Outside the cellblock and at the heart of the tower was a death trap waiting to happen. Only a narrow railing stood between someone and a 200-foot plunge to the ground below. One wrong move, and they'd burst on impact like overripe fruit. Orian had once heard stories of death row inmates who'd leapt to their deaths rather than face the humiliation of a public hanging.
He wasn't going to pretend he didn't understand why they would do it. Dying by your own means felt a lot more freeing than dying under the hands of someone else.
Especially since this kingdom loved to make spectacles out of people's deaths like circus shows. A mocking voice whistled in the back of his head.
'Come on down! Come on down! Here at the largest plaza in Leoline Kingdom, you can witness a once in a lifetime event — the hanging of Orion Tarnwell! Get your popcorn and settle in your seats, this is going to be a bumpy ride!'
Ironically, a shadow that almost resembled a hanging corpse swung back and forth overhead.
The tower's pendulum moved in a slow, hypnotic arc, its heavy whoosh reverberating in his ears. Gears clicked inside the walls and behind the winding pathways spiraling up and down the tower. Even though there were only
three floors for the entire dungeon, the clocktower was gigantic. Orion remembered how winded he was the first day he arrived and had to climb up all the stairs.
The elevator was off limits. Well, not for knights and nobility, they had the privilege of using it whenever they wanted. Criminals were forced to bear the long trek up the column of the tower with blistered heels and quivering thighs.
"Where are we going?"
The knight ignored Orion and tightened his grip, fingers digging hard enough to threaten large fingershaped bruises. He dragged him forward.
"You'll find out when you get there, Rustrat, so keep your mouth shut."
Fury coiled in Orion's throat. But all the insults he wanted to hurl were left forgotten when they started to walk down a short staircase inside the center, then around a corner to face a barren wood door. The only thing special about it was the ornate gold doorknob.
The middle aged man from before said nothing as he opened the door and dismissed the knights.
Orion cursed when he was thrown inside the room, his knees banging against the floor as his hands shot out to catch himself. His hands itched to claw up from the ground and wrap around their throats, to maybe see what they'd say if he shoved them over the railing ledge just behind them.
'Those revolting, tyrannical pricks—'
"You may leave. Thank you for your service."
Nodding at the man, the soldiers shot Orion one final glare before stomping off, shutting the door behind them.
'Where the hell am I now?'
The room was so much different compared to his cell. His feet fell on plush carpet, warm lamps were nestled in the corners of the room, and a couple of bland artistic paintings sat crookedly on the stone walls. For a moment, it looked like a room that belonged in any ordinary home — until the truth became blindingly obvious.
The plush rug was stained, the walls had scuff marks, and the table was chipped as if someone was tied to it once. Orion felt his entire body tense. This room was most likely used as an interrogation room, and in a place like this, bad things always followed.
Luckily for him, Orion wasn't placed in chains. He wasn't stupid enough to ask why. Hopefully they would forget he needed chains and never put them on again. He rubbed at his wrists and glanced at the door. It wasn't locked, but the knights on the other side were most likely keeping watch. Bolting would be condemning himself to death.
The man sat down at the table and crossed his legs, resting his cane against his thigh. He motioned at the chair across.
"Sit down."
"And what if I don't?"
"If sitting on the floor gives you a sense of control, by all means, stay there. Whatever makes this conversation go by more smoothly."
Orion clenched his teeth. Sitting on the floor had been a silent act of defiance, but even he knew it was pointless. It wasn't like he could go anywhere. With a sharp breath, he stood and moved to the chair. His fingernails dug into his palms when he let them ball in his lap.
The man across from him said nothing. Just sat there, calm and composed, as if time belonged to him.
The silence stretched.
'Damn it! If he isn't going to talk, then I'm going to need to pry out the answers myself.'
Breaking the silence, Orion glared sharply. "Did my father send you?"
The man raised an eyebrow. He didn't look shocked, but it was obvious he didn't expect Orion to bring up his father. "Duke Tarnwell may order nobility around, but not me. In fact, we both know he would be the first man to tell me to let you rot."
'He isn't wrong. That old man hates me.'
Orion pushed the thought away and focused on the conversation at hand. This guy… if he wasn't nobility and he couldn't be ordered around by a Duke, then what was he? Running his thumb over the table's splintered edge, his eyes narrowed.
"Then who are you?"
The question rang out, sharp and sudden, and for a moment, everything seemed to pause. The man's lip twitched into a crooked little smile — so brief, Orion almost missed it.
"Silas Flintgarde."
Orion frowned.
"Silas Flintgarde? But isn't that…"
Realization slammed into him like a speeding train. The questions he wanted to ask were stolen from his lips.
His heart lurched to his throat. He jerked away from the table, the chair toppling behind him with a clatter as he staggered back, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"Y-You're Silas Flintgarde, a Mystic!"
"Yes, I am."
Silas' gold eyes gleamed with faint amusement. It was the closest he came to laughing. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the tiger-shaped pommel of his cane and shrugged, a lock of dark hair slipping across his brow.
Orion didn't know much about Silas. Only that he was blessed by the God of Death, Selu, and that he was one of the oldest Mystics alive. No one knew how old he truly was. It felt like he'd simply always been there. It finally made sense why he looked no older than his late thirties but had so much influence. Mystics were revered by not just the public and nobility, but also royalty.
'No wonder he said my father didn't send him. He has no control over him.'
The way the knights acted finally clicked in his mind.
No ordinary person could just walk into the Clocktower — but somehow this polished stranger had, and the knights hadn't even looked at him. They didn't mock him because he wasn't a noble, they wouldn't dare. Orion knew the stories well enough: Mystics were volatile, walking, ticking magical timebombs that obliterated anyone foolish enough to cross them. One wrong move, one slight disrespect, and they detonated without mercy.
At least, that was what he always heard.
'Control yourself, Orion. Don't let fear control you, you know better.'
"… why is a Mystic here to see me?"
"Believe me, this wasn't my first choice either. But my visions were leaving me with terrible migraines, so I decided to listen to them for once."
'He had visions about me? Why?'
'Did the god of Death send him to kill me?
"Stop pissing yourself, I'm not here to kill you. I would have sent someone to do the dirty work for me if I was planning something like that," Silas waved his hand dismissively. "Pick up your chair and sit. Don't you want to know why I'm here?"
Orion wasn't so sure he did want to know. He had a gut feeling that whatever this guy said, his entire life would change forever. No one got through a Mystic interaction unscathed unless they had zero interest in them — and this guy was here purposefully just to see him.
When he didn't sit down right away, Silas sighed. He reached into the inside pocket and brought out an oddly shaped item, then placed it on the center of the table. Orion blinked.
"That's…a rock?"
'Thank goodness. I thought he was going to pull a pistol out on me.'
"It's an unpolished gem. I want you to hold it."
"What does it do?"
"It glows — when it likes a specific person."
Orion squinted, unsure if he'd heard correctly. How could a rock like someone? It didn't seem magical in the slightest. About the size of a baseball, it looked more like a forgotten river stone than anything special. Whatever this thing was, it didn't match anything he had ever heard of before.
"…And what are you going to do if it decides to glow?"
Silas frowned. "Stop babbling and touch it."
"I will if you start giving me answers."
Silas didn't respond, just looked increasingly bored. Orion had heard rumors that the successors of the God of Death were odd people, but this guy was something else. He was in constant whiplash. One moment he was amused, then the next, ice-cold. He couldn't figure him out, and that bothered him more than he liked to admit.
Orion glanced between the rock and those unreadable golden eyes. Silas wasn't going to tell him anything unless he touched the rock, that much was clear.
'Following along might give me an opening.'
Orion knew that if there was ever a chance he could escape the Clocktower, it would be now, the rare time he was let out from his cell. He knew it was stupid to test a Mystic with knights outside… but the looking threat of the gallows made him reckless.
"…fine, but if this thing kills me, I'm haunting your ass."
Silas scoffed.
Orion pushed past the uneasy twist in his gut and reached across the table, picking up the stone. It felt exactly how it looked — cool to the touch, mostly smooth but with a few jagged edges, and dull. Just a rock. He glanced up at Silas, unimpressed.
"It did nothing."
"Give it a second."
"What? Is the little rock trying to make up his mind or something—"
The gem exploded in a burst of red light. The image of it glowing instead became a bomb, nearing blinding Orion. He immediately clenched his eyes shut.
A scorching heat spread through his veins and climbed up his bones, igniting every nerve ending in his head. Behind closed eyelids, red static danced while accompanied by the sharp, relentless ticking of a clock reverberating inside his skull.
His palm started to burn and he gritted his teeth. Blood dripped to the table. Warning bells started to blare in his head.
'I need to let go!'
'If I don't let go, it's going to melt my skin off!'
A chair squealed and suddenly a cold hand clasped around Orion's, forcing him to keep hold of the rock. When he opened his eyes, a pair of calculating gold eyes peered at him through the streams of colorful red light.
"Dont let go. Let go of it now and you might just get your hand blasted off."
'What?!'
Orion's cheeks drained of color. Of course, this only caused him to grip the stone tighter, terrified it'll explode and then turn his hand into paste on the table. A burnt hand was more useful than a missing one and if he wanted to escape this hellhole, he preferred both of his hands. Silas slowly let go when he knew he wouldn't let go of it, even as the rock sent bolts of weird energy up his arm. His veins were starting to glow red.
"Close your eyes, Orion. Feel what it's trying to show you."
'I don't give a flying shit what if what it wants to show me!'
He didn't want to close his eyes and feel. He just wanted to get back to his cell, lie down, and pretend none of this ever happened. He hated the clocktower, but at least it was familiar—the cells, the food, the people. It was his version of home. And now, this fancy prick was making it feel even more unbearable.
But for some reason, he found himself listening instead.
Orion closed his eyes and felt. At first there was nothing except the searing pain in his hand and the weird tingles up his arm, but then he heard it. A voice. It was small but he heard it.
At first it was nothing more than a little tickle on his brain, but then it became louder. Murmurs became syllables and syllables became words. The pain in his hand drifted off into nothing and before he could focus on what was happening, he was suspended in a red void of sparkling stars and water. The floor reflected the starry red sky that whirled with constellations, galaxies, and dying stars.
He blinked and looked at his hand. The gem was gone and Silas was nowhere to be seen.
The voice was gone and eerie silence followed. Water rippled underneath his feet when he walked forward, looking around the endless expanse. His reflection in the water was blurry and red — as if he was the product of an unfocused camera lens.
His heart started to pound and sweat slicked down his palms.
"Where… am I?"