The stars had always been Schneizal's refuge. As a boy, he would climb onto the splintering roof of the orphanage, escaping the teasing voices and cruel laughter of the other children. The bruises on his arms would sting, and the cuts on his knees would throb, but he ignored the pain. High above, the stars shimmered like a sea of lanterns—untouchable, yet constant. There, beneath the endless night, he would dream.
One day, I'll be a knight, he told himself. A real knight. Not clumsy, not weak. He imagined himself clad in shining armor, standing tall with a sword so massive the world would tremble at its weight. A protector of the weak, a defender of justice. He'd stand between those who couldn't fight and the ones who sought to hurt them. No one would ever push him down again.
The wind howled softly through the night as Schneizel stretched out his hand, fingers splayed as though to grasp a piece of the sky. The stars didn't answer, but they were listening. He was sure of it.
The dream shattered with a jolt.
Schneizal's eyes snapped open to the cold reality of chains rattling and metal groaning. He sat upright, heart pounding, as the damp, oppressive air of the prison cell settled over him. The world was dim here, a harsh contrast to the brightness of his memories. Around him, the others stirred—Youth sat slouched in one corner, his crimson eye dim beneath his battered form. Sequana sat cross-legged, silent, her gaze distant.
Vriede muttered curses under her breath while Clarence traced idle patterns into the dust on the floor. Algos and Gondikas leaned against the far wall, their expressions unreadable.
They were all here, stripped of their armor, weapons, and pride.
Schneizal exhaled slowly, forcing his hands to unclench. His palms ached, his fingernails having bitten into his skin. He had dreamt of the stars again, of promises whispered to himself long ago. But now those dreams mocked him.
He was no knight. Not here. Not like this.
"You alright, Schneizal?"
The voice broke his spiraling thoughts.
Schneizal turned slightly to see Sequana watching him, her violet eyes searching his face. She had always been observant, a little too much for his liking.
"I'm fine" Schneizal muttered, looking away.
"You don't look fine."
He didn't respond. Instead, he let his gaze drift across the room. The cell was massive, built to hold dangerous men—or, in their case, dangerous pawns. The faint sound of ocean waves echoed beyond the iron walls.
Wherever they were, it was far from land. Far from escape.
"You were muttering in your sleep again," Sequana said quietly, as if trying not to stir the others. "Something about knights."
Schneizal's jaw tightened.
"Does it matter?"
"To me, it does."
The words stung more than they should have. Schneizal looked at her sharply, ready to push back, but her face held no judgment—only curiosity.
He sighed, slumping back against the wall. The cold stone pressed against his back, as uncomfortable as the memories bubbling to the surface.
"I used to dream about being a knight," he finally admitted, his voice low.
"Back when I was a kid. I'd tell myself that one day I'd be strong enough to protect people. That I'd stand up for the ones who couldn't fight back."
He paused, the words catching in his throat.
"But I couldn't even stand up for myself."
Sequana tilted her head slightly.
"You're stronger now, though."
"have i?" Schneizal's laugh was bitter.
"Cristianos swatted us down like flies. I couldn't even touch him. I—" He stopped, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
The room fell silent again, save for the quiet sounds of breathing and the faint clang of chains against the walls. Across the cell, Youth stirred.
"Strength isn't just about winning fights," Sequana said softly.
"You know that, right?"
Schneizal looked at her, startled by her words. She held his gaze firmly, refusing to let him turn away.
"You're not the same boy who sat alone and watched the stars. You've fought for us. For yourself. And you'll fight again."
The conviction in her voice unsettled him, but it also settled something deep in his chest. For the first time since the battle with Cristianos, Schneizal felt like he could breathe.
The sound of boots echoed from outside the cell, snapping everyone to attention. Schneizal's muscles tensed as heavy footsteps approached. A shadow appeared at the cell door before the iron locks groaned and clattered open.
Two Marines stepped in, rifles slung at their sides. Behind them, Cristianos' cold, calculating voice cut through the silence.
"Up. All of you."