Unknown hours or perhaps even longer had passed by in the cold, unyielding silence of the iron chamber. Time, once a thing that can be easily determined,is no longer an easily determined thing; for the one's inside an iron chamber with no windows, no doors,no way of telling the time whatsoever with the air, thick with the scent of metal hung heavy around them, punctuated only by the dim, flickering light that hung suspended from the low ceiling, casting faint, unnatural shadows across the iron chamber made by the restless movements of those trapped within.
One for example is Icaron as he lay sprawled across the cold iron floor, his body a picture of exaggerated despair, limbs splayed wide as if the weight of his hunger had finally broken his spirit. His golden eyes, now dulled and heavy, traced the contours of the ceiling in a dazed, half-lidded stare, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow betraying the depth of his discomfort. A loud groan slipped from his lips, a drawn-out sound that seemed to echo endlessly within the chamber, though it was likely the hundredth such groan he'd uttered in the last hour.
"I am dying," he declared in a voice thick with drama, the words carrying a weight of mock tragedy. "Perishing. Fading into legend. They'll sing ballads about how I wasted away inside a chamber of iron, handsome, tragic, misunderstood... all due to the cruel, unrelenting absence of sustenance."
Thera, sitting nearby, curled herself up into a ball with her knees tucked tightly to her chest, resting her chin on them. Her eyes glinted with amusement, and a smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she watched Icaron, her posture a stark contrast to his theatrical display of misery. "You said the same thing ten minutes ago, Icaron," she teased, her voice light but laced with affectionate sarcasm.
Icaron let out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh, flopping back onto the cold, unforgiving iron floor with a sense of finality. His arm hung dramatically over his forehead, a gesture meant to convey a level of suffering that seemed almost comical in its overstatement. "And I'll say it as long as I want," he muttered, his voice thick with mock gravitas. "For dramatic consistency, you know." With a slight shift of his body, he propped himself up just enough to glance around, his face taking on a more serious expression. "I also realized something... dire," he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
Thera, her eyes still gleaming with humor, raised a single eyebrow in bemusement. "And what would it be, Icaron??" she asked, clearly anticipating another one of his grand declarations.
Icaron extended a trembling finger toward the farthest corner of the chamber, his gaze narrowing in mock horror. "We don't have a latrine. No chamber pots. No designated corner. If we're stuck here long enough..." His voice trailed off, and his fingers wiggled ominously, as if conjuring some unspeakable fate.
Thera's soft laugh rang out, her smirk deepening. "You're seriously worried about that before we've even gone a full day?" she asked, amusement lacing her tone.
Icaron's eyes widened in exaggerated shock. "That's exactly the point!" he exclaimed, lifting his head just enough to meet her gaze. "We don't know how long it's been! For all we know, we've been here for days. Days!" He gestured broadly to the sterile, oppressive space around them. "In an iron chamber. No food, no wine, and now—" His voice grew more theatrical, laden with false despair, "no dignity."
Meanwhile, across the room, Atreyos and Marrowkai were locked in a confrontation of pure, simmering intensity. The silence between them was thick and heavy, an unspoken battle of wills. Neither of them blinked, and neither spoke a word. They stood, or rather, remained fixed in their positions, staring at each other with such fierce expressions that it would have been almost comical if it weren't for the palpable tension crackling in the air.
Marrowkai, his skeletal form encased in a clear spherical prison, let out a low, guttural grunt, his red pinprick eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. The sound was like the scraping of bone against stone, sending a shiver through the room. His gaze remained locked on Atreyos, and his unblinking stare seemed to dare the youngest royal to make the first move.
But Atreyos, still as stone, jaw clenched tight, arms folded across his chest, wasn't backing down. His own eyes were steely, his posture rigid with defiance. The standoff stretched on, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife, neither willing to give the other the satisfaction of breaking first.
King Zarek, meanwhile, sat slouched against the farthest wall of the chamber, an imposing figure cast in silence. His posture, hunched and defeated, spoke volumes, as if the weight of a thousand regrets had settled heavily upon him. His crown, once a symbol of authority and power, now sat crookedly atop his head, casting a shadow that obscured his eyes. His gaze remained fixed downward, distant and unfocused, as his fingers traced the intricate patterns of his gold cane absentmindedly, as though seeking some comfort in its smooth surface. Whatever thoughts consumed him, they remained locked behind a mask of unreadable emotion, perhaps regret, or guilt, or simply the exhaustion that came from ruling for far too long and making far too many mistakes. The years had drained him, and now, it seemed, there was nothing left but the cold, oppressive silence that wrapped around him like a shroud.
On the opposite side of the chamber, Xiphos appeared the picture of misery, leaning wearily against the wall as though the weight of the world had settled onto his shoulders. His cape, once regal and flowing, now lay crumpled beneath him, a faint symbol of the disarray in his mind. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and his eyes glazed over with an almost palpable boredom, drifting lazily across the ceiling as though he could escape into the shadows above. The weight of the situation seemed lost on him, as though the very concept of being trapped in this iron chamber had no bearing on his mood.
Beside him, Kytchu was the complete opposite, as she is animated and full of energy. She stood with her hands gesturing wildly, her voice rising and falling in rhythm as she launched into what could only be described as the fifth retelling of the Rebellion that had sparked the Second Conquest. Her tone was firm, authoritative, and almost teacher-like, filled with a fire that came from deep within her. Clearly, she took her self-appointed role as a "reluctant history tutor" far too seriously, delivering each word with the same fervor and passion she might reserve for a battle.
"...and that is why Fort of Veritas fell within only four days," Kytchu continued, her voice unwavering as she paced back and forth. "Because Father, despite Uncle Zilaros' warnings, refused to properly reinforce the western flank, which was exactly what Enemy General Asura exploited. Honestly, Xiphos, if you'd just listened to your tutors back then, you'd remember this."
Her words, though filled with passion and sharp details, flew right over Xiphos's head. He remained completely detached, his gaze still locked on the ceiling, his mouth slightly agape in a state of complete disinterest. Occasionally, he would grunt or nod, a lazy attempt to feign attention, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
"—and that led directly to the reclaiming of Fort of Veritas, which, Wait are you even listening to me?" Kytchu snapped, her frustration creeping into her voice.
Xiphos blinked, his expression still blank, and muttered, "Yes. Treaties. War. Veritas," his words coming out in a mechanical, rote fashion, as though he had just picked the most generic responses he could muster.
Kytchu's eyes narrowed with disbelief. "That's not even close to the summary," she said, her voice edged with exasperation.
But Xiphos, still in a daze, continued to stare blankly ahead, his mind clearly adrift. Kytchu huffed in frustration, flipping one of her black haired braids over her shoulder in an exaggerated gesture before sighing and pushing onward with her lecture. She was too caught up in the intricacies of history to stop now, determined to press on despite Xiphos's clear disinterest. And so, with a small shake of her head, she continued, undeterred by Xiphos's lack of attention.
Back near the center of the chamber, a long, tense silence stretched between Marrowkai and Atreyos. It was then, after what felt like an eternity, that Marrowkai blinked, just once, but it was enough to break the stillness. He muttered something low under his breath, a remark meant to be heard only by himself, but the words slipped into the charged air all the same.
"This is what I'm stuck with," he muttered darkly, his skeletal frame unmoving inside the clear spherical prison. "A guaranteed heir of the Order Empire with the patience of a goat, and a dramatic whiner who fears bowel emergencies."
Icaron, still sprawled out dramatically across the cold iron floor, suddenly shot upright, his golden eyes widening with mock indignation. "I heard that," he declared with a flourish, as though he had been wounded by the very words themselves.
Marrowkai's glowing red eyes narrowed, the faint light within them flickering like embers in the dark. "Good," he replied flatly, his voice cold and unfeeling, every syllable carrying the weight of a thousand years of undead bitterness.
Thera, who had been listening with a bemused grin, couldn't contain her laughter. It bubbled up unexpectedly, clear and genuine, filling the otherwise tense atmosphere. She was more entertained than irritated by the exchange, her laughter ringing out like a bright spark in the heavy gloom of the chamber. The absurdity of the moment, the bizarre mix of personalities locked together in this iron chamber, somehow lifted the weight of their situation, even if only for a moment.
Despite the heavy questions that hung in the air,the uncertainty of their predicament, the eerie silence that had settled around them, and the oppressive metal walls closing in, this brief moment of mundane chaos was oddly comforting. In the midst of it all, they had managed to hold onto a semblance of normalcy, however strange it might have seemed.
Even if they were trapped here, the absurdity of it all was a reminder that... they hadn't completely lost their humanity.
Well, almost all of them.
Marrowkai, of course, was another story. His hollow, skeletal form, his unnervingly calm demeanor, and the faint glow of his undead eyes made it clear that his connection to humanity was, at best, tenuous. But for now, even the dead had to tolerate the living, as much as it seemed to grate against Marrowkai's bones.
Yet.
Suddenly, the chamber's dim lighting flickered once, then twice,before the oversized crystal ball at the center blazed to life again, humming with a low, resonant vibration. Its once-dormant surface shimmered like rippling water infused with moonlight, tendrils of magical energy spiraling across it as though the artifact were awakening for a second round.
Every head in the chamber snapped toward it instinctively.
Marrowkai, still perched inside his translucent spherical prison, lifted his skull with a faint creak of bone on bone. His hollow eye sockets narrowed, crimson pinpricks brightening with renewed interest.
"Oh?" he murmured, the sound echoing softly within the confines of his enclosure. "So it begins once more."
Across the room, Xiphos reacted with comical speed, launching upright as if propelled by divine intervention. The light reflecting off the crystal ball was all the excuse he needed to break free from Kytchu's relentless historical monologue.
"Thank the gods," he muttered, already halfway across the room with far more energy than he'd shown all day.
Kytchu's eyes narrowed into immediate suspicion. "You're not getting away that easily," she warned, brushing dust from her knees as she rose. Her voice was sharp, but she followed him all the same, if only to ensure he didn't slip out of earshot of her next lesson.
From the opposite wall, Shade turned sharply. She had been tracing her fingers along the iron panels, searching meticulously for seams, hinges, or even the faintest sign of an exit. The sudden flare of light made her pause mid-movement, her expression sharpening with curiosity. She moved toward the others in silence, footsteps tapping lightly against the floor.
Thera rose more slowly, always composed, smoothing the wrinkles and dust from her robes with deliberate motions. Her gaze remained calm but attentive as she approached, reading the room with quiet intuition.
Atreyos didn't move at first. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, he stood rigidly by the wall, still simmering from his earlier standoff with Marrowkai. His eyes flicked between the glowing crystal ball and the undead skeleton with an intensity that suggested he wasn't entirely finished with their silent duel.
In the farthest corner, King Zarek finally stirred. He didn't rise, nor did he speak, but he lifted his head just enough for the renewed light to reveal the weary lines carved into his face. He watched, silent and grave, but made no move to join the gathering knot of figures.
Then, without warning, glowing runes began to carve themselves across the crystal ball's surface, each symbol forming with a soft, melodic chime. The letters swirled, rearranged, brightened, and finally locked into place, shining like molten gold.
"Question and Answer session now open.
Please present your inquiry."
Xiphos, unable to restrain the pent-up irritation that had been simmering inside him ever since Kytchu began her fifth history lecture, stepped forward with all the subtlety of a charging bull.
"Who are you!?" he barked at the crystal ball, voice echoing off the metal walls. It was the shout of someone who had absolutely zero patience left.
The glowing script rippled, shimmered, then rearranged itself with brisk finality:
"Question denied. Please choose another."
Xiphos's face contorted. "Tch, fine then!" he snapped, throwing his arms skyward as if appealing to every divine being who might be listening. "Why are we here?"
For a heartbeat, the runes hovered.
Then the letters turned a clear, unmistakable shade of red, like a teacher marking a spectacular failure.
"Question denied."
A heavy, almost offended silence followed. Even the hum of the crystal seemed to quiet in disappointment.
Xiphos stared in disbelief. "Seriously!? What kind of question and answer session denies questions?"
From inside his spherical prison, Marrowkai leaned back with all the exasperated posture of someone who had seen Year's worth of incompetence. His skeletal arms folded across his ribcage as he released a hollow, rattling chuckle.
"You're not very good at this, are you?" he said, voice dripping with dry amusement.
Shade stepped forward next, her eyes narrowed, calculating. She studied the runes the way a hunter studies tracks—searching for structure, pattern, hidden meaning.
"There must be parameters," she murmured, half to herself. "Conditions for what it considers a valid question. Either that, or this entire 'answer and question session' is deception. A filter. A Stalling Tactic."
Kytchu folded her arms tightly, shoulders rigid with suspicion. "Or It's bait," she declared. "Like it's offering us the illusion of control just to see who grabs at it and how."
Thera, thoughtful as ever, traced her fingers lightly along her chin. "Or perhaps…" she whispered, "the right question opens the next path forward. Something precise. Something it's waiting for."
The iron chamber sank into a tense quiet, the magic from the orb dancing across the iron walls in restless arcs of shimmering light. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, each absorbed in their own interpretations.
Then Atreyos, who had been silent for far too long, jaw clenched tight, finally spoke. His voice cut through the atmosphere like a blade.
"Then maybe we need to start asking questions it wants to answer."
The crystal ball continued its steady pulse, the soft glow washing over the iron chamber like a heartbeat. Icaron, still half-slumped across the cold floor, let out an exhausted groan before throwing his hands up dramatically.
"Are you gonna starve us to death here?" he demanded, half jesting, half serious, fully over everything.
The runes responded immediately, etching themselves with precision:
"Negative."
Icaron blinked. Then blinked again. He actually sat up straighter.
"Well, good! We got Progress then! So… when do we get food? Proper meals? And while we're at it, actual toiletries? A latrine fit for royalty?"
A pause followed—long enough for a flicker of hope to spark in his eyes.
Then the crystal's glow dimmed, shifting into a cold, indifferent blue. The runes reshaped into an unmistakably final response:
"Negative."
Icaron stared, confused. "What do you mean, negative?!"
His voice cannoned off the metal walls, prompting several heads to turn his way.
Shade then stepped forward, expression sharp, tone precise.
"Clarify," she demanded. "Why are we denied those basic needs?"
A deeper hum resonated from the crystal, vibrating subtly through the floor. When it answered, its voice-like runes carried the same detached neutrality as before:
"In this very chamber, your bodies do not require sustenance.
Defecation and urination are suspended.
All bodily needs have been neutralized for the sake of convenience."
Silence fell, heavy, absolute.
Xiphos, who had been inwardly celebrating his escape from Kytchu's intense tutoring, slowly blinked as the words sank in.
"…Wait. We're… what? Not allowed to eat or Excretion?"
Thera let out a small cough, bringing a hand delicately to her mouth as she fought off a laugh threatening to escape.
"It's not that we're not allowed, dear brother," she corrected gently. "It's that we physically can't. Our bodily needs have been… suppressed to put it in simpler terms."
She paused, searching for a more dignified word, then sighed.
"And in a very specific and very unsettling way too."
Kytchu, ever the pragmatist, even when her patience frayed, gave a thoughtful nod as she absorbed the crystal's explanation.
"Suspended bodily function," she mused aloud. "Some kind of temporal stasis field, possibly Magical means, ingenious… in a horrifying, morally questionable way."
Icaron stared at the crystal as if it had personally offended him. His expression twisted somewhere between disbelief and despair.
"So what you're saying is…" He gestured vaguely to his stomach, to the ceiling, to the personal existential crisis in front of him. "I'm going to feel eternally hungry but never actually be hungry? Stuck like this? In this accursed iron chamber? For who knows how long?!"
Marrowkai, lounging inside his transparent spherical prison with all the grace of a smug corpse, tilted his skull in a way that could only be described as mocking.
"Welcome to the experience," he said dryly. "I've been like this longer than all of you combined. No food. No thirst. No comfort." His glowing red eyes narrowed with something that might have been relish. "Only endless, glorious boredom and hate, Lots of It."
Icaron crossed his arms tightly, muttering under his breath, "No wonder you're so bitter…"
From the far corner, King Zarek let out a sound, a short, low grunt. It was unclear whether it was a scoff, a tired agreement, or the king briefly remembering he was alive. But he didn't lift his head, and he didn't speak.
The oversized crystal ball continued to hover silently above its pedestal, its cold light washing over all of them. Its runes had stopped shifting, but its presence remained oppressive, ever-watching and ever-listening.
Then Shade stepped forward, her expression resolute, as though she were about to inquire about something, as her gaze never wavered from the crystal ball, a quiet storm of determination behind her eyes. She opened her mouth, ready to inquire about the something that's bothering her in her mind.
But as she is about to speak, the oversized crystal ball flared to life once more. The soft hum intensified, and the light swelled, almost as if the crystal had heard her thoughts and decided it had waited long enough.
In a flash, glowing runes began to etch themselves across the crystal's surface, the words appearing in rapid succession, as crisp and final as an executioner's sentence:
"Time's up. The question and answer session has ended. Preparing for the next showing."
The words blinked and vanished, leaving the iron chamber with an unnerving quiet. The sudden transition felt like a hard cut in a story, leaving the tension hanging in the air, unresolved and unfinished.
Shade froze, her hand still outstretched, the question she'd intended to ask now silent on her lips. While a low growl of frustration escaped from Xiphos, who had been too distracted by his own thoughts to notice Shade's near-interruption.
"Seriously? " he muttered, throwing his hands up in disbelief. "We can't even ask as many questions as we want from that oversized ball? "
Meanwhile, Thera's gaze flicked to the crystal, her expression unreadable. "It seems we've overstayed our welcome. For now."
Marrowkai, ever the observer, gave a hollow chuckle from his spherical prison. "Well, at least I have the pleasure of knowing that your statuses don't matter here, just like in… other places."
Shade, on the other hand, stepped back, her eyes narrowed with growing suspicion. She was silent, but her body language spoke volumes, as she knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.