Ignatius-Valdis [Heaven’s Curse, #0]: Chapter 1

———

Gothalia Ignatius-Valdis hated it. What they had done. There were no words for it. To her they were the enemy. To some they were saviours. Unaware of her inner convictions, as they strode the halls between the cells with ease. Their energetic rifles drawn. Their soldiers waiting, moving and watching.

Always watching.

What happened? She couldn’t remember. During moments like these, nothing ever seemed to go as planned, no matter what was said or done. Their actions wrought their anger, their pain and their violence. In regard to that, not once had they harmed her. It was only a matter of time, until they did.

She didn’t fight the binds around her wrist. Instead, shifted on her knees and subtly shrugged her shoulders, easing the tension in her frame as she became more settled with her hands bound behind her back. Her face bruised and swollen. Her stomach famished and her mouth dry.

How long had she been there for?

She couldn’t remember.

She battled to keep her eyes open, clinging to wakefulness to monitor every shadow. What had they done to deserve this? This wasn’t merely an unwelcome stop—it was exactly the place she had always feared.

The Xzandians ignored her. She ignored them. It was all a blur. Minutes rolled into hours, hours rolled into days and days rolled into months. She dreaded how much time could have passed.

The other prisoners she sat with didn’t say a word. Everyone on their knees. Their arms bound behind their backs. Their gaze on the damp ground.

The air was warmer than she expected but still to sound. She hadn’t expected anything good to come about this all she knew was that no one screamed—yet. And if they did—what would become of them? How much would they suffer? If they suffered.

At times like this, the world around her felt foreign. She couldn’t place where she was—only that the air clung to her skin with oppressive humidity. There were no windows; the cell doors weren’t iron bars but translucent energy shields that held them in and radiated heat like molten rock.

A guard paused before the cell and watched her.

Gothalia stared at the ground, watching his feet. “Food,” he grumbled in an unfamiliar accent and threw pieces of bread into the cell. Five small pieces landed on the floor. Gothalia stared at the ground until his feet retreated. She eyed the food quietly. What had they done wrong to end up here?

They were ambushed.

“I’m not eating that rubbish,” the man beside her said. “I’d rather starve.” He climbed to his feet. Easily looping his shackles from behind to the front with an elegant jump. 

Gothalia stayed quiet. “Be quiet.” Someone whispered barely catching sound. “They’ll hear.”

“They’re always hearing,” he remarked, just as quietly. Glaring at the woman who in turned glared at him. However, her eyes carried more fear than anger. Gothalia stayed quiet.

“Where are your people?” He asked Gothalia. The only other woman in the cell.

Gothalia didn’t answer.

“Silent type huh?” he asked, his voice rough from silence. 

Then he fell quiet. Once more footfalls returned. Gothalia eyed the cell guard—the energy wall. Responsible for separating them from the hall and their only exit. Silently. The prison guard stopped before the cell. Silver alien armour gleamed beneath the only fluorescent light. “No talking,” he said in English. He turned around and walked away. The dark grey scales he wore gleamed beneath the light before disappearing under the darkness.

Gothalia turned to the man. He was gone. She didn’t look around and remained impassive as the guards didn’t return. Not long after, he dropped to the ground, breaking his shackles.

Gothalia glanced at the spot where the man had stood—he was gone. She didn’t search the room or move a muscle, remaining unreadable, when the guards failed to return. Moments later, a heavy thud sounded: he had fallen to the floor his bare feet firm against the ground, shards of metal clattering as his shackles gave way. He didn’t allow them to fall to the floor. Instead placed them on the ground. Gothalia watched confused, until a moment of clarity crossed her mind and she climbed to her feet. She moved towards the corner of the cell wall and the cell guard hummed gently. The others moved to the centre of the cell.

Gothalia slammed the shackle against the wall until it cracked, then wrenched it free from her wrists. She hurled the broken metal to the floor by the cell guard. No reaction. She stepped out of the cell; others spilled after her. Gothalia braced for the Xzandians to flood the corridor at the sound of their escape.

She fixed her gaze on the doorway ahead. Xzandian guards lay sprawled on the floor, dead. Gothalia and the others pressed on, their bare feet pounding the cold, hard stone. Gothalia fell into step behind them, following down the next corridor.

Two Xzandians froze, backs turned. The first man—who’d come out of the cell ahead—hurled himself at one and drove a knife into its throat; the second did the same to the other. They slumped to the ground. Gothalia watched, bewildered, as a hush settled. The two strangers methodically wiped their blades—movements precise, practised—then, without a word, stepped over the fallen Xzandians and gestured for her and the others to follow, moving with a synchronised, purposeful calm that hinted at a plan.

Gothalia hesitated, but the certainty in their eyes was undeniable—they carried themselves like people who had survived this place before. She slipped in behind them, careful to avoid the pools of blood on the cold black stone floor. Together, the group pushed forward, weaving through shadowed corridors and avoiding the occasional flicker of surveillance lights overhead, all the while acutely aware that each moment of freedom was borrowed, bought by the swift violence and secrecy that bound them together. As they pressed deeper into the unknown complex, Gothalia tried to ignore the gnawing questions about their identities and motives, focusing instead on the rhythm of escape and the fleeting hope that somewhere beyond these sterile walls, a way out still existed.

They kept moving.

Xzandians silently re-positioned themselves behind Gothalia and swiftly she eliminated them. She barely had time to steady her breath as shadows shifted behind her—another pair of Xzandians emerged, silent and quick, but Gothalia reacted on instinct, dispatching them with a precision born of desperation. Their bodies slumped to the ground; she wasted no time assessing the corridor for further threats ahead of the other two.

She eyed the Xzandians before her at her feet. She was confident they were dead and took deliberate measures to leave the area with the others. Moving swiftly yet quietly through the corridors. They couldn’t alert the enemy.

Gothalia paused at the end of a hall and peered around the corner, the white walls stared back at her, but she didn’t move. She didn’t trust the silence—the stillness. She waited a little longer then hid. More Xzandians. She moved from where she stood and moved back towards the end of the hall and around the corner.

She heard their footfalls. Swiftly, she moved to the door. Locked. She gripped the handle and tapped her ear. No Kronos. Her eyes widened as they neared then a coolness blanked her expression. She broke the handle but quietly slipped inside, closing the door without a sound.

The Xzandians strode past the door and in the opposite direction towards the glass doors. Silence. They dropped and quickly the others she was in the cell with moved past the glass doors, she opened the door slowly and gestured for them to follow.

Quickly, they moved to her.

She closed the door behind them and stepped away from them. The room was darker than expected. “What are you doing here?” one asked.

“Lying low. For the time being.” Gothalia answered. “I don’t know where I am.”

“Neither do we,” the other said. “This looks like a lab of some kind.” His brown eyes watched her under the light of the hall, that pierced through the darkness by the gap in the door and the frame. It provided enough light to see the outline of their forms. The other man’s dark eyes scanned the hall and the silent environment.

“A lab?” Gothalia asked.

“Yes,” the brown eyed man said, he wiped his hand against his forehead and his straight brown hair aside. “They were experimenting.”

“On who?” she asked.

“The Excelians.” The dark eyed man said, crouching near the door. The light cut over his long black hair. “Poor buggars.”

Gothalia’s blood went cold. “Where are they?” she asked him.

“Don’t know.” His dark eyes watched her. “But I found this.” Gothalia eyed the badge. She recognised it. It was a shield. A family shield. Drausus. She didn’t recognise the other conformations and didn’t know which Drausus descendent it was. She knew it was of the main family by the weight of each etch. “Keep it. You look like you recognise it.” A blankness shrouded Gothalia’s expression. “Don’t take it the wrong way. It’s a gift.”

She considered handing it back but didn’t. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did something.” He moved from her and walked further into the empty room towards another door. She eyed her surroundings as did the other man. Not long after, they heard footfalls not of the Xzandians but of the others they were in the cell with—they’d found them. All three of them.

Gothalia opened the door and let them in. “How did you find us?” she asked the woman. She recognised the uniform. Cavalier. There was a look of grasping comprehension in her eyes. She regarded Gothalia’s uniform. Centurion. They didn’t say anything to each other. Instead, they eyed the others in the room. Other Excelians. One Legionnaire and one Centurion.

The Human men regarded Gothalia with a look. “It’s locked.” the dark-haired man said, catching their attention.

“Move.” The Cavalier said in English. The brunette man stepped aside. The Cavalier broke the handle and opened the door. She didn’t say anything and entered another hall. The others followed.

Empty.

They approached the silver doors, where Gothalia lingered as the dark-haired man pressed a button and waited. The Excelians glanced at each other. Surely, they didn’t have to wait.

Gothalia eyed a door beside her, and opened it. A landing and stairs. Gently, she whistled. They regarded her, and she exited the hall down a flight of stairs. Swiftly, they followed.

As they ran down the stairs, no one spoke. Their footsteps pounded on the concrete steps and landings, while their breaths reverberated throughout the stairwell. As they reached the final landing, Gothalia slowed, careful not to let her footsteps betray their presence. The others mirrored her caution, pressing themselves close to the cold wall as she eased open the heavy fire door on the ground floor. They slipped out into the dimly lit corridor, the only illumination coming from a row of flickering overhead lights.

She heard it. The Humans and the other Excelian stopped. Their eyes alert. A low, metallic scraping echoed from further down the corridor, followed by a brief hush—almost as if something or someone was waiting just beyond the edge of the flickering light. Gothalia pressed herself against the wall, signalling the others to stay back, the Humans listened. Every breath seemed amplified, every movement deliberate as they strained to catch the slightest sound. The corridor stretched ahead, its silence heavy and expectant, punctuated only by the distant buzz of faulty lights. With a subtle nod, Gothalia edged forward, her gaze sweeping each shadow as the group silently prepared themselves for whatever might emerge from the gloom.

Though they didn’t know what would emerge. They considered all possibilities, but none arose. Not once did the shadow show itself—for reasons Gothalia thought, constantly observing the unknown entity.

The lights on the stairs below them, blackened. Darkness stared back at them. Gothalia glanced at the Humans the last to follow them down the staircase. “Run,” she told them and the others. Quickly, they turned their heel and ran, back up the flight of stairs and towards the level they had just exited. The lights continued to blacken behind them, as they all ran and Gothalia saw it in the shadows. Alastorians.

Their beady red eyes stared back at her as they crawled along the ground, the walls, the ceiling of the upper stairs and balanced themselves on the railings. She ran with the others up the flight of stairs until she was back on the former level they recently parted with. She slammed the door shut and leaned against the wall beside the door. Immediately, the door she jammed closed, flew off its hinges and against the opposite wall. The bang of the metal alerted the nearby Xzandians.

Gothalia stepped away from the wall. The Alastorians watched them from the darkness of the stair well. The Humans armed themselves with the knives they stole from the Xzandians. “What are those things?” one Human asked Gothalia from beside her.

“Alastorians.” Gothalia replied. The Cavalier, the Legionnaires, the Centurions and the Humans braced themselves for an attack.

* * *

“Evangelina Leonetta Drausus-Romuli are you listening to a word I am saying?” The Queen of the Earth Reserve questioned, her emerald, green eyes kindly tapered on her. “You’re a Princess are you not? It is customary, you behave like one.” The Queen gently scolded before her attendants and ladies in waiting who pretended not to hear anything. A gentle smile graced her features at the sight. Evangelina had almost forgotten what room she was in. The reception hall. “Don’t allow others to assume you aren’t.” Her eyes returned to the Queen.

Recognition subtly flashed across her eyes as the Queen watched, Princess Evangelina curtsey, with an elegant brief drop of her head and said, “Yes, I understand your majesty.”

“Good.” The Queen replied slowly, then stepped away. Evangelina straightened. “I’ll be on my way then.” Evangelina briefly curtseyed again and watched as her mother parted the reception with others in tow.

Evangelina woke with sudden vigilance. Scanning her surroundings she took in her environment. She was no longer residing in the palace, as had previously been customary for her. She was in a familiar cell. Still, and she had no idea how long she had been there for. Time escaped her.

Blunt walls pressed close, their chill seeping through her the materials of her clothes as Evangelina sat up, pulse fluttering with a mix of dread and clarity. The distant sounds of alarm—muted footsteps, muffled voices behind the reinforced door—reminded her that she was far from the opulent chambers and gentle reprimands of her mother. She remembered the Queen’s words, the expectation to behave as royalty, but here, she was stripped of courtly formality.

She gripped her knees and tried to steady her breath. Shadows stretched across the stone floor, cast by the flickering light overhead, and Evangelina listened, knowing that each moment in this cell demanded a different kind of vigilance than she had ever learned in the reception hall.

Evangelina eyed the cell she was in. It wasn’t dirty but clean. The sterile order of the space felt almost mocking—brightly lit, each stone meticulously scrubbed, as if her captors wanted her discomfort to stem not from filth and neglect but from the cold, deliberate barrenness. Then she heard it. A loud bang. She stood up and nearly ran to the cell bars, which pulsed with energy, heat and sound. The faintly transparent blue bars held her in place. She barely pressed her hand against it before a buzz hissed and electricity ran through her. She screamed and was flung from the energetic cell bars and to the opposite cell wall.

A guard stopped before her cell. “You can’t get out,” he said in English. In an accent that was foreign to her, and she knew multiple languages of the surface world and in the Excelian underworld and knew he spoke in Mandarin next. “Try not to make us mad. You wouldn’t want our General to know of what you’ve done. You may not be treated as kindly as you are now.” He turned his heel and vacated the area, after watching her for a moment. Not caring if she understood or not.

Evangelina held back a scream as she moved. Her muscles spasmed and she trembled in pain. That didn’t happen to anyone else in the cell block. Only her. Something else happened to them when they touched the cell bars and they were never flung across the cell. They simply collapsed in pain.

She lay sprawled for a moment, the ache in her limbs a raw throb, breath short and uneven. Forcing herself upright, Evangelina wondered why the cell reacted so violently to her alone—what made her different, what secret did the walls sense beneath her skin? She caught herself glancing out, searching the corridor for any sign of witnesses, but the passage beyond remained empty and silent, as if the cell itself was content to keep its cruel secret. Curling in on herself, she tried to still the trembling in her hands, mind racing with unanswered questions and the echo of the guard’s words—reminders that her captivity was not just physical but laced with unseen threats and mysteries she did not yet understand.

Yet, she did understand. She recognised why the cell block was quiet and why no one said a single word. She recognised many things about the Xzandian guards, but she didn’t say. Slowly, she leaned against the cool wall and stretched her legs out before her. She eyed how clean her feet were and the dress she wore. It was the same dress she wore in New Icarus. Every time she eyed the hem or the material of the dress, she relaxed a little and pushed any other thought from her mind. They hadn’t harmed her. Not yet. They simply locked her away. For how long, the thought always trouble her.

After some time, two guards walked past her cell. Before a third met them in front of her cell. Evangelina watched the interaction. She didn’t know much about their language, but she heard the Latin terms and old English for ‘Human’, ‘Excelian’ and ‘escaped’. She regarded them with faint confusion. Who escaped, and how?

* * *

The Alastorians crept closer. Their crimson eyes tapered on them preditorily. Gothalia prepared herself for an attack as they crept closer their beady eyes trained on them. The Centurions, Cavalier and Legionnaire prepared themselves for an attack. In a matter of seconds, the Alastorians initiated their assault.

Gothalia skilfully evaded the first attacker by executing an agile flip out of harm’s way and promptly landed, before the next Alastorian advanced toward her, then pinned her down. Swiftly, she struck its head with her forehead and forced it from her where fire combusted from the palms of her hands, hurling the Alastorian away from herself and up into the ceiling. It dropped from above, she flipped to her feet, quickly flipped and kicked it where fire erupted at her feet strengthening her kick snapping the Alastorian’s neck, drawing the other Alastorian’s attention.

The female Cavalier dodged the attacks of one Alastorian before she threw it over her and further down the hall. A Human whistled at the Cavalier woman not too far from him and he threw her a knife. Swiftly she caught it and eliminated the Alastorian.

A male Centurion leaped, the earth ripped from the concrete floor and impaled the Alastorian.

The Legionnaire slipped out of the way, and armed itself with a staff, swiftly he spun it around in his hands and deflected it each attack with each motion before spinning the staff around and arming himself with it. He dodged an attack then ran at the wall and along it before leaping from the wall with the staff. He flipped kicking the Alastorian in the head as ice piece shot from the ground and impaled the Alastorian’s head from below. The Legionnaire rolled over his shoulder than stood tall; the artificial staff disappearing from his hand as if it had never been there.

The Humans paused and stared quietly. Where did the earth and the ice come from? One thought.

“Well now,” one began. “It’s nice you can do all that isn’t it?”

“I liked the running along the wall. That was something.” The other said.

“Your name?” the Cavalier asked the brunette man.

“Anthony.” He answered.

“And yours,” she asked the other Human. “Michael.”

“Nice to meet you I’m—” the Cavalier began, the Centurion man strode past her, knocking her hand out of the way before stopping in front of the men, with crossed arms.

“Unfortunately, Anthony, we can’t give out our names. And you shouldn’t have given us yours.” He said, giving the Cavalier a look and she recognised her mistake.

“You have names?” Anthony asked, bothered but not bothered. “That would be something.”

“Let’s go Tony. I doubt they can help us.” Michael said.

The Legionnaire man crossed his arms and raised a brow. Then recalled where they were. “We need to keep moving.” He glanced at the others and they moved on.

The Centurion spoke to Gothalia in another language and she understood. The Xzandians would intend to pursue the Humans, as they had willingly disclosed their names in a hall filled with two cameras. However, Gothalia comprehended the motivation behind their action. As they maybe the last to see them alive.

With nothing further exchanged aloud, Gothalia fell into step beside the Centurion, her eyes lingering on the Humans for a moment longer. The implicit threat hung heavy in the corridor, underscored by the silent agreement between them. They pressed forward with purpose, each aware of the delicate balance between survival and trust. Gothalia’s mind raced with the implications—their names given in innocence, yet now a mark that could set fate in motion. The group’s pace quickened, bare feet thundered against stone as the corridor narrowed. Where, the silent urgency was clear; the Xzandians would not delay, and any hesitation might mean the difference between escape and capture.

The Centurion, Legionnaire and Cavalier stared along the hall towards the exit and Gothalia walked past the Anthony and Michael. Her gaze hardened and her posture firm. They were on their way. The Xzandians and they would kill them all and she knew it. “They’re on their way,” she said.

He spoke in Latin. ‘We do not attack for now’.

“I understand.” Gothalia answered. She recognised the rank he had on his uniform. Squadron Commander. He recognised the rank she had. Lieutenant.

Gothalia regarded the Humans and said. “They’re on their way. Let’s go.” The Humans regarded Gothalia and the other as they moved. Swiftly Anthony and Michael followed. Their footsteps echoed behind the group, hesitant yet determined, as if the gravity of the unspoken threat propelled them forward. The narrow passage pressed close, each turn and shadow a reminder of the fragile truce holding them together. Tension rippled through the air, the memory of exchanged names binding their fates in ways none of them could yet fully understand. Every glance over a shoulder was met with uncertainty, but the urgency in their stride left no room for doubt—the chase had begun, and trust, however brittle, was their only shield as they pressed deeper into the labyrinthine corridors.