After what had been done to him Jacob was no longer in a state to think, his mind had retreated from itself, shutting away every thread of thought and collapsing into a dull and empty quiet, leaving him in a condition where he was neither resting nor awake but simply existing, adrift and aimless in the hollow space that followed pain.

He did not attempt to reason with himself, did not turn toward memory or toward fear, for his body had chosen silence as its only defense, and perhaps that was the wiser course, for if thought returned too soon then terror might consume him, if memory rose again then agony might shatter him, but in this still and muted state none of those dangers could reach him, at least not until they came again to disturb what little he had left.

And they did.

She came once more, the same woman as before, though this time she did not trouble herself with the bindings of mouth or sight, and so Jacob was forced to watch as she moved without hurry, unsealing the door to his cell with a casual gesture and pulling a chair across the floor until its legs scraped against the stone.

He saw her sit, saw her form a rune before her that shimmered faintly as if it were no more than a window to a distant place, and from it there came a cold voice, distant and commanding, and she listened before her eyes settled upon him. He saw the anger written there, restrained but vivid, and then he saw her raise her hand, steady and deliberate, until her palm came to rest against his forehead.

For a single heartbeat, in the brief span between her touch and the moment she would awaken that dreadful rune, Jacob's mind returned in full, awareness flooding back like a tide breaking against a weakened wall, and in that return came the realization of what was about to happen, and with it came a fear so sharp that he could not keep it contained.

His voice tore itself free, carrying all the weight of the anguish he had endured before, all the desperate refusal that swelled within him.

"Wait… wait, please," he cried, the words stumbling out of him as if they were the only thing left he could give, and though his plea held nothing but raw sincerity, though it carried pain and terror enough to move any listener, it found no purchase.

He would have accepted his confinement without protest, he would have suffered silence and solitude without rebellion, so long as the torment was not repeated, but such bargains were not his to make, and his voice, no matter how desperate, meant nothing here.

Instead the woman's lips curved into a smile, as if the sound of his plea brought her some measure of satisfaction, and in a whisper that carried the weight of doctrine she answered, "Do not worry, child, all of this is by the will of the gods."

And then the pain returned.

It came with a force that split him apart from within, a rending pressure that clawed through his skull, and unlike before his sight remained, forcing him to witness what was done to him. He saw the dark liquid seeping from her hand, pouring into him as though his body were no more than a vessel, and as the invasion deepened he saw her composure falter. Her hand trembled against his skin, sweat gathered at her brow and ran down her face in heavy drops, and her expression, strained and wavering, revealed that the agony he felt was not his alone. Whatever torment was consuming him, she was enduring something greater still.

But Jacob did not even have the chance to dwell on any thought, for his mind was being torn apart from the inside, pulled in directions it was never meant to endure, and though the torment lasted only a handful of seconds, those seconds stretched and collapsed at once, too brief to grasp yet long enough to feel endless, and just as the black liquid seemed to carve itself deeper into him it struck against something hidden, a point that did not yield but shone.

A sudden brightness flared within him, not light in any ordinary sense but something sharp and immovable, and at that touch the invading substance recoiled violently, expelled at once from Jacob's mind and driven back into the woman who had sent it.

The last time such a thing had occurred she had been thrown aside in surprise, collapsing to the floor in a way that stripped her of any dignity, but this time she had prepared herself, and when the backlash struck her she held her ground.

The force hit her head directly, and though her body shook she refused to stumble, her jaw set, her teeth gritted together until the strain was audible. Her hands clamped down on the arms of her chair so tightly that her knuckles whitened, her posture rigid with effort, and for long minutes she sat in silence, enduring whatever storm raged inside her until finally her body slackened, her breath released, and she forced herself to stillness once more.

Then her eyes turned back to Jacob, and the expression she fixed upon him was not one of mere annoyance but of deep and concentrated hatred, a glare so sharp that it seemed to speak in place of words, though he could not understand its precise meaning.

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Without speaking she rose from the chair and left the cell, her steps firm and deliberate, and she did not even trouble herself to lock the door behind her. The gesture was pointed, an unspoken dare, a silent warning that if he chose to test his freedom he would regret it, and the punishment would be more than enough to break him.

Jacob was not so foolish as to try. He could imagine too easily what would happen if he stepped beyond that door, and in truth he half-believed she wanted exactly that, an excuse to drain him until nothing remained.

Perhaps she was already doing so to Arthur and Jessica, perhaps she had already decided their usefulness had ended, and at that thought he felt a shiver move through him. Where were they now? Taken to another cell, or worse, not even alive to share his captivity.

The weight of it all settled upon him then, the full realization of what had happened, and his body reacted before his mind could order it otherwise. His heart beat faster, sharp and unsteady, his breathing grew shallow, his skin prickled with a cold tremor. He had been taken, stripped of control, carried away from everything he knew. He, Jacob, had been kidnapped.

He was not someone who had lived his life in conflict, his brief and desperate fight with Dawson had been the first true clash he had ever endured. His siblings had been different; they had been raised with steel in their hands and discipline drilled into them, prepared to face the kind of dangers he had always chosen to avoid, and unlike them he had found ways to step aside, to walk away before trouble could demand anything from him.

He told himself he should think clearly now, to still his breath, to measure the walls of his prison and search for some method of escape, or at the very least to find a way of reaching his family with some signal, however faint.

He knew he had the mind for it, he had always been called clever, and yet cleverness did nothing for him here, for every attempt to think was drowned under the weight of fear that pressed into his chest and left him trembling. All he managed was to sit in silence, his body shivering with the knowledge that she would return, and that when she did he would once again be at her mercy.

And return she did, hours later. The same ritual repeated itself, the cold rune, the hand pressed against his head, the black current spilling into him, and though the agony came, he noticed something different, something that startled him in the midst of his cries.

The pain was lessened, not in any way that could be called tolerable, for it still bent him near breaking, but enough that he could register the change. And when at last she withdrew, when the blackness was pulled back into her and she left the cell, he discovered with a faint astonishment that the pain had left no shadow within him. There was no lingering echo in his nerves, no dull ache to remind him, only silence where moments before there had been torment.

It was only then, in the aftermath, that Jacob found enough clarity to consider his situation beyond the panic. He did not fool himself with fantasies of escape, the very thought of stepping beyond that door was laced with dread, and besides, there was no realistic path he could imagine that would lead to freedom. What remained was the one possibility left to him: to find some way of sending word to others, to let someone know where they were.

The moment the thought settled into him, he realized it was almost absurdly simple. He was not truly alone in his own mind, not with a presence that vast and alien lodged somewhere in the depths of his being. Yggdrasil. Perhaps the very thing his captors sought within him was linked to that ancient presence, perhaps it was there precisely because of it.

So he did the only thing he could, the only thing left to him, and it was not noble or composed but desperate, almost childish. He begged. 'Yggdrasil, I know you can hear me. I know you can help me. Please, help me send a message to Alex.'

It was a simple request, not deliverance, not salvation, only a plea for a message to be carried, but—

'What good would it do you if I solved everything for you, hmm? You should find a way to escape on your own.'

The voice in his mind was calm, faintly amused, and Jacob felt a flicker of irritation rise in him, though it was quickly tempered by the knowledge that this presence was the only lifeline he had. He pressed on, unwilling to let annoyance close the door. 'Come on, just help me a little. There's nothing I can do here, you know that. Please.'

His reasoning was simple, and it seemed sound enough to him even in the midst of fear. Yggdrasil had placed something within him, something rare and surely significant, Jacob doubted that seeds of the world tree had been given to many, if to anyone at all.

That meant he was important to Yggdrasil's designs, and if he died here then whatever plans there were would end with him. It stood to reason that Yggdrasil would want to keep him alive. But for all that, the voice remained unyielding, almost playful in its obstinacy.

'Do you have any idea how much energy it costs me to interfere? I'm rooted in a tree, for gods' sake. Do you think trees move about freely? I can't simply help you whenever you ask. Sorry.'

Jacob narrowed his thoughts into a single question. 'What do you want, then?'

'Now you're beginning to use your head,' the voice replied, and Jacob could almost picture a smile forming somewhere deep within the unseen presence. 'Let's see… perhaps another quest. Yes, if you can kill that vampire woman, then I'll help you. And because I like to keep things fair, I'll even share a little secret.'

The words drained him of patience. He was not amused; in fact, the conditions themselves felt more like mockery than guidance, and for the first time since he had begun pleading he gave up, recognizing that this was not a being willing to offer the help he sought. If Yggdrasil intended to aid him, it would not be in this way.

But the voice had not finished. 'That's not all. If you endure this just a few more times, thirty, forty at most, you'll find yourself strong enough to defeat her. Trust me.'

Jacob did not trust him. Not even a little. And so, resigned but not broken, he returned to the only conclusion left to him: he would have to find another way to escape.

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