A few days had passed.
Beyond the borders of the Lunar Region, a single carriage rolled along the kingdom's distant outskirts. Horse hooves rhythmically hammered the dirt trail, which was lined on both sides by vibrant, lush grass.
The sun hung at its zenith in a deep blue sky. The air was thick with warmth.
Inside the carriage sat a boy clad in a black tunic and matching trousers. His short black hair was swept back, save for two rebellious strands that dangled over his sharp brows.
As the sunlight caught his tawny skin, it turned his golden eyes into glowing embers. He looked utterly bored, his head lolling against the back of the seat. A red cape was draped over his right shoulder, a sharp splash of color against his otherwise dark attire.
“Excited to go home, Ángel?”
The man beside him asked the question with a small smile, never once lifting his gaze from his book. He was older, with salt-and-pepper hair resting against his shoulders. His skin was paper-pale, almost reflective under the afternoon rays.
Ángel didn't offer a word in response. He simply stared out the window.
The man stole a glance at the boy, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his aquiline nose.
“I know you aren't happy about leaving home, but studying linguistics requires travel. You'll be glad you did this eventually. You learned a lot,” he reassured him.
“Because learning a dying language will definitely help me in everyday life,” Ángel replied, rolling his eyes.
"Lionel would have done it in a heartbeat. He always did have an odd affinity for the dark arts and the ancient tongue," the man remarked.
Ángel clicked his tongue and shot a glare at his companion.
“Don't compare me to my brother, Mossiah,” Ángel snapped. He straightened his posture, pointing a finger. “And don't diss Lionel’s interests. So what if they’re ‘odd’? Watch your tone. You’re a mentor, not whatever you’re trying to be right now.”
He turned away dismissively, resting his chin in his palm.
“I’ll have a better comeback for that once I figure out what exactly you’re acting like.”
Mossiah merely rolled his eyes. “Not very witty today, are you, my prince?”
As the scenery blurred past, a poster nailed to a roadside tree caught Ángel’s eye. He knit his brows and squinted.
“Don't squint like that. You'll be wrinkled before your seventeenth birthday next year,” Mossiah murmured, turning a page.
As the carriage drew closer, the bold lettering became clear:
EXECUTION ON APRIL 1ST. COME TOMORROW TO WITNESS THE TRIAL OF A STAR CURSE!
Ángel whispered under his breath. “What the hell?”
What kind of idiot gets themselves caught? he mused. It’s not that hard to hide a mark. Unless it’s on your face... then that’s just bad luck.
But as they passed the next tree, the same poster appeared. This one had a picture.
Ángel’s breath hitched. His eyes went wide.
The face on the parchment belonged to Lionel. He was glaring at the camera, a fresh cut splitting his eyebrow and lower lip.
That's...
That's MY idiot!
***
Deep within Hallow's Gallows Prison, the stone walls breathed.
The air was a symphony of rusted doors, distant sobbing, and the steady, rhythmic drip-drip-drip of water.
Skulls, real human remains, decorated the archways. High above, three massive giant-sized skulls were embedded into the corners of the abyss. Their eye sockets glowed with a faint, malevolent crimson, casting the entire prison in an ambient red hue.
Their heavy jaws ground together, opening and closing to release low, guttural growls with every draft.
The wind whistled through the dank space. Cells dangled in mid-air, suspended by massive iron chains. Others were carved directly into the freezing stone. There wasn't a single torch in sight; it was a world of total darkness and biting cold, smelling of mildew and stagnant dread.
Lionel sat on a wooden bench inside one of the cells carved into a wall on the ground. He still wore his black and gold robes, though the upper half, shredded during his encounter with Malachite, lay forgotten around his waist.
Bandages wrapped his chest and back, evidence that his bullet wound had been tended to.
Two guards stood outside his bars. They were draped in tattered fabric, hoods masking their features. Chains dangled from their waists to their thighs, and dust coated their boots, blending into the black brimstone floor.
They held their glaives with unwavering precision.
They stood tall.
And they were very, very dead.
Their heads hung low, decayed to the bone, yet they remained on duty.
In a different, lightless hall, two skeletal spirits drifted through the walls. They were nothing but hooded torsos and trailing rags, their translucent hands gripping Cinco by the arms.
Cinco stared at the floor as his feet hovered inches above the ground.
“Could you guys not dangle me like a ragdoll? Some of us actually prefer walking, you know.”
The ghosts ignored him entirely.
They emerged from the corridor into the main expanse of the hellish prison. The hanging cells and massive, glowing skulls loomed over Cinco, the atmosphere pressing down on him like a physical weight.
“Yeah... this really screams ‘welcome to the neighborhood.’ Totally normal vibes,” he deadpanned. He tried to sound unimpressed, even as his stomach turned in fear.
Damn. They really threw a royal into a place like this?
A new cell of rusted iron descended from the darkness above. The heavy chain rattled, the sound echoing like thunder through the cavern.
The chain snapped taut. The cell swayed.
CLANK!
The spirits swooped toward the cage. A third ghost joined them, a ring of skeletal keys clipped to its waist. It selected a key and slid it into the lock.
With zero ceremony, the ghosts tossed Cinco inside and slammed the door.
“AGH!”
He yelped as he hit the floor on his back. The sound of the key turning followed immediately.
LOCK!
He sat up slowly, rubbing his sore spine. Reaching out, he snatched his black stetson and settled it firmly back on his head.
“Undead assholes,” he muttered.
He glanced around at the neighboring cages, only to hear a bodiless whisper echo from the shadows; a twisted greeting just for him:
“You’re exactly where I want you.”
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