards at the foot of the dais. "Return him to his cell."

The guards move in unison towards the old man who suddenly looks up, his eyes are clouded, and he squints in the direction of Cacus, his vision clearly as broken as his confidence. "My lord, if I may..." He starts, and the guards stop either side of him, looking to their king for further orders. "I-I would be able to w-work much faster and efficiently if Icarys were r-ret-returned to assist m-me."

This time, the king does not attempt to hide his smirk. "My dear man..." He gets to his feet and walks down the dais towards Daedalys slowly. "Your son enjoys his new quarters so much, though... It would be a shame to give him back to you, to be forced to live in squalor... Besides. He is a good insurance policy." He stops just in front of the old man, staring down at him. "Now, back to your cell. I have other matters to attend to."