The ceiling of that massive dungeon was so high that the faint glow of the torches couldn't even graze the darkness above.
The heavy stone walls stood like silent sentinels, burying thousands of untold screams within their cold embrace.
Outside, in the courtyard, a vast source of artificial light spilled a fraction of its steady glare across the floor through the open doorway.
But even that light seemed to lose its strength against the sheer scale of the chamber.
On the walls, mounted torches flickered fitfully, casting long, distorted shadows that danced like ghosts against the stone.
Time had no meaning here.
There was only the rhythmic, hollow echo of water dripping from the ceiling—a haunting reminder that the world outside was still moving.
Lane lay motionless on the bare, unforgiving wooden plank.
His head resting directly on the coarse surface without so much as a cushion.
Luka sat beside him, as still as an ancient monument.
His knees were drawn up, his palms pressed firmly against the freezing floor.
His eyes hadn't flickered once; they remained anchored to Lane's face, acting as an invisible, protective shield.
Yuri watched Luka's petrified stance for a long time.
The air in the dungeon was so thick and stagnant that every breath felt like a struggle.
He tentatively reached out to touch Luka's shoulder, but his fingers froze mid-air.
"Luka..." Yuri's voice ricocheted off the damp walls.
"You've been sitting like this for so long. Why don't you move back and sit quietly for a while? I'll look after him."
Not a single muscle in Luka's face moved.
His voice came out flat and hollow, like an echo from a deep cavern: "No."
Then, from the endless depths of the corridor, a sound arose.
Tape... Tape... Tape...
The rhythmic strike of heavy leather boots sliced through the silence without mercy.
As the footsteps drew closer, the two or three other children huddled on the far planks shrank even further into themselves.
They tucked their heads between their knees, as if trying to become invisible.
A massive, twisted shadow began to crawl across the threshold.
The artificial light from outside stretched the silhouette so long that it reached Luka's very feet.
Yuri and little Aaya's breathing quickened.
Aaya gripped the edges of her frock so tightly that her knuckles turned white with terror.
But Luka? He didn't budge.
Suddenly, a heavy blow shook the entire cell.
The guard slammed his massive hand against the stone wall.
THUD!
As the echo died down, a harsh, grating voice tore through the air.
"Hey, you brats! Eat your food!"
The guard's voice was sharper and more biting than the dungeon's chill.
His eyes held a predatory cruelty, scanning the room like a hunter.
In the corner, the other children began to tremble violently, their muffled whimpers dissolving into the air.
Yuri and Aaya's faces drained of all color.
Yet, Luka's gaze remained fixed on Lane.
He didn't even turn his head.
To him, the guard's presence and his shouting were nothing more than the sound of a falling pebble.
He had completely negated the man—treating him not as a human, but as an insignificant smudge on the wall.
The guard stood at the open doorway and peered inside.
His eyes moved past the terrified children and locked onto Luka.
He seethed as he realized that this small boy was ignoring him so thoroughly, as if he didn't even exist.
The guard's irritation was palpable.
With a violent jerk, he slammed the metal tray of food onto the stone floor.
The clatter echoing harshly against the high ceiling.
He began to march toward Luka, his heavy boots marking a deliberate, threatening rhythm.
Each step was a challenge, intended to break the boy who refused to acknowledge him.
The guard reached out, his hand inches away from Luka's shoulder, intending to spin him around—but then, he froze.
The air in the dungeon suddenly turned leaden.
A primal chill crawled up the guard's spine, the kind that only comes from sensing a predator in the dark.
A strange, suffocating sensation washed over him.
As if someone—or something—invisible was watching him with a gaze of pure ice.
He felt a presence he recognized all too well.
A shadow so dangerous that even the keepers of this hell feared to whisper its name.
Though no one else was visible in the dim light, the 'aura' in the room became so lethal that the guard's throat went bone-dry.
The cruelty in his eyes vanished, replaced by a frantic, jagged terror.
He aborted his movement, his face draining of all blood.
Without uttering a single word, he spun on his heels.
The Tape... Tape... Tape... of his boots was now frantic and hurried.
He wasn't marching anymore; he was retreating.
Desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and that cell.
Yuri and Aaya, who had been holding their breath, let out a long, shaky shudder of relief.
The other children remained huddled in the shadows.
Their eyes still wide and fixed on the empty threshold where the guard had just disappeared.
Yuri moved toward the tray discarded on the floor.
It contained a few dry pieces of bread and small pouches filled with a lukewarm liquid.
With trembling hands, Yuri gathered the rations and began to distribute them to the other children.
"Here... eat this," Yuri said, his voice still brittle.
"You must be starving. It feels like an eternity since we were brought here."
After ensuring Aaya had her share, Yuri approached Luka.
He carefully placed Luka's portion of bread and a pouch on the floor beside him.
"Luka, you need to eat. You need to keep your strength up."
But Luka? He didn't even blink.
He remained in the same unwavering posture, his hands pressed against the cold stone.
He didn't even glance at the bread, let alone touch it.
The food lay untouched by his side, forgotten.
For Luka, at this moment, a single breath from Lane was worth more than any sustenance the world could offer.
He had ascended beyond hunger and thirst.
His entire existence tethered only to the boy lying unconscious before him.
The gears of time seemed to have ground to a halt within those stone walls.
Luka's gaze hadn't wavered from Lane's face for even a second.
Inside his mind, a storm of thoughts was brewing.
'How many hours have passed? Does he not feel hunger? Does thirst not stir in his veins?'
Luka remembered that ever since he had met Lane, the boy had never uttered a word about food or water.
Lane had always eaten so little, and now he lay so lifeless that Luka's internal agitation continued to grow.
Even in the bone-chilling cold of the dungeon, beads of sweat glistened on Luka's forehead.
His fists were clenched so tightly that his palms were damp with perspiration.
He remained perched on a small corner of the same hard wooden plank where Lane lay.
Refusing to move even an inch from his side.
A vast stretch of time bled away.
The silence was so heavy that Luka could hear the frantic thrumming of his own heart.
Then, a slight tremor stirred beneath Lane's closed eyelids.
His small fingers made a faint, scratching motion against the coarse wood.
Luka leaned forward instantly, a spark of hope igniting in his eyes.
"Lane? Are you okay? Lane, listen to me!"
The usual hardness was stripped from Luka's voice, replaced by a suppressed, jagged panic.
Lane's eyes fluttered open, but they lacked their usual clarity.
They were glazed and heavy.
He heard Luka's voice, but the words seemed to dissolve before they could reach his mind.
He looked up at Luka's face—a face now etched entirely with worry.
A very faint, weak smile touched Lane's lips.
It was a smile that seemed meant to comfort Luka, but before he could speak, his eyes drifted shut again.
His head rolled back onto the wooden plank, sinking once more into a deep, heavy unconsciousness.
Yuri, who was sitting nearby watching the scene, moved a bit closer.
He saw the desperation in Luka's eyes and spoke in a steady, calming tone:
"Look, Luka, he regained consciousness for a moment."
"That means he is out of danger. Don't worry so much."
Luka turned to Yuri, his voice laced with restless anxiety:
"But why did he fall back under? Why didn't he wake up completely?"
Yuri offered a reassuring nod, "Have patience."
"He will wake up after some time. The body takes time to fully recover its senses."
"You don't understand, Yuri," Luka's voice was low but heavy with conviction.
"Even if we can't measure time here, I can feel that a great deal of time has passed since he fell asleep."
"Too much time has gone by—he should have been fully awake by now."
"It has been a very long time since I last saw him conscious..."
Luka rested his sweat-dampened fist near Lane's hand.
As if trying to pull Lane back to reality through the sheer force of his presence.
Luka remained anchored to the coarse wooden plank, barely inches from Lane.
The desperation that had clouded his eyes had now distilled into a silent, aching pain.
Slowly, Luka unfurled his sweat-dampened fist.
His trembling fingers brushed against Lane's lifeless hand.
And one by one, he interlaced his fingers with Lane's.
He gripped the smaller hand with a fierce intensity.
As if trying to physically drag Lane back from the abyss of silence.
His gaze was fixed on Lane's face, but now his eyes held a strange, shimmering light.
The glisten of unshed tears.
Luka, who always presented a facade as cold and unyielding as stone, finally broke.
A single tear escaped, tracing a path down his cheek before falling directly onto Lane's palm.
In the heavy, stagnant air of the dungeon, amidst the flickering of the dim torches.
That tear acted like a sudden surge of cold current against Lane's skin.
Meanwhile, Lane was trapped within the deep, suffocating shadows of his unconsciousness.
He was lost in a corner of his own mind where only silence and a terrifying void existed.
In that pitch-black expanse, Lane was huddled on his knees.
He had pressed his hands tightly over his ears and buried his face deep between his knees.
Trying to block out the darkness he didn't want to see.
He had made himself as small as possible, cowering from the vast emptiness.*
But then, that single teardrop from Luka rippled through the darkness.
Touching Lane's skin like a cold wave.
That touch carried a message through his muffled ears and hidden face.
The realization that someone out there was deeply hurting.
At the touch of that cold drop, life seemed to flow back into Lane's veins.
Luka's head was still bowed low, his tears continuing to splash onto Lane's hands.
His shoulders shook almost imperceptibly.
But because his eyes were cast down, he didn't see the change in Lane's expression.
Then, Lane slowly lifted his face from his knees and opened his eyes.
The haze was gone.
He shifted his head and looked at Luka, who was bowed in grief.
Lane reached out with his other hand and, with profound tenderness, placed it over Luka's trembling hand.
Luka jolted as if struck by an electric current.
He felt the warmth of a palm covering his own.
Slowly, he lifted his head, his vision blurred by the salt in his eyes.
There was Lane—his eyes wide open and filled with a familiar clarity.
Seeing Luka's tear-stained face and bloodshot eyes, a very faint, soft smile touched Lane's lips.
In a voice as light as a whisper but remarkably clear, he said:
"You don't look good at all when you cry, Luka."
"A single tear broke the void, and brought back the light,
Add to your 'Library' if this bond shines bright.
Lane's breath and Luka's heart now seek your tone,
Show your love, and crown this tale with your 'Power Stone'."