The sun was shining for the first time in weeks, but nobody could tell.
Not that they ever could. Not much light, if any, managed to sneak into the depths of the prison. The closest thing they had to sunlight was the light from the guard’s torches, and even that was fleeting, dancing across the halls as they made their rounds.
He could almost feel it on his skin, the sunlight. Soon, a few hours even, he would be free. After two lifetimes of rotting in a cell, he would at least taste fresh air for the first time in centuries.
He lay there in his cot, thinking about what he would do first. This, of course, was a formality. He had been planning what he would do on his first day released since the 20th year, once it became clear he was not leaving any time soon. And that had been a long time ago. At this point, the routine was ingrained into his mind, a comforting mantra oft repeated in times of solitude.
He had gotten to the second to the last line, what foods he would eat, when he heard a gentle rap on his cell door.
Griffin, a young elven man with thin eyebrows and even thinner lips, smiled curtly. The flames from his torch made his face look even more maniacal and stretched than usual.
“It’s time.”
Ronin stood and stretched slowly. He had been here for 200 years; a few moments more wouldn’t hurt, especially if it irked Griffin. He liked the lad, but he was about as relaxed as a coiled spring.
“Grab your things and follow me.” Griffin sighed. “You know the drill by this point; you’ve heard the whole spiel a thousand times.”
“Just about.” Ronin smiled and grabbed his jacket, the pockets worn and the material faded. An ugly orange.
“You have everything?” Griffin asked the question more out of procedure more than concern.
“I travel light. Also, I believe they took away most of my belongings when I came here.”
“Indeed. You’ll get them back momentarily. Follow me.”
Griffin spun on his heel and began marching down the long and narrow halls, his boots echoing loudly on the cobblestone. Ronin followed him, lingering behind to take in the all-too-familiar sights one last time. They hung a left at the main intersection, and here a few of the other prisoners had begun to stir in the early hours. Several of them called out to Ronin, well-respected and rightfully feared amongst the other inmates. Many stuck their hands through the bars, looking for a handshake or quick parting word. Ronin obliged most of them, much to the ire of his warden.
“Ronin!” he snapped, his voice shrill.
Without looking at him, Ronin replied, “I have spent a majority of my life housed within the walls. Forgive me if I am reticent to leave my family members.”
Griffin scoffed. “They are no more your family than you are innocent.”
Ronin could feel the heat in his chest rising, and he exhaled a thin plume of smoke from his nostrils. He heard Griffin bristle at the sight and smell of the smoke, and he smiled internally. He finished his conversation with the dwarven woman and turned back to Griffin. He bowed in an exaggerated fashion. “Whenever His Majesty is ready, the humble servant is willing to serve.”
“Oh, hush, you. Hurry up. I have other prisoners to watch.”
“And I other prisoners to bid farewell, dear Griffin.”
“Do not call me that,” he said as he turned and began to march away. “We are not friends; at best, we are workplace associates.”
“And what fine work you do!” Ronin waved to the remaining and began his last walk. He smiled outwardly, broadly for all to see. He was never this jovial, but today was the most special of days, and he was understandably in good spirits.
Two more turns and one necessarily long bathroom break later, the duo found themselves at the main security office.
Griffin held open the door, and pointed with his free hand. “In you go.”
As Ronin passed, his massive figure filling the doorframe, he suddenly turned toward Griffin. He stared at him, just a drop of fear in his eyes.
Ronin extended his hand. “Thank you.”
Gingerly, Griffin shook his hand. “For what?”
“Doing your job. I’ve been here… a while. And you’re one of the better guards I’ve seen.”
Griffin’s eyes widened. It was clear the comment had taken him completely by surprise. “Th-thank you.” he stammered. “I am simply doing my job.”
Ronin nodded and entered the main office for what he hoped was the last time.
---
Corvallo was a large man with a tiny head. Rumors had been floating around for as long as Ronin had been imprisoned (and assumedly even before then) as to what caused it. Some believed magic; others, a curse. And yet some believed that all elves just had heads like that.
Ronin sat down awkwardly in the aged wooden chair. It creaked under his weight, and his scales scraped against the weathered wood. It threatened to collapse at any time. His tail flicked about nervously.
Corvallo did not look up as he sat. A large stack of paperwork was splayed all over his desk, and his hands, gripping the pen as it were a sword, scribbled wildly.
Ronin shifted uneasily and coughed gently.
“Durante Shordus.”
It had been far too long since anyone had called him that. “Yes. But that was my old name. My title is now…”
Corvallo shuffled some papers around. He lifted one up seemingly at random. “Ronin… the Bicentennial.” He stared at Ronin. “Quite a title. Do not interrupt me again.”
“You entered into our care… my, my… 200 years ago, to the day.” He looked down his glasses and up his nose at Ronin. “Forgive my ignorance,” he said with false deference, “but I do not know many dragonborn that live beyond a hundred years of age. And it says here you are… am i to believe this? Two hundred and fifteen?”
Ronin nodded. “Yes. It is because of…”
Corvallo’s hand shot up. “Spare me the details. I’d rather not know. I am simply following procedure, for your sake and mine. Well, then, it seems you have outlived a good number of the men you were imprisoned alongside.”
“Yes. Many of my friends have passed away.”
Corvallo’s eyes softened for the briefest of moments as Ronin dropped his gaze to the floor.
“Now then, when you were tried and sentenced all those many years ago, you brought with you…” Here he reached under the desk and pulled out a small pouch. He slid it across the desk toward Ronin. “One knapsack, containing a small pocketknife, some twine, a single journal- blank, and a few assorted items of clothing.”
Ronin pawed through the bag and saw the contents were indeed as Corvallo described.
“Additonally…” Corvallo opened up one of the many drawers on his desk and pulled out a smaller, darker colored pouch. “Many years ago, before I became the chief of this miserable hut of cobblestone, my predecessor, the esteemed Andraena Briggs, ordered me to give this to you on the day of your release and/or death. The former would require you being buried with it.”
Ronin smiled slightly. He fondly remembered Briggs as a large, loud-mouthed orcish woman who would just as easily start fights as she would stop them. A former criminal herself, she had spent years campaigning for better conditions for the imprisoned. Eventually, she became chief of the Ridgedale Prison and immediately set out to change it for the better. All of the inmates adored her. Her death had hit them hard; many swore the prison would never be the same. They were not wrong.
“I’m talking to you, boy.” Corvallo had noticed him lost in thought.
“I outrank you in years, old man.”
Corvallo laughed gruffly. “Briggs always told me you were quick; she was not mistaken, I see.” He unfolded a note and began reading:
“On the day of his sentencing, of the year twelve hundred and two, I have taken the small amount of gold he had in his knapsack and have secured it in this bag. On the event of his death, this money will be used to pay for his funeral- a proper dragonborn funeral, as is tradition for his people. Should he get released- and here she wrote the word ‘doubtful’ in the margins, son- the money is his to spend. The amount contained in this pouch is the accumulated interest he would have garnered as though he invested this coin during the entirety of his serving.”
Corvallo was silent for a moment. “I’ve never heard of her doing that for anyone. You must have caught her eye. You two weren’t secret lovers, were you?”
Ronin said, “I don’t think I could have handled her."
Corvallo stared at him for about three seconds before bursting into laughter. "Sir! Just think of the children! I'd try not to!” The two aging men shared a laugh in the booming silence of the prison. Ronin did not think the joke particularly funny, but it felt good to laugh nonetheless. He knew Briggs would have laughed right alongside him.
Corvallo tossed him the bag of gold coins. Ronin caught it and was surprised at how much heavier it was than expected. He knew that he couldn’t have had more than a few scattered coins when he had been brought in, but then again, he realized, two hundred years surely adds a lot of interest.
“Well, I suppose you should leave now. Here; sign this.” He slid a small piece of paper, its contents freshly composed, toward him; the edge just barely hung off the desk.
“What is this?” Ronin picked up the proffered pen and scanned the document.
“It is a legal document, like the many countless others here,” Corvallo mentioned, waving his hand toward the many towers of filing cabinets that lined the wall behind him. “It simply says you are free to go and are of no one’s concern except your own.”
“Ah. Thank you.” Carefully and deliberately, he signed his name; his old name, for the last time. The letters were unfamiliar to him; it had been far too long since he had last written down anything. Corvallo stood as he finished signing.
He took the paper from Ronin and placed in a folder, which he placed inside of a larger, darker colored folder, which he placed inside of the filing cabinet nearest him, which he locked with a key, one of many from the keyring hanging from his belt.
“If you will follow me.” He sauntered over to a door opposite the one Ronin had entered and held it open invitingly. Ronin quickly stood, grateful to escape that rapidly collapsing bundle of sticks masquerading as a chair.
He could hear it, he realized as he walked down the narrow corridor, Corvallo at his heels. He could hear the birds. His heart began to quicken.
It seemed like they had only walked for a second when they came to a large iron door.
“This is your last stop.” Corvallo said from behind him.
Ronin turned to face him. “What’s on the other side?” He knew the answer; he just wanted to make sure this was real, and not one of those twisted dreams She had cursed him with.
“What you’ve been undoubtedly waiting for since the first day. All of Ridgedale, though I must warn you, things have very much changed since you were indicted.”
“I’m sure.” Ronin was suddenly aware of how painfully dry his throat was.
Corvallo squeezed past him and fumbled to find the proper key. A moment later and a clunk louder, the door was unlocked. Corvallo turned to him. “Briggs always told me you were one of the good ones. She said if anyone could make it out of here with their humanity intact, it would be you.” He smiled faintly, and his eyes stared off into space for just a moment, a faraway gaze monopolizing his face.
“Thank you, Corvallo. You are a good man.”
“As good as any other,” Corvallo replied, brushing away the compliment with a dismissive wave of his bony hand.
“And a good father. Griffin has turned out well.”
Corvallo smiled sadly, his barely visible wrinkles pulling at his eyes. “Ah yes, he has, hasn’t he. He does a father proud.”
Corvallo reached up and placed a hand on Ronin’s shoulder. “Good luck, lad. The world is a different place. I hope you can make back all those years you’ve lost. And for the record… I always knew you were innocent. You were too good a kid, I could always tell."
"A model prisoner?"
"Something like that." Corvallo nodded at him, then spun on his heel. Ronin did not turn to look at him as he left.
Corvallo walked away silently. Ronin heard the office door close behind him.
And just like that, Ronin was alone.
For a solid minute he did not move. He did not want to shatter the peacefulness of the moment.
His shaking hand held the handle of the door. He gripped it so tight, he could feel his claws digging into the metal.
He took a deep breath. This was the last breath he would take in this godsforsaken prison.
He opened the door.
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