#draeunvaedronn

[draeunvaedronn]

Day 2- Wither

It was forbidden.

The rules had been carved into him with every stern warning, every frightened glance cast toward the shimmering wall of the shield. And yet, once a week, he defied them. Once a week, he slipped away to the edge, lungs burning with the sprint.

Because even one glance was worth it.

And there he was. The boy’s chest swelled with joy as the shadowed figure in the distance appeared, trudging toward the barrier. “Dad!” The boy waved, a smile breaking across his face. But his father did not return it. No raised hand. No familiar warmth. Only a lumbering gait, hunched and bowed, a body that seemed weighed down by invisible chains.

The boy squinted. It had been six long weeks since the exile—six weeks since they’d torn his father from him for a crime he never committed. The boy's small voice faltered. “Dad…?”

From the other side of the barrier, the man’s lips trembled around the name, the word nearly lost. “Drae—” His voice cracked.

A woman’s sharp call broke the air behind him, and Draeun stiffened. “I have to go, Dad! But I’ll be back next week!” His eyes caught on the glint of the watch strapped to his father’s wrist—the gift he had chosen for the last birthday they’d shared. The memory burned into him as he fled back toward safety.

When he returned, a week later, his heart carried the weight of a promise. He stood at the barrier, expectant. Hopeful. Waiting.

But no one came.

“Dad?!” His voice cracked into panic. “Dad, I’m here! Where are you?!”

The silence gave way to movement—not his father, but them. The ones his siblings called zombies. They shuffled in the distance, their dead eyes restless. Draeun’s cries grew frantic. “DAD! PLEASE! WHERE ARE YOU?!” His throat burned with desperation.

And then—he saw it.

A glint. A shimmer. A familiar watch strapped to a wrist. It was one of them.

The boy froze. His heart stuttered in his chest as his voice sank to a whisper. “Dad…?”

The creature turned. Its hollow gaze found him, lingering for only a moment. For a heartbeat, hope clawed up Draeun’s throat. His father had to still be there. He had to.

But the creature looked away. And walked on.

The boy’s legs buckled, tears spilling. “Dad, can you hear me…?”

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Draeun startled, whirling to find his mother’s eyes blazing with fury and grief. “DRAEUN! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THE BARRIER?!” Her words were sharp, but her voice cracked when her gaze flicked past him, to the creature with the watch. Her breath hitched, her face paling, heart sinking.

She swept the sobbing child into her arms. His little body trembled, his cries muffled against her chest.

“No more visits, Draeun,” she whispered, more to herself than him.

And he repeated the words, broken and weeping, “No more…”

[draeunvaedronn]

Day 6- Celebrate

Nearly three thousand years had passed since the withering had claimed his father. And yet, on this same day every year, Draeun found himself drawn to the barrier—like a wound he could not stop reopening.

He knew the truth. The chance of ever seeing him again was nothing but ash in the wind. But still, he came. Still, he waited.

A blanket was unfurled across the cold earth. A small basket set down with deliberate care, its contents a ritual. Draeun poured himself a glass of deep red wine, reclining.

And so he waited.

Hour after hour, his eyes tracked every withered figure that stumbled past the shimmering wall. His gaze lingered, searching for some scrap of recognition—anything that could tether the husks of the damned back to the man he had once called father.

None ever did.

When the darkness settled fully, Draeun finally rose, folding the blanket with mechanical precision, placing everything back into the basket as though tidiness could disguise futility.

Another year. Another failure.

His voice was flat, almost mocking in its restraint as he turned from the barrier. “Happy birthday… Dad.”

The words fell into the silence, swallowed by the night. Draeun walked away without looking back.

@daily-writing-challenge

[draeunvaedronn]

Day 4- Languish

TW: Captive, torture, blood, implied gore

A thousand years had passed, and the boy who once wept at a barrier was gone. What remained was a man forged in bitterness, tempered in silence, and sharpened by rage. His heart beat not with love, nor hope, but with vengeance—a single ember that had refused to die.

Now, in a damp chamber that stank of mildew and old blood, an aged woman sat hunched in chains. Her wrists were rubbed raw where iron bit into flesh, her voice reduced to pitiful moans.

Footsteps echoed softly through the dark—measured, unhurried, inevitable. She flinched at the sound. Her keeper was coming. Her tormentor. Her executioner.

Draeun stepped from the shadow into the thin cone of light that was his prisoner. He regarded her with a cruel calm, the ghost of something almost tender curling at the edges of his words.

“We meet again, Auclair.”

Her name slid from his tongue like silk, heavy with mockery, tinged with false adoration. She dared not answer or look.

“Tsk, tsk.” He clicked his tongue, pacing like a predator circling a wounded deer. “Auclair, you know better. You look at me when I speak to you.” His voice lowered, smooth and venomous. “I’ll let you try again. Good evening, Auclair.”

With visible effort, she lifted her head. The light revealed her ruined face—an eye swollen shut, lips cracked and bleeding, a long gash carved deep into her cheek. Her voice shook, fragile as glass.

“G…good evening… Mr. Vaedronn…”

Draeun’s lips curved into a pleased smirk. He plucked a riding crop from the table, its leather tip brushing under her chin, forcing her gaze upward.

“Good girl,” he whispered, savoring each syllable as if it were wine. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Her lip quivered, caught between defiance and despair, but she managed the smallest shake of her head.

Satisfied, he withdrew the crop and turned to a tray of metal instruments. The sound of steel shifting against steel rang like a death knell in the room. Her eyes widened, her breath came shallow—she already knew what was to come.

For months she had been locked here, ravaged by torment, stripped of time, dignity, and hope. Yet Draeun had never once explained why.

And perhaps that was the cruellest cut of all.

“Now…” he mused, selecting a blade and weighing it with deliberate care. He turned back, the butcher’s knife gleaming in the light. “…where did we leave off yesterday?”

Her screams tore through the chamber, ragged and raw, until at last her body surrendered to unconsciousness.

Draeun wiped the blade clean with methodical precision. A sigh escaped him, not of weariness, but of patience measured in centuries.

“Tomorrow then,” he murmured to the silence. “Tomorrow, we begin again.”

@daily-writing-challenge

[draeunvaedronn]

Day 3- Twitterpatted

A long, drawn-out sigh slipped from Draeun’s lips at the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Heeeey, Drae!”

He didn’t bother turning at first, only flicked a glance over his shoulder with measured disdain. “I told you to call me Draeun.”

The girl lifted her hands in mock surrender, smiling as if playfulness could soften the edge in his voice. “Sorry, Draeun,” she echoed, dragging the name out in teasing repetition. “So I was wondering…”

Her words tumbled endlessly, but Draeun had already shut her out. Bent over his workbench, he soldered two wires together, his entire being locked in the glow of circuitry. The girl’s voice became background noise—the meaningless hum of a machine.

“…so, what do you say?”

Draeun finally lifted his head, blinking as though waking from a trance. “Hm?”

Her confidence faltered instantly. “About… the dance?”

“Oh.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment before drifting back to the components before him. He leaned in again, hands steady, voice flat. “No.”

“No?” Her voice cracked. “That’s it?”

“What more do you want me to say?” he asked, his tone as sterile as the tools around him. “No, thank you? I hardly see why I should thank you for asking. I am disinterested.”

Color drained from her face, humiliation bleeding through her expression. “But I thought—”

This time he looked up fully. His dark eyes locked onto hers with chilling precision, his words stripped of mercy.

“You thought the single act of kindness I showed you was something more. That I meant to flirt.” His voice cut like a scalpel. “It was in the mechanical shop, wasn’t it? You were mangling a device so badly I had no choice but to correct you—for my own sanity. That had nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with how I feel about you. It was simply the correction of an error.”

He adjusted his glasses with one finger, his gaze never wavering. “So I say again—no.”

Her breath hitched. For a heartbeat she stood frozen, staring into the void of his indifference. Then her body broke with shudders, and she fled, sobs trailing behind her.

Silence surrounded him again. Draeun exhaled slowly, a quiet relief, and turned back to his project. The soldering iron hissed to life once more as if nothing had interrupted him.

@daily-writing-challenge

[draeunvaedronn]

Day 5- Attack

Dodge.

Dip.

Duck.

Each breath scraped Draeun’s throat raw as the stocky fighter swung again, the air trembling with the force of his fists. Draeun’s body twisted and bent with desperate precision, his lithe frame darting just beyond each brutal strike. He had speed. What he lacked was power.

“Come on!” the larger man bellowed, sweat pouring down his square jaw. His fists cracked like thunder through the air. “Hit me!”

The room tilted around Draeun. His head swam, every inhale jagged. They had been at it for hours—no water, no rest. The relentless cycle pressed him to the breaking point.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me!” The roar came a heartbeat before a fist connected. The blow struck Draeun’s face with bone-jarring force. His footing crumbled, and the floor rose up to meet him.

He laid there, dazed, as the hulking figure loomed overhead. A sigh heavy with disappointment cut the silence.

“You waste everything on dodging. You survive, yes. But you never win.” His voice was as sharp as the strike that had dropped Draeun. Hands planted on his hips, muscles slick with sweat, the man glared down at him. Yet, despite his scorn, his chest rose with the fatigue of a hard-fought session. Draeun’s method had pushed him—more than he’d admit aloud.

But Draeun didn’t hear the praise hidden in the silence. His vision blurred to black, consciousness slipping away.

When he stirred again, he was exactly where he had fallen. The world was dim, his body aching. He touched his swollen cheek, a hiss tearing from his lips.

“You suck at this.”

The voice snapped him back. His teacher—Oldric—approached, handing over an ice pack. Draeun took it weakly, pressing it against the bruise with a flinch.

“Thank you,” Draeun muttered, voice thin but sincere. “For not pulling your punch.”

Oldric’s back was already turned. “Tomorrow, then.”

Draeun’s eyes widened. “Tomorrow? But I’m injured. Shouldn’t I—”

The man spun, his words cutting like steel. “You think your enemies will wait for you to heal? Out there, you fall once—you stay down. Tomorrow.”

Draeun lowered his gaze, ice pressed to his face, his breath trembling. When Oldric vanished into the dark, Draeun whispered to the empty room, voice quiet but resolute.

“You’re right… Tomorrow, then.”

Slowly, he forced himself to his feet, every movement screaming protest, and began the long walk home. Each step carried the weight of pain, but beneath it all—there was resolve.

@daily-writing-challenge

[draeunvaedronn]

Day 1- Calculate

TW: Gore, Captive

“NO! PLEASE! I’ll tell you anything you want!” The plea ripped through the monitors, a shrill echo in the dimly lit office. At the top of a skyscraper, a lone figure stood—tall, immaculate, and draped in the shadows of the city. The dark shal’dorei clasped his hands neatly behind his back, eyes fixed on Undermine sprawling beneath him. To him, the city was not alive—it was prey.

On the screen, a hired brute stepped into view, his boots dragging across concrete. He picked up a sliver of steel from a table lined with blades. Its thin edge gleamed like a promise, and the captive thrashed in his restraints.

“Already asked the question,” the goon muttered, his tone almost playful. “Looks like you’re stallin’.” He toyed with the blade, brushing its point beneath the prisoner’s chin. Another scream burst out.

“O-OKAY, I'LL TELL YOU! He… he…” The captive’s voice broke. Sweat and fear clung to him like a second skin. “He’s underground! But— it’s so far out… in the middle of nowhere!”

The shal’dorei finally turned from the window. His movement was deliberate, a predator scenting blood. He strode across the lavish room, each step absorbed by the thick carpet until he reached the desk beneath the monitors. Now, his gaze devoured every flicker of the feed.

“Where exactly?” the goon pressed, his grin stretching cruelly. “If not, I’ll let you pick which finger goes first.”

The captive’s hesitation was fatal. One swift motion—steel bit flesh. A thumb clattered to the floor. The man’s scream fractured the silence of the penthouse, but its audience remained unmoved. Stoic. Lifeless.

“BLASTED LANDS—!” The words tore from the prisoner’s throat. “He keeps them underground in the Blasted Lands! Please, no more!”

The shal’dorei’s eyes narrowed, their cold glow cutting sharper than the blades on-screen. He lowered a slender finger to the console, pressing a single button. His voice carried into the room on the feed—smooth, composed, lethal.

“That’s enough. Finish it. Then dispose of the trash.”

“Yes, boss!” The goon saluted toward the camera before reaching for a heavier weapon. The captive’s final cries spiraled into chaos before the feed snapped to black.

Silence reclaimed the office. Only the faint hum of electricity and the city far below remained. The man poured the last of his whiskey, settled into a leather couch, and crossed one leg over the other. He savored a slow sip, his face contemplative, brows knitting with thought.

And then, softly, like a curse carried on the air: “I’m coming for you…”