The square roared.
Metal screamed.
Another pin shot free.
Lio slammed the bars with a sound too jagged for a boy.
The salt circle flared white under Harun's boot—
then flickered, dim as a dying candle.
The commander didn't flinch.
His pistol swung neat and steady—
straight at Tallen's skull.
"Do your duty," he said, "or die in his place."
Tallen's breath hitched.
The rifle shook in his hands.
His eyes darted between Harun, the cage, and the iron barrel aimed at his face.
Harun saw the threads knotting tighter.
One: Tallen fires. His boy dies of fever. Guilt kills faster than sickness.
Two: Tallen resists. The commander kills him. Lio drinks black. Hunger breaks free.
Three: Harun breaks the line. A lie saves one. Damns all.
The Mask stung his cheek.
Truth: Lines break. Salt holds them. Voices bend them. But men choose.
"Left foot, Tallen," Harun said low. "If you move—make it left."
"Shut it," the commander snapped. "He answers to me."
Tallen's jaw trembled. "Sir… my boy—"
The commander's eyes narrowed.
"There are no boys. Only mouths to feed."
The words hit like a stone.
That was the Empire:
Mouths in ledgers.
Names in columns.
Nothing human left.
The cage rattled. A bar bent outward.
Steam lashed the circle.
Salt hissed. Dimmed.
A handful of grains scattered—gone.
Harun dropped to a knee. Fingers scraped the satchel—
Empty.
His breath tore ragged.
"Powder's finished," the commander said coldly.
"Now it's truth or lies."
Pistol pressed harder to Tallen's temple.
"Choose."
Tallen's finger tightened on the trigger.
Eyes squeezed shut.
"Your son!" Harun snapped.
"Does he bite cloth at night when he coughs? Does he hold his blanket so you won't hear?"
Tallen froze.
The rifle shuddered in his grip.
The Mask surged heat into Harun's throat.
Truth: His son does.
Tallen's eyes flew open.
Sweat cut pale lines through soot.
"How—"
"Because I've seen too many boys choke that way," Harun said.
"Because I know the sound."
His voice cracked.
"If you kill me, your boy dies. Maybe not tonight. But he will."
"Enough!" the commander snarled.
Finger whitening on the trigger.
The cage split with a screech.
A bar clanged free.
Lio shoved his shoulders through—skin tearing, ribs jutting like knives.
His mouth stretched too wide.
Teeth slick.
Hunger grinned.
Every man in the square flinched.
Harun's heart thundered.
"Tallen!"
The young guard spun his rifle—
not at Harun.
Not at the cage.
At the commander's chest.
Gasps. The square froze.
The commander's eyes went flat, cold.
"You'll regret this, boy."
"My son already regrets me," Tallen said.
His voice shook, but it stood.
"I won't let him regret the night I listened to you instead of saving him."
The pistol twitched.
For a heartbeat, Harun thought he'd fire anyway.
The Mask hissed sharply in his ear.
Truth: If he fires, the circle fails.
Lio howled.
Not human.
Steam poured from his mouth.
Bars are coated black.
Salt hissed and sagged under the flood.
Harun's knee dug into stone.
Hands pressed down—desperate.
The pouch was empty.
Only his voice was left.
He lifted his chin.
Let the Mask weigh the word.
"Stay."
The sound bent the air.
Lio's hands trembled.
Black flicked back from his eyes.
For a heartbeat, a boy looked out.
"Lio," Harun said, louder. "Stay!"
"Close the door!" the commander barked.
"Pin it! Hold him!"
The older guard fumbled pins, blood dripping from split fingers.
The hoop-man swore, dragging mesh.
The handler shoved the wedge—bitten in half, wood splinters flying.
Pistol steady.
Two men stared across a line sharper than steel.
Commander vs. Tallen.
The Mask seared.
Truth: Two lines. One breaks. Choose.
Harun's chest locked.
He didn't know which he wanted to live—
the guard for his son,
or the order that kept the cage shut.
Neither could last.
Lio slammed again.
Frame rocked.
Pins tore loose.
The circle sputtered.
Steam curled toward Harun's boot.
Skin burned.
"Tallen!" Harun roared. "Do something!"
Tallen shook.
Eyes wet.
He lifted his rifle—
not to kill,
not to obey.
He fired into the sky.
Thunder cracked.
Ash leapt.
Lanterns swayed.
Every man ducked, flinched, blinked.
Harun lunged.
Boot crushed the circle.
Grains sparked white—one last flare.
The line steadied. Thin. Fragile.
The commander spun, furious.
Pistol raised.
But the moment was gone.
The boy sagged. Exhausted.
Hands trembled. Teeth snapped at the air, too weak.
Mesh looped wrists, dragged them back.
Pins slammed.
The door screeched shut.
The cage held. Barely.
The commander's jaw locked.
His glare burned through Tallen.
"You're dead," he said flatly, "the moment we leave this square."
Tallen didn't lower his rifle.
His voice cracked but held.
"So be it."
Harun staggered upright.
Boot smoking from black fire.
The Mask buzzed, giddy, dangerous.
Truth: You've delayed hunger. Not ended it.
A bell tolled once.
Heavy. Slow.
Reinforcements.
The commander holstered his pistol, a sharp and neat action.
"Relic-bearer," he said coldly.
"Your salt saved this night. But salt runs out."
He turned back to the cage.
"When it does… so will you."
Harun didn't answer.
His breath shook.
He only met Tallen's eyes—fear and relief warring—
Then, it slipped toward the alleys.
Ash swallowed him.
The Mask whispered like fire under glass.
Truth: This city will make you draw more circles. Each one is smaller than the last.
Harun ran anyway.
The cage groaned behind him.