Chapter 30: Shadows of Hope
The cell was alive.
Not with light, nor with warmth, but with an insidious pulse of dark energy that crept along the stone walls like veins of shadow. The air itself was thick, heavy with a suffocating presence that pressed against the lungs of anyone who dared to breathe too deeply. Chains infused with the same abyssal essence bound Moro, Kaya, and King Hanks, draining them constantly, robbing them of strength and will.
Silence reigned for a long time, broken only by the distant echo of screams—rebels being slaughtered above, perhaps, or tortured within other unseen chambers of the Holy Sanctuary.
Moro sat cross-legged on the cold ground, his fists clenched, head bowed, the faint azure glow of the Matrix flickering beneath his skin, suppressed by the cell's energy. His mind swirled with doubts, but his eyes still carried the same defiance that had led him into Shinya.
Kaya leaned against the wall opposite him, her face pale from the draining effect of the chains. She had fought until her body broke, but her eyes remained sharp—unyielding, feral even. She watched Moro like a hawk, silently drawing strength from his quiet resolve.
And then there was Hanks, the so-called Saint of Wisdom, now slumped against the corner of the chamber. His crown had been stripped, his regal robes torn and smeared with blood. For the first time, the unshakable king of Shinya looked like a weary man. His gaze was fixed on the floor until at last, he broke the silence.
---
Hanks' Confession
"You remind me of him…" Hanks' voice was gravel, his tone heavy with the weight of years. His eyes rose to meet Moro's, and the faintest hint of sorrow stirred there.
Moro frowned. "Of who?"
Hanks exhaled, his breath rattling against the silence of the cell. "Your father… Jara."
At that name, Moro stiffened. Even Kaya's eyes widened.
"You knew him?" Moro's voice was laced with shock, but underneath it—hope, longing.
Hanks closed his eyes briefly, the memory dragging him back decades. "I didn't just know him. I fought him. Long ago, when he came to Shinya with fire in his heart, determined to break the chains of this cursed land."
Kaya leaned forward. "You fought Jara? Why? If you hated the Celtic High Council as much as you say…"
"I did." Hanks' voice hardened. "But their grip… it was absolute. Their dark energy is rooted in every corner of Shinya, in its soil, in its people, in its kings. Even I was shackled by it, bound to their decrees. When Jara came, I wanted to help him—but the Council branded him a heretic, a threat to the balance. They commanded me to stop him."
Moro's hands trembled as he gripped his chains tighter. "And you obeyed."
"I had no choice," Hanks whispered, though the weight of guilt in his tone betrayed him. "We clashed beneath the very Sanctuary where we sit today. His power… unmatched, burning like a storm of freedom itself. He could have killed me, but he spared me, even as I stood in his way. That mercy cost him. The Council struck, and he vanished. Some say he died. But I believe he lives… somewhere beyond their reach."
Moro's chest burned. A vision of his father—strong, unbroken, and merciful even to his enemies—seared through his mind. Tears welled, but he crushed them back with grit. "Then there's still hope," Moro said fiercely. "If my father lives, if he once stood where I stand… then I'll finish what he started."
Hanks gave a hollow chuckle. "Hope… you cling to it as he did. Perhaps that is your greatest strength. Or your greatest curse."
---
The Arrival of Hawks
A slow, deliberate clap echoed from the shadows beyond the cell door.
The massive iron gate groaned open, and into the dim light stepped Erick Hawks. The Advanced Agent's presence swallowed the chamber whole—calm, cold, calculating. His eyes gleamed like a predator's, his every step resonating with confidence. Shadows bent subtly toward him, as though eager to obey.
"Well," Hawks said, his voice smooth as silk but sharp as a blade. "Such inspiring speeches… shackled men still speaking of hope. How quaint."
Kaya glared, chains rattling as she tried to push herself upright. "Hawks…" Her voice was venom.
Hanks' face hardened, but there was no surprise in his eyes. "So the Council sends their dog."
Hawks' lips curved into the faintest smile. "If I am a dog, then I am one that bites at their command. And make no mistake, Your Majesty…"—his gaze locked onto Hanks—"…it is you who will be dragged before them in chains, like the traitor you are."
Moro stood despite the chains biting into his skin. The faint azure glow of the Matrix flickered again, as though responding to his rising defiance. "You won't break me, Hawks. You won't break us."
Hawks tilted his head, intrigued. "Break you? Oh no, Moro. I don't need to. The Council already has. Your rebellion crumbles as we speak. Herbet and his rats scurry through the streets, chased by soldiers and flames. And soon, every last one of them will be captured."
Kaya's jaw tightened. "You underestimate them."
"Do I?" Hawks' eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a whisper that slithered into their ears like poison. "Hope is the sweetest lie. And I will take it from you, just as I take shadows from men's souls. I will make Shinya kneel."
His words lingered, heavy, suffocating. He turned to leave, the echo of his boots fading into the corridor. Before the door closed, he looked back once more. "Rest while you can. Your execution will be a spectacle worthy of saints."
The iron gate slammed shut, darkness reclaiming the chamber.
---
A Flicker of Rebellion
Silence returned, heavier than before.
Hanks closed his eyes, despair pressing against him like a weight. Kaya breathed hard, her fury palpable. Moro, however, sat straighter. His fists clenched tighter, and the faint blue glow around him grew steadier, resisting the suppressive energy of the cell.
"There is still hope," he said, his voice a low growl. "Hawks is wrong. My father fought for this land. He believed Shinya could be freed, and I won't let his fight end in chains."
Kaya smirked faintly despite her exhaustion. "That's the Moro I know."
Even Hanks' lips twitched, a faint ghost of a smile. "Perhaps… perhaps I was wrong to think this land doomed. If you truly carry Jara's fire, Moro… then maybe Shinya still has a chance."
And beyond the Sanctuary's stone walls, in the labyrinthine tunnels of Shinya's undercity, Herbet gathered his rebels.
They were battered, bloodied, hope fraying at the edges. But Herbet's eyes still burned with unshakable resolve. He spread a rough map across a broken table, pointing to the heart of the Sanctuary.
"They've taken Moro, Kaya, and even the King," he said, his voice gravel but steady. "The Council thinks it has won. But I say no. I say we take back our city. We strike at the heart, we break their chains, and we rescue our allies."
The rebels looked at him, weary yet ignited by his fire.
Herbet clenched his fists. "They call us rats. Then let us bite. Let us bleed them until Shinya itself rises."
And in that moment, as despair threatened to consume all, a new spark was lit in the darkness.
A spark of rebellion.
A spark of hope.