Heretic

Author's note: Word errors because wifi is down. Will revise soon.

Cerlius's bare feet scrambled up the jagged stone stairs. The tormentor seemed to wait until he had finally found his footing to shove him again. Cerlius did not care. He was finally out of that cell. They came to a stop before a large metal door, the only entrance and exit to the dungeon. The tormentor fumbled a key into the lock and creaked the door open.

Cerlius shivered as a breeze swept through his baggy clothes and pressed into the dungeon's stale atmosphere. After five days of captivity, one hundred and twenty hours in hell, warm sunlight finally struck his skin again.

The War Monks kept the magic-restricting manacles on. There was no telling what a seven-year-old, who could barely talk anymore, could do to an organization of hypocritical, idiotic, deplorable killers and liars.