The storm outside still raged, its thunder cracking like a war drum. Inside the cold, stinking prison cell, the boy named Indra sat hunched against the wall, his amber slit-pupil eyes fixed upon the man across from him. The stranger's breathing rasped, rattling in his chest as though every breath could be his last.
Indra's voice was low, almost curious, but there was a blunt edge to it. "Why don't you just heal yourself? If you're that powerful, it wouldn't be hard for you to." The man chuckled weakly, the sound coarse and broken. His lips curled into a bitter smile. "No…I have no one… and nothing else to live for, What would be the point of dragging this power into another day of misery?" Indra studied him with those lifeless eyes, silent. The man, however, found himself staring into the boy longer than intended. For a moment—just a moment—he heard something in his head. A whisper. A possibility.
'What if… this child could wield my power?' The thought struck him with such force he almost laughed. Shaking his head, the man shifted, ignoring the pain twisting through his ribs as he pushed himself upright. "Tell me, boy…" His voice was hoarse, but it carried the weight of something dangerous. "…If you had the chance—the opportunity—would you leave this place?" Indra's expression changed immediately with a clenched jaw as a sigh escaped his lips, heavy and tired. "…If only the idea were realistic. I'd do more than leave…" Indra said as rage was clear in his voice "What would you do?" For the first time, Indra's gaze turned away, pulled toward the narrow barred window where flashes of lightning lit the night sky. His fists clenched, his teeth ground together, and words spilled out of him—words that had been buried in silence for years.
"…I'd change this world! I'd kill the corrupt leaders in power. I'd rip apart the chains that bind people like me… I'd bring about everlasting peace. Even if I had to pay in my own damn blood to do it… I want everyone like me to be free!" His voice broke, cracks of emotion rising where there should have been none. He didn't even notice the tears spilling down his scarred cheeks, didn't feel the trembling in his jaw as he clenched it tight.
The man across from him watched in silence. And then, with a strange smile, he whispered, "…I have what you seek." Indra blinked, turning back toward him. Confusion flickered across his cold face. The man's eyes burned with a manic light as he staggered forward. "I will give you everything I have… my mana, my abilities…and the Eye of Odin itself." Before Indra could react, the man lunged. His weight slammed into the boy, pinning him to the stone floor. Indra thrashed, his breath cut off in shock. And then—searing pain. The man's bloodied fingers dug into Indra's left eye, clawing deep with a guttural snarl.
"Change this world, boy… the way you see fit!" Indra screamed. A sound that was not human tore from his throat as agony exploded across his skull. He writhed, struggled, his almost small fists hammering uselessly against the man's chest. But the man did not relent.
The pain became unbearable. His world shattered into white. And then—black. When Indra's eyes opened again, silence had fallen. His chest heaved, his throat raw. The storm outside still raged, but the cell was eerily still. He lifted a trembling hand to his face—his left eye burned, as though someone had smashed a hammer into his skull again and again. His vision swam, amber slit iris now burning with an unnatural light.
But the man—was gone.
Only the faint echo of his words remained. "Change this world…" Indra staggered upright, his head pounding. That was when he noticed it. The bars of his cell had been melted through, the iron twisted and dripping as though consumed by fire or lightning. Heart racing, he stepped through the ruined opening. The hallway stretched long and empty. Only three other cells lined the stone corridor, and every one of them was vacant.
Then came the sound.
Boots. Metal. Laughter.
"Well, well, well." From the far door, it opened, and the guards poured in. The same knights who had beaten him, starved him, tortured him when they grew bored. The lead knight—tall, broad, a mountain of muscle in heavy plate—stepped forward first. His armor gleamed dully even in the torchlight, blackened steel adorned with crimson markings of his order. A thick scar crossed his cheek, his grin a predator's leer. His helm rested at his hip, exposing his cropped hair and eyes that looked down on Indra like a wolf cornering a rabbit.
Behind him marched five more knights, each armored and armed with spears and swords. Their boots hit the stone in unison, a rhythm of authority and cruelty. "Well, look at that. I don't know how you got out, rat, but you're going back in." His smirk widened. Indra's jaw clenched. He could feel it—the fury, the storm raging not just outside, but within. For the first time in his life, something inside him screamed to fight.
"NO!" His voice thundered down the corridor, shaking. "I REFUSE!" His left hand shot up. Lightning crawled down his arm like living chains, sparking and twisting. With a roar, the storm surged through him. Bolts of blinding light tore through the air and struck the knights.
Screams. Metal shattered. Bodies slammed against stone. The smell of burning flesh filled the hall. When the light faded, only the lead knight still stood. His armor smoked, his shield blackened but intact. He laughed, his voice dripping with mockery. "So, you get a little power somehow, and you think you're strong? Pathetic. I'll show you true strength." His sword hissed free of its scabbard. He planted his feet, raising it high. His voice carried like thunder.
"By the vows I swore and the banners I bear, let the world remember: I will not yield!" The air shifted. The area around them shuddered. Stone cracked beneath their feet. The prison corridor dissolved, piece by piece, like glass breaking away. In its place rose an endless courtyard of ancient cobblestone, polished smooth by centuries of marching boots. Twilight filled the sky, neither dawn nor dusk, eternal vigil.
Banners sprouted from the ground like spears, their colors rippling in a phantom wind. Sigils of forgotten houses, legions past, fluttered high above. Indra's breath caught. He could feel it—the weight of unseen eyes. Countless soldiers, unseen, standing in ranks beyond the horizon, watching. Judging. His body grew heavy, chains of discipline and duty binding his limbs.
The knight's voice boomed across the timeless courtyard. "This is my Sanctum… OATHBOUND STEEL!" Indra stumbled, his knees threatening to buckle under the crushing atmosphere. His heart raced, panic and defiance warring in his chest. The storm inside him screamed to fight, but here… here he felt like nothing.
And yet his new left eye burned.