{"id":255356,"date":"2026-07-13T04:14:34","date_gmt":"2026-07-13T01:14:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/captured-by-the-starbornthe-mythbloods-series-sam-drury\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T04:14:34","modified_gmt":"2026-07-13T01:14:34","slug":"captured-by-the-starbornthe-mythbloods-series-sam-drury","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/captured-by-the-starbornthe-mythbloods-series-sam-drury\/","title":{"rendered":"Captured By The Starbornthe Mythbloods Series – Sam Drury"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"<\/figure>\n

But I don\u2019t move. I just look at her. Really look. And in her eyes I see the truth: she knows. She\u2019s always known. I make myself breathe. \u201cSaaren,\u201d I say. It comes out low, rough. The old word for heartmate, for the one who is your end and your beginning and everything in between. She blinks.<\/p>\n

Her lips part, and for a second I think she\u2019ll laugh, or cry, or maybe both. Instead, she smiles. Not much. But enough. The world shifts. The auroras above us tangle, gold bleeding into green, then blue. The flowers at our feet pulse in perfect rhythm. The stone beneath my palm vibrates, alive with the memory of a million lost names.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t touch her. I don\u2019t need to. The bond is awake. It\u2019s all the touch we\u2019ll ever need. The rest will come later. For now, we just stand, locked together by the word and the light and the impossible, unbreakable truth of what we are. Khari. Saaren. 1kitap1.com\/en Eira The first time I see the runes, I think they\u2019re just more of Torvin\u2019s art \u2014same gouged-out strokes, same sense of purpose, same oversized ego in every single line.<\/p>\n

But these aren\u2019t his. These aren\u2019t anyone\u2019s. They\u2019re older than the cave itself. Older than the idiot-giant who claims to be my soulmate. Older than any story left in my half-burnt DNA. I find them by accident, stumbling around the back corridors of the sleeping den, hunting for a private place to think. Or maybe to cry.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not picky. They\u2019re at the farthest end, where the wall curves in on itself and the air goes damp, a little sour. The light here sucks\u2014half the glowmoss is dead, and the blue that\u2019s left is so faint it makes everything look like a negative of itself. I almost miss the symbols entirely. But the pattern is too strong to ignore. Too insistent. Three lines. Three glyphs. Each cut deep, with a hand that didn\u2019t mind bleeding for the work.<\/p>\n

I step closer, tracing my thumb over the ridges. They\u2019re packed with old moss, tough as felt and shot through with tiny silvery filaments that might be fungus or might be something less cute. I scrape away a clump. The dust that comes off smells like bone. Maybe it is bone. The first glyph is sharp, almost angry.<\/p>\n

A double slash through a triangle with a bar crossing at the base. Proto-Norse, if you believe my undergrad advisor, but worse\u2014warped, mirrored, like the writer was already going blind and wanted to make it as hard as possible for the next poor bastard.<\/p>\n

\n

I wake up face-first on something hard, cold, and wet. That\u2019s clue one that this isn\u2019t the same Tuesday I left behind. Clue two is the taste in my mouth: like someone dared me to lick a corroded battery and I couldn\u2019t back out because my best friend was watching. Oh\u2014and I can\u2019t feel my fingers. At all. Panic should be next on the agenda. Instead, I try to breathe, choke on my own spit, and almost suffocate.<\/p>\n

Humiliating, sure, but effective. It gets my eyes open. Which is when clue number three smacks me: I\u2019m not in my apartment. Not in the grad lab. Not anywhere that makes sense. I\u2019m in a cage. Not the kind with lions, but a grid of bars pressed into my cheek deep enough to leave waffle marks. The ceiling looms barely a couple of feet away.<\/p>\n

Maybe three. My ruler-brain is fried. It\u2019s a sheet of corroded paneling attempting to look like aluminum\u2014cheap industrial cosplay. Across it runs a glowing strip, soft blue, like an aquarium light. Except the \u201cfish\u201d swimming there aren\u2019t fish. They\u2019re symbols. Not letters. Not words. More like runes, or the fever scribbles of a math teacher gone feral. They pulse in time\u2014three slow, one fast.<\/p>\n

Morse code for the deranged. I try to move and instantly regret every decision that brought me here. Pain lights up in different dialects: spine in Gothic, neck in Old English, right thigh in screaming black hole. My teeth chatter even though I\u2019m face-down and numb. My bloodstream has been swapped for a Slurpee. Then: a whump behind me. My heart spikes. I\u2019m about to be sucked into space. For a heartbeat, I\u2019m back in middle school during that tornado drill that turned out not to be a drill at all.<\/p>\n

Everyone frozen under the bleachers, waiting to see if the roof would peel off. But this time, instead of vacuum and debris, I hear a grunt. Then another. Then a low, helpless moan. Not me. Someone else. I twist my neck, agony flaring hot. Eventually, the corridor comes into focus. Bodies line the opposite grate. Face-down. Curled. Still. One girl shivers so hard the floor rattles under her.<\/p>\n

All women. All pale. Most share the same genetic paint-job as me\u2014redheads, strawberry blonds, skin that looks like it belongs on a vampire\u2019s appetizer plate. I count nine before the angle cuts off my view. That\u2019s when my brain pipes up, smug as ever: Abduction. This is an abduction. I argue back. Experiment? Fallout shelter? Radiation poisoning club? But no. Even half-frozen, I know the truth.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

\n
\n

Table of Contents<\/p>\nToggle<\/span><\/path><\/svg><\/svg><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/a><\/span><\/div>\n