The night was cold; the rain had stopped, replaced by a biting blizzard.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sound of ice crashing through the prison roof echoed like distant war drums.
No matter how much James twisted and turned, he couldn't find comfort—nor warmth. The dim moonlight cast a silvery glow that glimmered across the stone walls.
Every few minutes a guard would pass through the cages, conjuring a siren-like wail that left the prisoners disoriented. Some screamed, others begged to be spared, but the guard only laughed, drinking in their terror before leaving. He thrived on the cries of those already half-mad from sleep deprivation.
James endured, biting his lips raw as he fought the destruction tearing at his mind. With what little Sar he could refine, he formed a fragile barrier against the sound. But each attempt was perilous—had he slipped even once, the rebound would have left him crippled, perhaps even dead.
This torment stretched on until daybreak.
A thunderous echo filled the hallway, the sound of footsteps reverberating off the walls. Within moments, the cells were swarming with nearly twenty men, each clad in dark uniforms. Silver chains draped from their shoulders, while red flags with golden emblems glimmered on their sleeves. Half-face masks concealed their expressions, giving them the eerie air of masquerade dancers twisted into soldiers.
"Hohoho… Wake up, you scum!" A deep voice thundered, commanding and frightening. "It's time to face your crimes." With a casual wave of his hand, the man signaled his soldiers forward.
The guards sprang into motion. Two seized a prisoner each, their movements swift and well-practiced. On the back of every hand burned the same mark—a blooming rose engulfed in flames.
"No… no… no! Leave me alone! I didn't do anything; it wasn't me!" one man shrieked, scrambling into a corner. He kicked and thrashed, desperate to resist being torn from his cage.
Hankkk!
He sank his teeth into the enforcer's arm, a guttural crack filling the air.
The prisoner lunged, biting into one of the enforcers and drawing blood.
Hooo…! You see that? A man who dares to strike an envoy of the royal family—how brave you must be, sir," their commander said, his voice cold and dripping with sarcasm. "A brave lad indeed. Ronny, remind us—what does the law decree for one who dares lay hands on one ordained by the Crown?" A half-grin stretched across the visible side of his face.
"Death, sir. Instant execution," replied the enforcer who had been bitten.
"What would be death, sir? Instant execution?" the man who had been bitten proclaimed.
"And death he shall receive," their commander declared.
He was a broader man than the rest, towering over all who stood in the prison. His unkempt hair fell across his face, concealing what little could be seen beneath the mask.
The man reached into his breast pocket and drew out a small thorn, no longer than a finger. With a flick, he hurled it into the cell of the struggling prisoner. The thorn spun swiftly through the air before striking its target.
"Ahhhhhhh!"
A thunderous cry tore through the hall as the thorn expanded into a thorn bush, wrapping violently around the man. Blood seeped from his body as the jagged spikes drove deep, stabbing from head to toe. The thorns twisted tighter, forming into a sphere that crushed the man within. Crimson sprayed across the stone, painting the cell in gore.
As the last of his screams faded into silence, the other prisoners stopped resisting and obeyed.
"Well, if only you'd listened from the start, none of this would've happened," the man said coldly, turning away as he approached James's cell.
Clank… Clank… Bang!The locks groaned and shifted as they were forced open.
James's eyes fluttered up as he saw the man step inside, his eyes stretched, catching the glimpse of the dark shoes.
"Hello there Arcturus… I hope our hospitality isn't lacking for your nobleness," the commander spoke, crouching down to James's eye level.
Dum… Da… Dum.
James's heart pounded. He hadn't been called by his last name in years.
In fact, no one here should even know it—let alone his upbringing.
"Woah… scary," the commander muttered, taking a cautious step back. "Those eyes of yours—you look like you're ready to kill someone."
With a flick of his hand, James's body snapped upright—locked into a rigid stance.
"Neat, aren't they?" The commander continued, nodding toward James's restraints. "Crafted from Wariant steel. Great metal for making artifacts. See the inscriptions?"
James glanced down at the steel bangles clamped around his wrists and ankles. A faint blue glow pulsed from etchings—letters in a script he didn't recognize.
"Brilliant work," the commander said, pride in his voice. "Made by the Waisef clan. True masters of their craft."
He paused, then sighed dramatically.
"Too bad they're extinct now. All gone. Poff."
He opened his palm wide and mimicked an explosion.
"What do you want?" James asked, his voice trembling—not with fear, but rage barely held in check.
"From you? Well… nothing, really." The man stepped out of the cell, his voice casual, almost amused. "It's your parents we're after. They stole something from us. And now… we want it back."
James followed behind, levitating—suspended in the air as if crucified, his arms stretched unnaturally outward. The bangles held him midair like invisible chains.
"And by 'parents,'" the man added with a smirk, "I mean your real ones. Not the pretty little lie you've been parading around all these years."
They walked through a long, dimly lit tunnel—the exit from the prison looming ahead.
"Then why not just go find them?" James demanded, each word slicing through the air. "Why drag me into this?"
"We tried," the man said with a dramatic sigh. "Believe me, we tried everything. Truth is, your parents are very skilled at hiding. We've had no leads—none—until now."
He turned and looked back at James, his expression darkening… then twisted into a grin.
"You don't know how delighted I was when I heard about you. At first, I didn't believe it. I mean, that damn cult—those lunatics only care about their bloody demon god."
He paused, chuckling.
"You've had a few… run-ins with them, haven't you? Fine 'Hero of the North' that you are."