What I Saw Without You

Mathias Bryn, wrongfully imprisoned, is visited by a mysterious woman

What I Saw Without You

Footsteps echoed down the corridor—two sets—one heavy, one light. Mathias Bryn paused mid-stretch. A guard stopped at his cell, then stepped aside as a woman came forward to stand silently at the bars. A veil hid her face; only her eyes were visible - deep and fathomless. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared through the bars. Somewhere down the row, a prisoner muttered. Another rattled his tin cup against the bars, complaining. Mathias stood, matching her gaze, unruffled. Unconcerned. Seconds passed. Finally, she broke the stare, turning and leaving. Mathias shrugged. The footsteps fade once more, and silence returns. The next day, as he was finishing his meagre lunch, he heard footsteps again. Putting the tin plate down with a clatter, he stood curious and waited. Once again, the mystery woman appeared and again stared at him through the bars. He let the silence stretch.

Then, he asked. “Who are you?”

No answer. He sighed, and his voice sharpened. “What do you want?”

Still nothing. Just those pale blue eyes holding hidden depths.

He exhaled slowly. “Right.”

She turned, gave a final look back, and left. A while later, the guard returned. The cell door clanked open. “You’re free,” the guard said. “Your benefactor awaits you at the inn across the road.”

Mathias Bryn gave the guard a sardonic grin. He already suspected who his benefactor was. He stepped out into the afternoon light. It was warm—balmy, even. The kind of heat that sucked the moisture from your skin and made you thirsty. He paused, squinting up at the sky, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. Then he crossed the road and entered the inn. It was quiet, shutters half-open to the breeze. A few locals nursed drinks in the shade. The air smelled of sweat and stale ale. She was there - he knew it would be her, the silent woman, who came to visit him. Ignoring her, he went to the bar, bought a drink, then crossed the room and sat opposite her. He stared, sipping slowly. She removed her veil, revealing pale skin and jet-black shoulder-length hair. She seemed thin, almost fragile, as he saw her fully for the first time. There was a melancholy about her that would typically invite sympathy from most, but he was unmoved, more curious than anything else. He waited.

“My name is Saelri Lee,” she said, her voice melodic to his ears.”

“You can talk then. I suppose I owe you, and you want something in return, so - tell me?”

Saelri frowned, then rested a hand on the table. “Take my hand.” He grinned bemusedly, then shrugged and took it. Immediately, his surroundings faded- He saw himself and Saelri lying together in what seemed happier times. Then the vision switched, and he saw his lifeless body among many more. Nor was Saelri to be found among the dead. A world engulfed in chaos, fire, and death. Thousands of orcs, goblins, ogres and other nameless creatures swarmed everywhere. Kingdoms burned, and empires crumbled. At last, he came to himself and pulled his hand away.

“You’re not going to tell me. You are a seer, and all this is going to happen if… what? I’m not with you. I have been around and met more than my share of sorcerers and so-called seers spouting nonsense.”

Saelri shook her head. “No, I’m no seer, nor do I know why I get these visions. But I am a sorceress. And for someone like me, visions like these…” Her gaze drifted, “They disturb and terrify me. I can’t say whether they will come to pass. I do know one thing for sure, though.

“Oh, and that is?”

“You are in all of my visions.”

Mathias shrugged, “I’m flattered. You say I am in all your visions.”

Saelri nodded. “You are. But not always by my side.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So I wandered off, and the world ends?”

Her voice dropped. “No. You die before the end. When you’re not with me.”

He took a slow sip of his drink. “We all die eventually.”

She leaned forward, a slight tremor in her voice. “You were the last man standing at the battle of Black Hollow. Fifty entered. Only one survived.”

Mathias froze, just for a breath. Then set the tankard down. “That is a memory I’d sooner not recall,” he said, his voice turning rough.

“I saw it,” she replied. “A massacre. Needless… by your commander’s incompetence. You dragged yourself through mud by sheer willpower, mortally wounded but alive. And yet no one listened to you.”

He exhaled slowly. For the first time, Saelri saw emotion flicker across his face. “You freed me. That’s a debt.”

“That’s not why I want you with me.”

“I know,” he said. “But it’s why I will go with you. I always pay my debts.”

Saelri studied him for a moment. Then her nose twitched. “You should bathe,” she said. “There’s a room upstairs—water’s hot.

He raised an eyebrow. “Another vision?”

“No,” she replied, dryly. “Just my nose.”

He glanced down at his shirt, damp and stained from days in the cell. “I did wash myself. Once. Three days ago,” he said sardonically.

“Go,” she said, almost scolding. And shave, too. I dislike stubble. “I’ll still be here when you have bathed.”

He stood, stretching with a wince. “If you vanish again, I’ll assume it was the smell.”

Sometime later, Mathias returned to the room, his skin clean. His shirt hung loose, his expression lighter. His fair hair was damp around his shoulders. He looked different now. At ease, tall, brooding. Handsome. His green eyes echoed past pain. She was seated by the window, steam rising from the teacup in her hand. The room was quiet, the sunlight fading, casting long shadows across the floor. Saelri’s hand paused near her lips. She lowered the cup slowly, eyes flicking over him once.

Now,” she said, voice dry. “You look the part.”

Mathias blinked. “What part?”

She sipped her tea. “The one they’d never suspect,” she said with that air of mystery he was beginning to get used to.

“You never explained how you got me out,” he said.

“I told them the truth.”

Mathias raised a brow. “Which is?”

Saelri didn’t look up. “That you were falsely accused. That the charges were fabricated. That the entire tribunal was a farce.”

He gave a dry laugh. “All because of a card game.”

She glanced at him. “Some nobles just can’t stomach losing. Especially to a commoner.”

“He called it cheating. I called it luck. When I went to collect, he refused to pay. We argued. He claimed I assaulted him and tried to rob him.”

“And they didn’t believe you?”

Mathias shook his head. “They didn’t need to. He has influence. Enough to make the truth irrelevant. He gave her a sideways look. “But they believed you?”

Saelri turned, a glint in her eye. “No. But I also told them I’d expose Lord Verren’s bribes with the Eastern trading company. That got their attention.”

Mathias frowned. “You threatened a noble?”

“I implied I might. Loudly. In a room full of his rivals.”

He stared. “You were bluffing, right. You didn’t know about any bribes?”

Saelri smiled. “Of course. I’m a sorceress. They wouldn’t dare call it—not when truth has teeth.”

Mathias let out a breath, half laugh, half disbelief. “You sure have guts. I’ll give you that.”

She shrugged. “Of course, I may look frail, but I’m made of sterner stuff.”

Chapter Two

Mathias tugged at the straps of the saddlebags, testing each buckle with the practised eye of a man who trusted gear more than luck. He gave the placid mare a firm pat before turning to his own mount. Big Black tossed his head---teeth flashing, and stamped the dust impatient to be gone. No one else dared ride him, but Mathias would never leave without him.

He rubbed his jaw, squinting at the sun already well above the rooftops. Time was slipping, and the day would not wait. With a sigh, he shifted his weight against the hitching post. He fixed his gaze on the inn’s door. It creaked open at last. Saelri stepped out.

Mathias straightened with a smirk. “What took you so long? Couldn’t find anything fancy to wear?” he quipped, voice dry.

Saelri’s eyes narrowed, though her lips curved with a hint of amusement. “If I’d dressed for your taste, I’d still be inside,” she shot back. “Patience doesn’t suit you, Mathias.”

The stallion snorted, pawing the ground, stirring the dust. Mathias chuckled under his breath. Their words were sharp, but the humour softened the edge. He steadied the mare, offering his hand. She mounted smoothly. Mathias swung onto Big Black, the stallion snorting, pawing the ground.

“Where to, then?” he asked.

Saelri tilted her chin westward. “West.”

It was past midday when they stopped by a narrow stream, the horses lowering their heads to drink. Mathias scanned the trees, restless. “So, from what I know, there are a few small settlements west. The nearest city is Domiren, near the Salt Sea. How far west are we headed?”

Saelri shrugged, sipping from her canteen on a mossy stump. She hesitated. “As I said—west.”

Mathias threw up his hands. “It would help if I knew where we’re going. Why must you always be so damned mysterious?”

Her smile curved, sly and knowing. “Because it’s what I do.” She paused, eyes glinting. “And you like me that way.”

They left the stream behind, the horses’ hooves muffled on the damp earth as the afternoon waned. The sun dipped lower, bleeding gold across the horizon, and the forest shadows stretched long and thin. Mathias rode in silence, still bristling from Saelri’s evasions, while she kept her gaze fixed westward, her expression unreadable. By the time dusk gathered, the air had cooled, and the path narrowed between thickets. The horses grew restless, ears flicking at sounds in the underbrush. Mathias slowed, his hand tightening on the reins across his saddle.

“Something’s wrong,” he muttered.

Saelri’s eyes flicked to the treeline. A faint glint of steel caught the last light—too deliberate to be chance. Figures slipped from the undergrowth—blades glinting in the fading light. At first glance, they looked like common brigands. Mathias’s hand tightened on his sword hilt. He studied their stance, the way they moved—too disciplined, too precise. His stomach knotted—Verren’s men.

Quickly dismounting, he stepped forward. The first attacker lunged, and Mathias met him head-on, blade ringing against blade. He twisted, driving his sword across the man’s chest. Blood sprayed, and the attacker fell.

Dismounting, Saelri’s eyes narrowed. She raised her hands, words of power spilling from her lips. A surge of flame burst forth, igniting the night in a roar. Two of the men staggered back, ablaze, their screams piercing the night. Another rushed Mathias, blade arcing. He parried hard, sparks flying, then drove his sword into the man’s thigh. The attacker collapsed, cursing, and Mathias ripped the blade free, turning to meet the next.

Saelri’s voice rose, sharp and commanding. Lightning cracked from her fingertips, violet bolts lashing through the gloom. One struck a man square in the chest, hurling him backwards into the trees. The smell of scorched flesh mingled with smoke and blood. The forest erupted into chaos—steel ringing, firelight flickering, shadows writhing. Mathias fought with a blend of brutal precision and raw fury—each strike honed by years of training—his sword, carving silver arcs through the gloom.

Saelri moved like a storm, her spells tearing through the ambushers with merciless grace. Yet more men pressed in, relentless. Steel clashed in the gathering dark, the forest alive with sparks and screams. Mathias, sword carving arcs of silver through the gloom. One man fell with a cry, another reeled back clutching a bleeding wound. Beside him, Saelri’s voice rose in sharp cadence, her hands weaving fire into the night. Flames burst outward, searing tunic and flesh, while lightning cracked from her fingertips, hurling attackers into the trees. The skirmish was brutal but brief. When the last body hit the ground, silence returned—broken only by the hiss of dying flames and the restless snort of the horses. Mathias stood panting, blade dripping, his jaw tight.

“Damn the bloody aristocracy,” he spat, kicking a fallen sword aside.”

Saelri lowered her hands, the glow fading from her fingers. “Mind your tongue, Mathias. Curses won’t change what’s already done.”

“Easy for you to say—you didn’t end up in a cell.”

Her look softened, though her tone stayed firm. “And yet you’re free now, standing here, sword in hand. Don’t waste that freedom on hatred for the nobility.”

Mathias barked a humourless laugh. “You’re right. I guess.”

Saelri stepped closer, eyes steady. “Whether you like it or not, you’ll need more than curses if we’re to survive what’s coming.”

He muttered under his breath, still cursing. Saelri arched a brow. “Still at it?”

A crooked grin tugged at his mouth. “Only a little.”

She shook her head, half smiling despite herself. “Then save it for later. There is far worse than lord Verren ahead.”

The battlefield lay quiet now. Mathias wiped his blade clean and turned away from the fallen. “Leave them,” he muttered, voice flat. “The carrion will have its feast. We’ve no time for graves.”

Saelri’s eyes narrowed. “No,” she said, her tone cutting through the silence. Gather them—close, not piled.”

Mathias frowned, impatience flickering across his face. “You’d waste your strength on the dead?”

Saelri stepped forward, her presence suddenly commanding. “This is not waste. It is mercy. And protection. You know what lingers when corpses are left untended.”

Reluctantly, Mathias dragged the bodies together, grunting and cursing. When the last lay beside the others, Saelri whispered sacred words known to few. The fire that answered was no ordinary flame, clinging to flesh and bone, crawling like liquid light, consuming until nothing remained but ash. Its glow was pallid, eerie.

Mathias scowled as the pale flames clung to the corpses. “What fire is this? I have never seen the like before,” he muttered, voice low.

Saelri did not look at him. Her gaze stayed on the burning dead, her words little more than a whisper.

“Bale‑fire. Mercy for the fallen… and a warning for the living.”

The last ember died, leaving only ash. Mathias exhaled, the weight of silence pressing in. He sheathed his sword. “We can’t stay here,” he muttered. “Too close to the dead.”

Saelri nodded, her gaze sweeping the darkened treeline. “Agreed. We move.”

They led the horses from the clearing, hooves muffled against damp earth. The forest pressed close, shadows thickening. Neither spoke; only the creak of leather and the distant cry of a night bird broke the silence. After a short march, Saelri raised a hand. “Here,” she said softly.

A hollow lay between two ridges, sheltered from the wind and hidden from the road. The ground was firm, the canopy above dense enough to mask firelight.
Mathias exhaled, relief mingling with weariness. He tethered the horses, then dropped his pack with a dull thud. “Better than sleeping with corpses at our backs.”

“Better—and safer. No eyes will find us here.” The night settled around them, heavy and watchful. For the first time since steel rang in the clearing, they allowed themselves to breathe. With care, and for the first time, Mathias did not curse.