Sage felt the hard, splintering wood he was seated on, smelt the dank, moist air surrounding him. It was the only sort of indication as to where he was. He couldn't believe how easily he had been captured; how feeble he had grown. Once, the strongest archer in all of Caedus, now, an elderly man strapped to some chair in what he assumed must be somewhere in the Lymphan District, blindfolded. His auditory senses heightened, and he could hear the whisper of hushed voices nearby.

Amateurs. Simple lackeys, that's what they were. They were just the muscle. Not the brains. They had no clue how to extract information from him other than striking him repeatedly. A blow to the ribs, to the face, nose, chest.

He could take it.

He had seen far worse in the Great War prior to this one. Dealt with far worse.

There was the sound of a metal door groaning, and footsteps echoed into the room. Sage could smell the odd-scented musk cologne worn by what he could only assume was the general in charge. The room hushed into silence and Sage sat up as best as he could in his chair, his bound hands and feet refraining him greatly.

"So," the voice was quiet but not soft. It belonged to a male, presumably in his late forties or fifties. "This is what happened to the Great Archer Sage Slate. Reduced to a withered, old babysitter for the Lymphan Princess."

Sage remained quiet. He would not utter a peep. Over his dead body would they ever get an answer out of him. The man's pointed words slid off his back, hardly fazing him. His tactics to get him riled up, to get any inkling of information from him were pathetic and weak. The oldest tricks in the torture book.

"It's already one thing that you are a Terran, Sage Slate. But to get mixed up in Lymphan affairs? To steal away the Lymphan Princess? Either your renowned bravery preceeds you, or you have lost your sanity after Queen Freya's death." The man's voice became a soft growl next to his ear. Sage hardly bristled.

Sudden pain shot through his left ear as he felt the back of the man's hand strike his face.

"Tell me," the man hissed, grabbing Sage's face firmly between his forefinger and thumb in a patronising gesture. "How did a pathetic, old man get a hold of the Princess of Lympha, anyway? How did she end up in your care?"

Against all his common sense, the child in him won over, and Sage spat in the direction of the man's voice. Judging from the noise of disgust that followed, Sage's spit had landed accurately.

The man released his hold on Sage, and moments later, a sharp pain erupted across his abdominal. Sage doubled over in his chair, wheezing.

"I'm beginning to think you truly have lost your sanity, Slate." The man spat out his surname as if it were poison on his lips. "Tell me," the man gripped his face fiercely. "Why couldn't my men find the princess? Where did she run off to? Where is she hiding?"

Sage sat quietly, considering for a moment how, exactly, Raena had actually managed to escape, and if Braedon had made it as well. The very fact that Raena wasn't in their grasp made the pain in his stomach ease as relief washed over him, and newfound determination grounded him. All that mattered was the princess was safe. All he hoped was the same for his grandson. He had nothing left but them, and if he lost them... well. He would much rather die, then live out the rest of his years alone. Those kids meant the world to him. Hell, they were his entire world. They were the rest of his life.

A strike to the nose and a sudden crack sent his thoughts shattering. He released a yelp as he felt warm blood pour down his nostrils. Pain ebbed and throbbed from the bridge of his nose, and he had not a shadow of a doubt that it was most likely broken in more than one place.

"Where's the princess, old man?" the voice demanded, a harsh whisper in his right ear.

Sage's lips thinned. Not a single word. He would offer nothing, give nothing. He only prayed to the gods above that whatever his fate, his efforts would not be in vain.

"You think I won't kill you?" the male's voice demanded, a large hand closed tightly around his throat. Sage gagged.

"We don't have time or the space for useless old men around here. If you're of no value to us then we're simply going to have to get rid of you, aren't we now?" He released Sage, who let out a terrible, choked cough.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure it's a slow, slow death." The man clicked his fingers and there was a scuffle of feet as well as the sound of water slushing nearby. Something heavy was placed on the ground next to Sage's chair, and a moment later, two firm hands forced his head back, holding him steady.

Sage had been in this situation only once before. But it was enough to remind him that trying to struggle and fight against it was useless. So, when the cloth was wrapped tightly against his face, he had just enough time to hold his breath before he felt the cold contact of water soaking through the cloth.

Endless, running water, pouring onto his face and threatening to engulf him, cutting off all airway to his lungs. Sage did not think of breaking once. Braedon and Raena a vividly clear image in his mind. For them, it was all worth it. Every slow second.

They stopped for a moment and he gasped for air, savouring the moment, knowing it would only last seconds before they continued their torture round.

"You know," the man sneered next to his ear. "You're loyal, I'll give you that much. But loyalty doesn't take you far in this new world, old man. Times have changed."

"I'm not scared of death," Sage rasped.

The man snickered, "Perhaps not, old man. Although, I'm thinking now... if you've taught the little princess to be as stupidly loyal as you are to her now, then perhaps keeping you alive for a little while longer might just be beneficial to us. I do wonder if she is stupid enough to attempt to come here and rescue you. What do you think?"

Sage's lips formed a thin line and he gritted his teeth. He wished he could reply otherwise. He wished he could believe that Raena and Braedon would listen to the plan he had laid out to them so many times before. That if something happened to him, they would not search for him. But the man was right. Raena was as loyal to him as he was to her. These past fifteen years, the three of them had grown inseparable, and it was a fool's hope to believe that Raena would not come looking for him.

So, when the men held his head back, and the cloth was pressed over his mouth once again, Sage found himself wishing, hoping, praying for death. As another downpour of water engulfed his lungs, he tried to embrace it even while his body fought for oxygen, struggled against his will. As Sage's body eventually gave up fighting, he succumbed to breathing in the inevitable death that poured mercilessly upon him.

And so, bit by bit, he was drowning.