The silence inside the prison was never calming like the outside; inside, it was like the silence of forgotten screams, of blood dried from torture, and of despair that seeped into the stones and long-dried bones. Somewhere between the damp prison walls and the flickering torchlight.

  The echo of Silas's haunting song drifted like smoke through the corridors, chanting a death song, slow and grim, its weight like chains on the wrists of the four of them. Kaelith sat beside the silent Vael, who was leaning against the cold wall. Arelan leaned against the opposite wall, having said nothing but his own silence.

  Namien sat with his knees bent to his chest, his lips pursed in frustration as his mind calculated how this misery could be turned into an opportunity. Silas's voice echoed softly, as if he were singing a song or making poetry in his speech.

  “When the stars is… forget to shine, and the crows forget to cry… and the walls will begin to bleed… and the sky will collapse below it…”

  Then, the sound of boots came from the corridor, approaching the cell. With heavy steps and the sound of guards marching towards them. Three guards appeared, followed by a fourth guard wearing darker armor with a cruel expression behind his half-mask. The head warden. As they stopped in front of the cell, the prison atmosphere changed from frightening to something worse.

  "Get up, all four of you! It’s interrogation time!" the head warden snapped at them, who were slumped listlessly.

  However, Vael immediately rose, telling the head warden defiantly, "You'll have to drag me first to make me stand for to do it. Wanna try it?"

  "With a pleasure, GUARDS!" the head warden said, smirking, and ordered the two guards escorting him to enter, catch the four of them, and slam their bodies hard onto the floor to bind them.

  Arelan, forced to stand by the guards with his hands tied behind him, didn't say a word, but his emotion was clear as he clenched his jaw as if swallowing his emotions raw.

  Kaelith tried to pull away as they grabbed her, but the guards' grip on Kaelith was like an iron clamp, twisting her arm behind her back, and Kaelith began to scream in pain, her voice echoing around the prison area, waking the other prisoners like thunder.

  Namien did not fight the guards; instead, he just stood, his voice cold and flat, saying to the guards.

  “Try not to hit the left side of my face. It’s still been hurting lately.”

  No one laughed when his sarcastic joke was directed at the guards; instead, the guards roughly knocked down the unresisting Namien.

  “It’s so hard to speak the same human language when they only know violence as their language.” Namien said as his face was forced down against the floor by the guard's rough hands, his hands tied behind his back.

  They were dragged down the prison corridor, where Silas watched them pass his cell, still singing, his fingers gripping his rusty cell bars tightly.

  Namien looked back once, and their gazes met. Silas blinked slowly, as if making a silent promise to Namien. They were taken to a room in the prison, deeper than any cell block, into a wide, torch-lit room filled with rusted torture equipment, chains leaving only human hand bones, and hooks hanging from above with remnants of bloodstains on their tips.

  A dark red-stained table was in the center. The head warden stood waiting until the four of them were lined up, his arms crossed behind his back.

  “Alright, the heroes from Elarion, the ghosts from Borreal, a woman whose head is worth tens of thousands of gold coins, and lastly, the withcher with his bullshit jokes.” He said, walking slowly in front of them until he stopped at Kaelith, his gaze shifting to her.

  Kaelith, fed up with him, glared and said to the head warden. “Touch me again and I’ll bite your tongue off from your mouth till you can’t talk or scream anymore.”

  The prison warden just smiled upon hearing that from Kaelith and responded with a cunning smirk. “Shall we begin our interrogation now?”

  The head warden signaled the guards, and the torture of the four of them began with a punch from the head warden hitting Kaelith's stomach first, making Kaelith vomit the contents of her stomach along with its fluids.

  A boot hit Namien's face so hard it bruised his cheek, with a tear on his temple from scraping against the iron.

  And blunt weapons were struck against the bodies of Vael and Arelan, who endured the pain as they were beaten repeatedly by several guards.

  Vael withstood all the attacks until one blow hit his temple, tearing it, and blood flowed freely before he was beaten continuously until the guards themselves gave up from the exhaustion of hitting Vael, who hadn't made a single sound.

  Arelan likewise received every blow in his calm silence, holding in all his pain and trying to endure longer, just like Vael, although Arelan couldn't stand seeing Kaelith slumped next to him, continuously vomiting fluid from her mouth as the head warden punched her in the stomach and slapped her cheek hard until her face turned red and swollen.

  Namien could only laugh, his lips already bloody from the guards' iron boot kicks and bare-knuckle punches, speaking cynically as he spat saliva mixed with blood at his guard.

  “You call this an interrogation? I’ve been through worse than this.”

  When Kaelith was slumped over and nearly unconscious, she still managed to resist by spitting in the head warden's face after he lifted her head by pulling her hair up, revealing Kaelith's face, swollen from the slaps, saliva already dripping from the side of her lips from the direct blows to her stomach.

  Seeing Kaelith spit on the head prison warden face, the head prison warden just laughed and released Kaelith, letting her fall hard onto the ground.

  “I guess your part is done. The king just informed me earlier that you have special instructions, but I couldn’t stand seeing you so arrogant and stubborn about being tortured too. Therefore, tomorrow you will go to the palace to meet the king and also enjoy the night atmosphere in the king's chamber, of course.”

  Vael, Arelan, and Namien instantly froze when they heard that from the head warden's words, and the three of them began to rage, their anger now uncontrollable.

  Vael got up while bound and began to attack the head warden as best he could, but the head warden anticipated it, and a kick from his boot flew towards him, sending Vael sprawling to the floor, his head hitting it hard.

  Arelan followed with a shout, starting to rebel against the guards holding him, who beat him until a blunt object hit the back of his head, making his vision spin and preventing him from getting up again.

  And Namien immediately cursed and swore at the head warden, his emotions exploding,

  "YOU... YOU SADISTIC PHSYCHOPATH MANIACAL BASTARD! REMEMBER THIS, I WILL BURN YOU ALONG WITH THAT BOAR-LIKE KING OF YOURS!"

  Hearing those words come from Namien made the head warden turn towards him and laugh at his words, while Namien continued to curse him for toying with Kaelith with words like that. The head prison warden stepped closer to Namien, laughing, and turned towards his guards to laugh at Namien's words until the entire room was filled with cynical laughter directed at Namien.

  In the midst of their laughter, the head warden immediately landed a hard punch to Namien's stomach, making him vomit his stomach contents just like Kaelith, but Namien expelled more blood than fluid, stopping his curses against the head warden instantly.

  Then, the head warden leaned his ear towards Namien as if wanting to hear something from him, but only the sound of Namien vomiting could be heard. The head warden then said slowly and cynically to Namien,

  “Just try, wizard. But did you know this prison is lined with anti-magic stone? That meaning you can’t cast a single spell in here, understand?”

  Namien, hearing his words, responded faintly while in pain,

  “YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

  The head warden just laughed, satisfied at seeing Namien only able to despair and curse him in his current suffering.

  “Enjoy your time here in Jargmund prison, and welcome to this suffering and torture too.”

  The head warden said, laughing cynically and welcoming the four of them to his prison’s ‘interrogation room’.

  After finishing speaking to Namien, the head warden approached Kaelith, who was still bowing her head upon hearing that, her emotional tears unintentionally flowing down her already swollen and red cheeks.

  The head warden lifted Kaelith's head by pulling her hair up once more and said to her slowly, whispering,

  “You will be sent to the royal chambers, and you should feel honored by that. Not many criminals are chosen to receive extra attention from such a generous and humble king.”

  Kaelith did not answer his statement, but her face tried to turn away from the head warden's gaze, but she couldn't, still bound and helpless against his words, which made her tears fall. If she could move her fingers, she would gouge out his eyes, and if she could speak freely, she would curse his entire bloodline.

  The warden leaned closer to her again and smirked. “You are quite valuable, and you know it as long your face is of yours remains intact. My apologies for that and, as my apology I will treat it with an ointment that I have and as well with healing magic from doctor in here to restore your face to how it was.”

  Kaelith, hearing his words, couldn't hold back her emotions, which made her tears fall continuously, and she could only mumble, the words coming out unclear due to her swollen cheeks and the sobs of a woman about to be served to a king whose desires were like those of a wild beast.

  The rest of the night had passed in screams, bruises, blood, and the bitterness of the coming reality. When the four of them had reached their limit, they were returned to their cell, thrown like dolls onto the stone floor, and they lay helpless in a terrible silence after the guard locked their cell and left the four of them lying on the floor.

  Kaelith, her cheeks now healed by healing magic while she was unconscious, sat with her knees pulled to her chest, her hands trembling as she remembered the head warden's words haunting her mind. Namien wiped the blood from his lips with his sleeve and whispered softly,

  "This isn't the end. At least there's something we can do before that happens to Kaelith and us too."

  Vael who’s still coughing up blood, said with his voice gone. "There's nothing we can do now, Namien. As long as we're in here without holding our own weapons, we can't protect ourselves, not even Kaelith. But at least we can overwhelm them and buy time with what strength we have left when the time comes."

  From across their cell, Silas spoke calmly to the four of them, like a storm still gathering its strength.

  "Soon, this place will burn, and the tyrant will meet his end." He said it softly, like a whisper, which made Namien look at him and respond.

  "You keep saying that. When will the signal you mentioned will show up?"

  Silas's eyes gleamed in the darkness, and he ignored Namien's words, continuing. "The fire will come from the silence, even in here will be show up when it’s time, snake."

  And with that vague promise, silence returned once more to Jargmund prison, only their remaining pain speaking for them now. However, none of them knew the spark had already been lit.

  The morning wind blew hard, slipping through the cracks of the underground hiding place like an unseen knife. Sora blinked at the weak rays of light filtering through the tunnel grate above. His breath came in small clouds, and the warmth of the nearly extinguished campfire barely held back the cold from his body, having slept outside the tent, constantly pondering what was happening to the four of them.

  Especially Kaelith, who he thought of, his gut feeling saying that something bad would happen sooner or later.

  Sora woke from his deep sleep, brushing off the dry leaves that covered his body and the dirt from his clothes when he saw something unusual covering him a blanket, its cloth coarse but so warm. His eyes followed the cloth to its origin.

  Not long after that, Lyra came out from inside her tent, her posture slightly hunched from the morning cold, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her short hair, usually neat, now fell freely, messy around parts of her neck, her soft brown hair so messy it stood on end. She yawned with her usual flat expression and mumbled, "Cold...," in a soft voice.

  Sora watched her as she walked towards him and spoke to Sora, who was already awake from his sleep.

  "Now, can you return that blanket after you've realized I'm cold like this? Thanks for understanding." She said with a sarcastic and lazy tone, sitting beside him near the campfire, rubbing her hands together to warm them.

  They didn't speak for a moment, the silence between them not awkward or tense, just two people surviving the morning cold, warming themselves near the campfire.

  "Coffee?" Lyra broke the silence, offering it in a voice that was soft but clear in the quiet.

  Sora blinked and tilted his head slightly, signaling his confusion at what Lyra offered. Sora reached for the pen and paper he always kept, wrote something, and handed it to her.

  ‘What is coffee?’

  Lyra read the note with a small laugh. "You've really never had coffee before?"

  Sora shook his head slowly.

  "Alright then, let's see if you like coffee or not, to make sure how it was." She said with smirking as she got up from her seat.

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  Lyra disappeared into her tent and emerged a few moments later carrying two mismatched tin cups, a small bag of black coffee powder, and a spoon. With her foot, she cleared away the scattered ashes around the campfire and picked up a dented kettle with a familiar scowl.

  "Rose," she muttered, checking the dregs inside the kettle.

  "She not only never washes this thing after using it, but she also finished my coffee stock."

  Sora tilted his head, watching Lyra with curiosity as she carefully scrubbed it with water and a cloth to clean it. It was one of the few times he had seen Lyra do something ordinary, so different from her sharp, calculated movements when observing or speaking in the tent before and in the village.

  There was something more human here, visible in Lyra, and something so simple. Lyra returned to the campfire, having filled the kettle with water, and placed it over the fire. While waiting for the water in the kettle to boil, Lyra sat back down beside Sora and, for the first time, became the one to ask him questions.

  "So... who are you, really?"

  Sora looked at her for a moment, then took his paper again and wrote slowly:

  ‘I am Sora. Just an ordinary person on his journey, born mute, as you know, since I can only communicate with actions, body language as gestures, and this writing as my long-lost voice.’

  Lyra read the words carefully, and her expression, which usually wavered between bored and skeptical, now softened. She stared at the paper a moment longer before folding it gently and placing it beside her. The next question came with a bit more weight.

  "And why are you wandering till now?"

  Sora's hand moved slower this time to write something, handing the paper to Lyra again when he was finished. Lyra took it and read his writing in her heart.

  ‘Because if I stop walking, the world I remember will die. Because the people who walk with me also believe in that path, even though they never asked me to explain it or to follow me on a journey I never asked them to take.’

  Lyra said nothing after reading the paper Sora had written. For a few moments, Lyra just stared at his writing, her lips barely parting to speak. Her breath caught for a moment, then she folded the paper without a word. Sora noticed a slight tightness in her jaw, perhaps a fleeting memory of something she had not shared with Lyra.

  Just then, the kettle began to whistle with a high, shrill tone, breaking their silence like a signal. Lyra immediately grabbed a cloth and lifted the kettle from the campfire. Steam hissed from the kettle as she poured hot water into their cups and added a spoonful of coffee powder to each. She stirred her cup gently, her tone returning to its usual style.

  "Try not to be like Rose when you drink this. Drink it slowly, because this drink is still hot." She said with a small smirk, handing the coffee cup to Sora.

  Sora accepted it and took the tin cup filled with coffee, watching the dark liquid swirl, and carefully blew on it to cool it slightly. He took a sip and immediately coughed, his face scrunching up from the coffee's bitterness.

  Lyra laughed softly. "You're making the exact same face Rose did when she tasted coffee for the first time."

  Sora looked at her with wide, betrayed eyes, wearing an expression everyone could interpret the meaning of: ‘Are you messing up with me with this coffee?’

  "Drink it slowly, you'll get used to the coffee later." Lyra said again, gently nudging her shoulder against Sora's as she sipped her own cup with ease, tasting the bitter coffee.

  The campfire in front of them crackled in a silence born not of caution or calculation, but something closer to comfort. For a moment, the revolution, the prison, and the tyrant above them didn't matter. There was only warmth, bitter coffee, and two strangers who were slowly becoming something else entirely. The fire still crackled softly, the scent of firewood mixing with bitter coffee in the air. Lyra sipped her coffee cup slowly, her eyes half-closed from the morning exhaustion.

  On the other side, Sora had now accepted his fate, awkwardly holding the tin cup, staring at its contents with a calm expression of betrayal. Every time the taste of the coffee touched his tongue, he winced slightly, and Lyra couldn't hold back her small laugh each time she watched Sora make that strange face.

  Their quiet moment was broken by the sound of steady, echoing footsteps and the sound of something heavy being dragged, a sound Lyra recognized. From the morning light's mist, a sturdy man appeared, tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick forge cloth tied over his tunic. His right hand rested on a hammer strapped to his back, and a pair of goggles was perched on his forehead. He looked like a walking furnace, and his grin nearly filled his entire face.

  "Well, well... who's the lucky one this time?" he said in a teasing tone, his voice so happy as he saw them, looking at Lyra and Sora near the campfire. "I turn my back for a few weeks and the little thief cat has a boyfriend now, apparently."

  Lyra turned to see who was speaking, and she stood up quickly and, against all her expectations, ran towards him, recognizing the old man and hugging him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  "Feron, you old blacksmith. I thought you had turned to ash somewhere."

  "Hah! You wish, this old man still knows how to make this old man feel useful, huh?" Feron laughed heartily when he heard that and slapped her roughly on the back.

  "I still love you, old man. You raised me better than half the nobles in this kingdom full of its filthy rats." Lyra said, pulling away from his embrace with a crooked smile.

  Meanwhile, Sora watched them with quiet interest, like witnessing a family reunion blossoming from fire and soot. But there was something deeper, an odd familiarity in his mind. Sora reached for his pouch and wrote on his paper, then got up from his seat and walked towards Feron to hand him the paper Sora had written.

  ‘Are you Thramund's brother? Because I see you look like him.’

  Feron blinked at Sora's behavior, his smile freezing on his face for a moment, then he slowly took the paper, read it, and looked back at Sora when he finished.

  “How did you know about him?”

  Sora wrote again on his new paper then handed the paper to Feron.

  ‘We met him in Elarion and he helped us while we were there. I just guessed from your face and your hammer that you were so similar to him.’

  For a few moments, Feron said nothing, then he burst out laughing. “HAH! You’ve seen the kid! He really is my little brother. That big lump of tree bark with a hammer bigger than mine. How has he survived all this time?”

  Sora smiled faintly and wrote again on his paper, then gave it to Feron. ‘You can probably guess from his reaction when we left without saying goodbye, he chased us. Hammer in hand, cursing us from his workshop all the way to the front gate of Elarion.’

  Feron could only laugh heartily after reading it. “Hah! I can picture it now! That hammer waving in the air, shouting until his beard was all out of sorts, no doubt.”

  Lyra tilted her head, still confused. “What are you two actually discussing, and who is Thramund?”

  “He’s my little brother, still has that characteristic family trait from before he and I parted ways. So, what brings you here, Silent One? You mentioned your friends on the paper you wrote earlier.”

  Feron said proudly, patting his chest. Then his gaze turned a little more serious, observing Sora, who nodded slowly and wrote something on his paper again.

  ‘They are currently in Jargmund prison. Each of them has past problems with this kingdom, and I met Lyra to work with her and this force to find a way to free them and this force's leader in that prison.’

  Feron's face lost some of its humor as he read it, and he began to scratch his chin, then looked at Lyra, who gave a small nod to confirm. He snorted through his nose.

  “Prison, huh? That means we don't have much time to waste.” Feron turned and lifted his hammer, resting the end of it on his shoulder. “I have steel to forge, and if you plan on saving your friends, you’ll need more than just coffee and your charm, Silent One. Meet me at the forge later; I’ll always be there if you need anything related to weapons.”

  Feron began to walk away towards his forge, then shouted over his shoulder, “And don’t break my little thief cat, understand?”

  Sora blinked because he confused by Feron's last words. Lyra groaned at Feron's antics and turned towards Sora.

  “Just ignore him. He’s old and spends every day getting drunk because iron smoke is always dirtying his face.”

  But there was a faint twitch at the corner of her lips, as if Lyra might not entirely hate Feron's idea. As Feron disappeared into his forge, the fire between the two of them crackled again, its heat still palpable and present, even as the morning cold was forgotten by their bodies. Although their plan was still uncertain, the pieces were slowly starting to come together.

  Meanwhile, somewhere... A pale ray of morning sunlight managed to pierce the gaps of the high iron bars, penetrating the cold, damp darkness inside the Jargmund prison cell. The light fell onto the dirty stone floor, illuminating the fresh bruises on Vael's face and the dried blood at the corner of Namien's lips.

  The four of them, Kaelith, Vael, Arelan, and Namien, sat leaning against the cold wall, the silence between them heavier than the chains that were shackled on their hands. Their hope was wounded, as were their bodies, greeted by the sound of Silas Verne's soft song from across the cell, a death song awaiting the rebels to begin their move.

  And the day promised by the head warden had arrived, with the sound of steel-plated boots echoing down the corridor, and now the guards, originating from the palace, stopped right outside their cell. The cell door opened with a sickening creak, and a general, flanked by three elite guards in jet-black armor, stood before the four of them, who looked at Kaelith with expressions already filled with fear, knowing this would happen.

  "Take the woman!"

  The general ordered, his voice cold and flat. As the two guards stepped towards Kaelith, it wasn't Vael or Arelan who moved first. Rather, it was Namien who blocked the guards' path, saying.

  "Wait a moment, general. Isn't there a procedure involving documents that must be signed by the king himself? Perhaps a cup of tea is the right time in the morning before we begin this unpleasant formality, right?" Namien said, stepping forward slowly with his usual sly smile, although his eyes did not at all suggest it would succeed as he imagined.

  The general didn't even glance at him and snapped. "Quiet, you big mouth!"

  Hearing that, the guards moved forward, passing Namien who stood before them. Namien's instincts took over and he raised his hand to try to summon his fire magic in his palm as a bluff. However, nothing happened when he tried to do it, only a cold and absorbing emptiness, as if magic itself had died within these prison walls. On his wrist, he could feel the hidden magic dampener behind the walls was still active, blocking all flow of magic, just as the head warden had said before.

  Namien's confident face immediately turned pale when seeing his magic fail, Vael roared and charged forward, followed by Arelan who moved like a cornered wolf. But their resistance was futile; dressed in rags and still bearing wounds from the previous torture, they were easily defeated.

  A hard blow from an iron gauntlet hit Vael's stomach, making him vomit his stomach contents with blood once again, causing him to cough up blood and fall to the floor, watching Kaelith's reaction as she stared at him, calling his name unheard by Vael.

  Arelan was slammed hard against the stone wall, leaving him unable to move as he was restrained by one of the guards. Seeing this condition, Namien quickly tried to attack by jumping on one of the guards and finding a gap in his armor, revealing his tunic, which Namien immediately bit, making the guard angry.

  The guard who had been holding Arelan now slammed Namien hard onto the floor, leaving Namien unable to stand up again from the guard's slam. Arelan, now free, began to rebel once more until one guard managed to attack him from behind, hitting the back of his neck, which made Arelan faint and lie sprawled on the floor.

  Vael, Arelan, and Namien now lay fallen on the floor, helpless to protect Kaelith, who was alone and being taken before the king today. "NO!" Kaelith screamed as two other guards roughly grabbed her arms.

  "VAEL! ARELAN! NAMIEN!"

  Kaelith's screams now turned into desperate cries as she was dragged out of her cell. She saw the battered and helpless faces of her friends on the floor, and those lying there were now filled with a deep sense of guilt as they let Kaelith be taken just like that to fulfill the greedy king's desire.

  Her last hope was shattered, and Kaelith could now only weep in resignation as the cell door closed behind her, separating her from the only family she had. Kaelith was not taken to an interrogation room; instead, she was taken directly down the luxurious yet cold and terrifying back corridors of the palace, until she arrived at a dressing room filled with gold-framed mirrors and perfume bottles.

  The general pushed her into a chair in front of a vanity table, where Kaelith was still struggling.

  "Make her look like something to be presented to a King." The general ordered an old, pale, and thin makeup artist who was standing trembling in the corner of the room.

  Not daring to look at the general, the makeup artist nodded slowly, and the general snorted in satisfaction, then turned and left the room, locking the door from the outside. Kaelith now stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face dirty and her eyes swollen from crying for her friends who lay stricken while trying to protect her, but her expression was empty and filled with a despair that had taken her even deeper.

  She already knew why she had been brought here, and the makeup artist approached her with slow steps.

  "Miss... I... I'm sorry," she whispered, her hands trembling as she held a comb and combed Kaelith's hair.

  Kaelith did not answer her and just stared blankly at the stranger resembling her in the mirror's reflection. The makeup artist began to work in silence, cleaning Kaelith's face with a soft cloth.

  After finishing her makeup and hair, she picked up a thin silk dress, the typical attire of Jargmund dancers. While handing it over, she leaned forward and whispered very softly in Kaelith's ear.

  "Forgive me, miss. But, be patient just a little longer because the revolution... will come in time. Please, just be patient a little longer, miss." She whispered again, her voice trembling.

  Before Kaelith could react, the makeup artist stepped back and left the room through a small side door, and now Kaelith was left alone in the room. Reluctantly, she put on the dancer's outfit, which felt like a shroud on her skin, and sat back down in front of the mirror.

  Not long after that, the main door opened and the general entered the room with his eyes full of lust, stripping Kaelith's appearance from top to bottom and venting it.

  "Very good, and so beautiful you are now when you're quiet like this." He said, then the general turned to his men who were outside the room.

  "Guard this door! Don't let anyone come in until I came out! Tell me from outside if anything happens."

  The door was closed and not locked, and now it was just the two of them in the room. Kaelith stared at the general's reflection in the mirror as the man removed his helm, displaying a triumphant smile. Kaelith could only remember that man's face carefully, seared into her memory for life. The general began to unbuckle his armor belt and said with a lustful smirk.

  “The King can wait before he enjoys his party. I'll just try to taste a little of his appetizer.”

  The general stepped slowly towards Kaelith, who was sitting before the vanity mirror. Kaelith could only close her eyes, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks, now ruining the makeup the artist had applied. She didn't scream anymore, but she just cried silently as the general forcibly tore her clothes and roughly took her to the bed near the vanity table.

  A piece of cloth was gagged in Kaelith's mouth to silence her voice. In the thick darkness and her pain, she forced her eyes to stay open and to record every detail of the man's face.

  Now she was completely broken, both physically and mentally, and this was just the beginning before she met the king later. The silence afterward felt more deafening than dreaming anywhere. Kaelith just lay on the bed that felt so cold, her open eyes staring blankly at the dusty ceiling.

  The tears had stopped flowing, leaving dry silver tracks on her made-up cheeks. She didn't feel anything anymore, not anger and not sadness, just a cold and vast coincidence that had stolen everything she ever had. Her body felt like it belonged to someone else, like a broken vessel.

  The general got up with a casual and remorseless movement. He put his neatly polished armor back on, and every piece of steel that was fastened felt like another nail hammered into the coffin of Kaelith's soul. He put his helm back on, hiding his face behind the expressionless steel. The general glanced at Kaelith lying helplessly on the bed.

  "Look at you, your face is now full of despair, and I like that expression on your face." He said, his voice filled with a mocking smile that could be heard even from behind his helm.

  A satisfied, brief, and brutal laugh burst from his mouth as he opened the door. "Enjoy the party."

  The general said before leaving Kaelith alone in the shattered silence. Two elite guards entered without a word and roughly lifted Kaelith from the bed, as if she were just a bundle of cloth and no longer human. Kaelith did not fight them; there was no resistance left in her.

  They walked through the dim back corridors of the palace, towards a large, crowded room where other dancers were dancing on a suffocating stage, the smell of perfume and sweat mixing in the air. From the looks of it, the sound of music and loud laughter could be heard from the main palace hall.

  "This one is yours." one of the guards said to a stern-looking middle-aged woman, who turned out to be the dancer planner.

  The guard pushed Kaelith to turn as if handing over an object, then turned and left. The planner straightened Kaelith's back with complete hatred.

  "Soulless human." She muttered softly.

  She then looked at Kaelith, as if seeing everything the empty eyes, the still-visible tear tracks, and the faint tremor in her body she tried to hide. The planner's expression softened instantly, replaced by a painful understanding.

  Quickly, she signaled to one of the dancing girls standing around a young woman with short, sharp-ended brown hair.

  "Rose, take her to our hiding place. Right now!" whispered the planner, her voice very low and urgent to ensure no one heard her.

  Rose's eyes widened slightly as she looked at Kaelith, then she gave a single nod, full of understanding and intention.

  "She's been through more than you have right now, go now!" added the planner, her eyes radiating urgency.

  Rose wasted no more time and immediately approached Kaelith gently. "Miss, follow me, and you'll be safe with us, of course." Rose whispered, gently taking Kaelith's wrist.

  Kaelith barely reacted, but Rose deftly supported her body, forcing her when Kaelith didn't move, and slung one of Kaelith's arms over her shoulder as if she were just helping someone exhausted.

  With careful and unnoticed movements, Rose guided her away from the line of dancers, down a quieter side corridor. Her ability to feign was like a cat's, and every step was measured and almost soundless. Rose who carrying Kaelith now, avoided guard patrols, argued amidst the shadows of pillars, and avoided the party crowd.

  She knew this was her chance, as most of the soldiers were at the king's feast, off guard with wine and celebration. Finally, they arrived at a dark storage area in the lowest part of the palace. Rose pressed a loose stone in the wall, which opened a secret door hidden at the entrance to an old waterway that had been converted by the revolutionary forces into an escape route.

  “We're almost there, Miss. Hold on just a little longer.” Rose whispered, guiding the still-stumbling Kaelith into the damp darkness.

  As the stone door closed behind them, separating their luxury from the false palace, Rose succeeded in getting Kaelith out.

  Rose did not waste this opportunity, moving as fast as she could through the underground passages towards their hiding place, carrying a broken soul towards the only place in Jargmund where hope was still trying to breathe again with relief.