Rusted Chains Novels & Stories

The warehouse smelled of rust and fear, the kind of air that stuck to the back of your throat and never let go. It wasn't just the decay of old metal or the damp that crept through the walls, it was something older than that. Despair had a smell, and this place had been soaked in it for years. Chains rattled when Cedric shifted, metal biting into his wrists above his head until his shoulders screamed from the sustained stretch. He stood chained to the cold wall, body aching from hours in the dark, every muscle past protest and moving into something quieter, something closer to surrender. But he hadn't surrendered. Not yet.

My footsteps echoed softly on the bare floor as I stepped further inside. Thick black chains lay scattered across the center of the room. They were massive, the links thick and heavy, some still attached to bolts set deep into the stone walls and floor. Broken ends glinted faintly in the dim light. I recognized them immediately. These were the same chains Lucian had worn the night he saved me from the rogues. The night the beast had emerged and claimed me as its own. I knelt slowly, ignoring the dull ache in my leg, and reached out. My fingers brushed one of the shattered links. The metal was unnaturally cold, almost icy, even in the warm palace air.

"Don't just vent the heat—push it into the chains! Use the thermal expansion to lock the links!" ​Harl didn't answer with words. A moment later, a deep, rhythmic thud echoed from the lower levels. The Great Hammer had resumed its work, but the strike was slower now, heavy with the burden of the Twelfth Suture. Each blow sent a ripple of orange light through the iron chains, turning the rusted metal into a glowing, translucent amber.

The dungeon beneath the Crescent Moon Pack was always cold. Water dripped from the ceiling in slow, steady drops. The sound echoed through the narrow stone corridor and slipped into the small cell at the end of it. Raven sat chained to the wall. Iron cuffs circled her wrists and ankles. The chains were short enough to stop her from standing fully upright. Old scars crossed her skin, some faded, some still fresh. Her dark hair fell over her face, hiding the strange silver shine of her eyes.

My entire body tensed when I saw where he was dragging me to. There, a few feet away, stood two tall silver poles and attached to them, were long silver chains. I struggled more against his grip. But I couldn't get away as he led me to the chains. We had the same thing back in my pack and the silver chains were used when rouges were captured or when there is a traitor in the pack. The closer we got, the more visible the red stains on the ground and the chains became. "No... Stop please..." I pleaded in between aggressive hiccups, tears streaming down my cheeks.

The room was thick with the smell of neglect. Dust blanketed everything—floor, walls, and the few forgotten objects within. Near one wall, an iron ring was fixed deep into the masonry, the kind meant for holding chains. The metal was dark with corrosion, the edges eaten away by time. Broken links of chains lay scattered on the ground beneath it, their surfaces rough and rusty. In one corner, half-buried under a layer of dust, a cracked plate and an empty tin cup sat abandoned. Cobwebs clung to the corners and ceiling, fine threads trembling at the slightest breath of air.

They shot forward with terrifying speed, wrapping around Astrid’s wrists and ankles. The moment the metal touched her skin, it glowed, bright, searing, alive. Astrid screamed again, this time weaker, more exhausted. Astrid barely had time to react before the chains appeared. Thick, silver, and pulsing with magic, they coiled around her wrists and ankles like living things. The moment they touched her skin, she screamed. A raw, broken sound.

I moved further, brushing my fingers over the polished wood, until something caught my eye. Tucked deep at the back of the shelf, heavy iron chains. My chest tightened. The links were thick, brutal, designed not for men but for restraining beasts. And faintly, smeared across the metal, were dark, dried stains. Blood. I swallowed hard, lifting one link. It was so heavy my hands trembled beneath its weight. What in the world would Prince Lucian be doing with chains like these? War trophies? No… these weren’t meant for war. They were meant for something else. Something far darker.

In the corner of the huge room was a small exhaust and looking at that made me wonder if it was of any use at all. There were two stools, one in the middle of the left wall and one just randomly lying on the floor. The table was big but empty yet it looked very dirty with dark stains on it with random patterns. On the front of the wall was something very frighteningly amusing. Chains. Thick chains hung from the hooks on the left side of the front wall, now rusted brown while in the middle of the wall, at a higher ground, were heavy looking rusted metal handcuffs bolted into the wall, just below them, at a human length distance was another installation of shackles.