“Within the illusion of light—darkness quietly pursues.”

He woke from an unexplainable dream, his breath uneven and sharp. Sweat clung to his skin as his vision blurred into the dimness around him.

The place was narrow and cold. Damp stone walls reeked of mildew, and moss crawled along the cracks. A chain of metal balls hung from his feet, each link heavy and unyielding. Water dripped from the ceiling—slow, rhythmic, echoing against the bare walls.

A voice came from the darkness behind him.

“You finally woke up.”

He flinched, twisting toward the sound. A man sat against the far wall, half-hidden in shadow. 

He looked to be in his thirties, though his expression carried the exhaustion of someone twice that age. His eyes were empty—colorless, hollow, like the light inside them had long gone out. A long cut ran from his forehead down to his cheek, still wet with blood. Bruises painted his skin in deep, uneven shades.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

The man gave a dry, faint smile. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.” His tone carried a strange calm—one that didn’t fit the place. “You’ve been here four days. Unconscious the whole time.”

He lowered his gaze, words catching in his throat. The last thing he remembered was a man—the Interrogator—telling him about a tragedy he couldn’t recall, something he supposedly caused. Then… nothing. Just darkness.

The man’s voice broke through again. “So young to end up here. What did you do?”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I remember… nothing.”

The man’s expression flickered—a faint smile touched with confusion. “Hmm… that’s odd.”

He looked up at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

The man smirked faintly, eyes shadowed. “Why would I even ask? We’re the same.”

“Same?”

The man let out a low, broken laugh—rough and almost unhinged. “No… nothing worth discussing.”

His laughter lingered for a breath before fading, leaving only the slow drip of water echoing against the stone.

“Hey! You two—enough with your nonsense and get out here!”

The sudden bark shattered the stillness. Metal grated as the gate creaked open, spilling a dim, gray light across the floor. A sentry stood in the doorway, his voice sharp with command.

The man rose slowly, his chains clinking with each step. He turned his head slightly toward the boy. “Come on,” he muttered. “You don’t want them coming in for you.”

He hesitated for a moment—then followed, the weight of the chains dragging behind him like the echo of a forgotten sin.

The sentry moved closer, his armor clinking with every step. Without a word, he bound their wrists behind their backs with heavy iron cuffs.

“Move.”

They followed.

The hallway stretched long and narrow, the air thick with rust and damp stone. Every step echoed—slow, chained, hollow. Torches flickered weakly along the walls, their light dying before it could reach the floor.

After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at a vast chamber. The Eating Hall.

The air was worse here—a mix of sweat, metal, and stale bread. Dozens of prisoners filled the room, their eyes hollow, their whispers low. This was where they were all brought—the thieves, the murderers, the ones who’d long forgotten sunlight.

The sentry unlocked their cuffs, switched them to the front, and muttered coldly, “Eat until you can’t.”

The man gave a sharp look in reply but said nothing. He took him by the arm and guided him toward the distribution line.

The food they received was hardly food—a gray, unidentifiable slop on dented tin plates. Still, the man grabbed two portions without hesitation.

As they crossed the hall, he felt eyes on him.

Dozens. Watching. Measuring.

“Hey, little one,” a voice sneered from a nearby table. “Why don’t you sit with us? We can talk about that crime of yours.”

The men around him laughed—low, cruel, hungry for amusement.

He froze.

But the man beside him spoke. “Ignore them.” His tone was calm—too calm. The kind that came from someone used to danger.

They kept walking.

After a while, they spotted an empty space near the corner, beside another inmate—a boy, roughly the same age, sitting alone, his eyes darting between his food and the floor.

The man approached, his voice even, “Mind if we sit here?”

The boy hesitated, then nodded silently.

They sat. The noise of the hall dulled around them—but the weight of the stares remained.

“What’s your name?” the man asked the younger one.

He hesitated, eyes falling to the dirt-stained floor as if searching for courage.

“I… I’m Darion,” he murmured, voice small and edged with embarrassment.

The man offered a faint, weary smile, “What’s with that face?” he muttered. “Whatever. Well then, Darion” he tapped his own chest lightly. “Name’s Elias, just an ordinary name, nothing special.”

Darion nodded once, then turned to the quiet figure beside Elias, “How about you?” he asked, gaze steady despite the uncertainty in his voice.

He shifted, staring down at his hands—as though answers might be carved into his palms, “My name?” he murmured. “I—”

But before the words could form, Elias’s posture snapped rigid.

His shoulders locked, his breath stilled, his eyes sharpened like a blade being drawn.

He felt it, a familiar presence in the Eating Hall unlike any other, calm—yet overwhelming. A silent weight pressing against the air, like a storm pretending to sleep.

Elias’s gaze drifted across the crowded hall until it landed on them—one of the infamous criminal groups, men whose names were spoken only in whispers. Their aura pulsed faintly, controlled, deliberate, too powerful for ordinary prisoners.

Elias exhaled slowly.

Messing with that kind of power in a place built on tension was asking for bloodshed.

He turned back to the table as if nothing had happened, “We’re done eating anyway,” he said, tone steady but eyes alert.

Then the bell rang—sharp and metallic.

“All prisoners! Eating time is over! Move to your assigned groups!” a sentry bellowed.

A sudden flash of memory stabbed through the boy—silhouettes collapsing, fire swallowing walls, a scream that felt both distant and his own.

His breath hitched, chest tightening.

Elias noticed immediately, “Hey,” he said quietly, “You alright?” 

He nodded, though the tremble in his fingers betrayed the truth.

They stepped forward with the line. The waiting sentry grinned, lips curling in a vicious smirk, “You eat well?” he mocked.

Neither answered.

Elias glanced around for Darion, but the boy had already been dragged away by another guard.

Moments later, Elias and the nameless boy were shoved back into their cell, the iron gate slamming shut with a jarring clang.

Elias stretched, joints popping, then lowered himself to the floor, “That’s enough for today,” he muttered. “Get some rest, have a good night.”

A faint breeze slipped through the bars—strange in a place without windows. He wondered, for a brief moment, how Elias knew it was night time. But exhaustion pulled him under before the thought could settle.

Many Months Later

The cell stayed the same—cold stone, dripping walls, stagnant air—yet the world inside it shifted. Their silences grew familiar, their routines overlapped.

And each trip to the Eating Hall brought Darion closer, until three shadows always walked together.

“Hey, old man! That’s mine!” Darion barked one afternoon, half irritated, half playful.

Elias snatched food from Darion’s tray with a bark of laughter, “Oh please. Take mine instead,” he said, pushing his meal at him. “Trade accepted!”

Darion groaned loudly, and the boy watched them with a small, hesitant smile—a warmth he rarely felt.

But Elias’s eyes kept drifting to the same group in the corner—the dangerous men whose quiet discussions felt too deliberate, too tense.

Something was building—something that would break.

The three returned to their cells later that day.

“That kid, Darion,” Elias said as he lay down. “He’s… strangely fun to be around, don’t you think?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Kind of.”

They drifted toward sleep—though Elias’s brow never fully relaxed.

An Hour Later—everything shattered.

Heavy footsteps thundered through the corridor—frantic, uneven, echoing with chaos.

Elias’s eyes snapped open instantly.

He moved to the gate, peering out into the dim hallway. His expression hardened, he turned and shook him awake, “Hey. Wake up.” 

He blinked rapidly, “What’s going on?”

Elias’s voice dropped low, every syllable tightened with urgency, “It sounds like something bad is happening outside.”

“Something b—”

BOOM!!!

A violent explosion ripped through the prison, shaking the stone foundations, dust rained from the ceiling, metal screamed, and the world erupted into chaos.