The shrill bell had faded, replaced by the groaning of massive gates swinging open. Frost followed the stream of prisoners funneling into a narrow passage, flanked by the cold silhouettes of masked wardens. When he finally emerged outside, a salty gust of wind struck his face.
He stopped dead. Before him stretched a courtyard like an island of stone, ringed by towering walls bristling with metallic spikes. Beyond, nothing but the endless horizon. Water, as far as the eye could see. The prison floated in the middle of a boundless ocean, cut off from the world. A fortress without escape.
Frost drew a long breath through clenched teeth. The sting of salt, the air heavy and drenched with humidity—everything reminded him that he was caged at the heart of a marine void.
The other inmates scattered across the yard. Most were young, barely older than him. All bore scars, some fresh, others old, etched across their bare chests like trophies of suffering. Many carried the same mark as him—that long slash across the sternum, the brand of torn magic. Their eyes, however, gleamed with an animal violence, ready to erupt at the slightest spark.
The Redhead came up beside him, arms crossed, watching the scene with contained coldness. Frost walked at his side, his eyes scanning the prisoners.
— How many of us are there? he asked in a low, cutting voice.
The Redhead lifted a shoulder almost imperceptibly. — Enough to fill a mass grave. Not enough to trouble those who keep us on a leash.
— And the wardens?
— Watch. You'll understand.
Frost gave a curt nod, pressing no further. He studied the masked figures stationed along the walls, motionless, as if carved from iron. The aura they gave off was suffocating, glacial.
He turned his gaze back to the prisoners. Some were sparring barehanded, trading blows with crude brutality. Others simply wandered, eyes empty.
— Who are they? Frost asked.
The Redhead discreetly lifted his chin toward a hulking man, his body a patchwork of scars that even marred his face. — Don't cross Kraven's path. He kills to breathe.
Then he gestured at a lithe woman with silver hair and crazed eyes. — That's Lysandra. Speak a word to her, and you'll wish you'd never been born.
Frost observed in silence, a hard glint burning in his gaze.
After a long moment, he spoke again, voice low but firm:
— I need to train. No magic, no family. That's all I have left. If I sit around waiting, I'll rot here like the rest.
The Redhead slowly turned his head toward him. No smile, no surprise—just a piercing, judging stare. Then he gave a slight nod toward the sky.
Frost followed his gesture. Dark airships were descending, their metallic hulls gleaming in the pale light. Ladders unfurled, and several inmates were taken aboard, swallowed into the iron belly.
Frost's brow furrowed. — What is that?
— No one knows, the Redhead replied flatly. Prisoners vanish into those beasts, and no one comes back.
Frost clenched his fists. — How long have you been here?
— A week.
He took a few steps forward, then stopped, his voice cold as he spoke without turning back:
— If you want to survive, forge your body first. When you're strong enough, maybe I'll lift a finger for you. Until then… you're on your own.
He walked off, vanishing into the flow of inmates.
Frost stood still, eyes fixed on the airships as they disappeared into the horizon. His heart pounded heavy, but his gaze had darkened, sharpened. He was no longer just a frightened boy. They had taken his magic, but not his will.
One day, he would claw his way out of this hell. One day, he would find his brother and sister again. And on that day, nothing and no one would stop him.
The courtyard filled with harsh sounds: fists pounding stone, the guttural cries of prisoners in combat, the steady march of the masked wardens. Frost broke away. He preferred solitude, pacing slowly along the stone ring that served as both exercise yard and arena.
His thoughts were heavier than his steps.
I won't get out of here by begging. I won't get out by waiting for a miracle. I'll get out because I decide to. Because I have no other choice.
Faces rose in his mind—his brother, his sister. Their laughter, shattered by chaos. The warmth of a home he would never see again. His fist tightened. If he had to forge his pain into steel, then so be it. A single fire burned within him now: escape. No matter the cost.
That was when he noticed three figures leaning against a wall nearby. Three young men, barely older than him, each like a fractured reflection of the other. They spoke in low tones, but their gazes rose to him in unison.
— Hey, the new kid, one of them called with a crooked grin.
They stepped forward. The first had cropped brown hair and eyes too bright for this place. The second wore the same cut, but a scar ran through his left brow. The third, slightly taller, had harder features, a more serious air.
— They call us the Trine, said the scarred one. I'm Kael, that's Nael, and that's Sael. Easy to remember, right?
They wore the same patched trousers as all the prisoners, their bare chests scarred with the same long mark across the sternum. Yet something about them was different: a tangible brotherhood, a warmth that cut through the cold of the yard.
— And you? asked Sael, the serious one. You're the kid who came in yesterday, aren't you?
Frost studied them for a few seconds before answering, his voice low and steady:
— Frost.
Kael barked a short laugh. — Not much of a talker, huh?
— Talking won't change anything here, Frost shot back. Only action matters.
Kael's laugh died quickly. The three exchanged a surprised glance.
Nael, calmer, spoke next:
— We all lost something before we ended up here. A family. A clan. A normal life. We were hunters once, in the northern mountains. We knew the forests better than anyone… until the masked ones found us.
His jaw clenched. — They ripped our magic away. Everything that made us who we were.
Sael's tone dropped, heavier:
— And now, we survive. Nothing more.
Silence fell. The brothers seemed to wait for Frost to share his story, but he stood still, eyes fixed on the endless sea. Finally, he spat out, curt:
— They took everything from me too. My family. My world. But unlike you… I won't settle for surviving.
His words landed like stones. The Trine exchanged another look, this time a mix of respect and unease.
Kael gave a faint smile, though it lacked his earlier confidence. — You talk like someone planning something.
Frost met his gaze, unflinching. — I'm planning everything.
Without another word, he turned and resumed his march along the courtyard's edge. The Trine watched him for a moment, until Kael muttered:
— That guy… there's something in his eyes.
And for the first time since he'd arrived, Frost felt he carried not only his pain, but also an aura that demanded respect.