The chains bit into their wrists, iron biting flesh, cold and unyielding. Back-to-back, pressed together in the damp stone cell, they were tethered not just by metal but by circumstance, circumstance that seemed endless. Lucia counted neither hours nor days anymore. Time had bled together in an unbroken monotony of silence, the only sound the occasional drip of water echoing from the ceiling.
Orion, as usual, refused to stop trying.
"Hey," he murmured one day, his voice soft but steady, "you awake over there?"
She didn't answer. She didn't have to. Her golden eyes remained fixed on the far wall, flicking to shadows cast by the single barred door only when her mind demanded awareness.
"C'mon, Castella," he said after a pause. "I know you're listening. Don't play dead on me. Not now."
She didn't move. Not a flinch. Not a word. Only her heartbeat betrayed her attention.
Orion sighed, a sound of equal parts frustration and resignation. He leaned back as much as the chains allowed, pressing his shoulder slightly against hers, their bodies still bound in intimate proximity. "Alright… I'll talk then. If you won't."
Lucia's mind registered the words but refused engagement. Still, she listened. That was enough for now.
He inhaled, shaky at first, then steadied. "I… I didn't always want the army, you know? My family, they… they expected me to go to college. Be some kind of perfect kid. Make them proud. And I did, at first. I finished early, straight A's, honors… the whole thing. But… it wasn't my life. My life wasn't in books, it wasn't in lectures. It was out there… somewhere else."
She felt the faintest shift as he spoke, the warmth of his body brushing against hers a reminder of proximity that the chains forced. She remained silent, her jaw tight, absorbing every word without comment.
"I decided… after that, I'd follow my own dreams. I joined the army," he said, voice softening, almost like he was admitting a secret he'd kept from himself until now. "Not for medals. Not for ranks. I wanted… purpose. Action. A reason to wake up every day without feeling like I was just living someone else's life."
A pause. His breathing was steady now, a rhythm that matched hers in subtle synchrony. He exhaled a shaky laugh. "You probably think that's pathetic, right? Going from top of the class to… this. Chained up like a couple of idiots in a damp cell."
Lucia turned her head just slightly. Only enough to catch the faint green of his eyes in the dim light. She didn't respond, didn't smile, didn't offer reassurance. But something tightened in her chest, a flutter of acknowledgment.
"You don't have to talk back," he continued, softly, almost a whisper now. "I just… I needed someone to hear it. Someone who knows what it's like. Someone who doesn't judge."
Her fingers flexed in the chains. She felt the pressure of his presence against her back, the shared struggle. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, she didn't fight the closeness. She let him speak, let him unburden, even if she didn't speak.
"I didn't expect to meet someone like you, Castella," he said quietly, as if he were confessing to the cell itself. "Someone… who makes me actually want to survive this hell. Someone who keeps me sharp… and maybe sane."
Lucia's gaze flickered, uncharacteristically, toward his side. She felt the heat of his words in a place that had been numb. She didn't reply — she didn't need to. Her silence was her shield, but her mind cataloged every syllable. Every small confession, every quiver in his voice, every moment he allowed vulnerability.
The dampness of the cell pressed in around them. The chains clinked softly with every slight movement, a constant reminder of their captivity. Yet in that silence, punctuated by Orion's tentative words, something fragile began to settle; a thread of understanding, a shared presence that neither chains nor darkness could erase.
Lucia exhaled softly, her voice low, almost tired. "You… want to hear about me?" she asked. The words themselves were strange, unfamiliar to her own ears. Silence had been her armor for so long, and yet now, pressed back-to-back with Orion in this cold, oppressive cell, she felt the urge to speak — to let some of herself breathe.
Orion's green eyes turned toward her, cautious yet encouraging. "Yeah. If you want to. I'd like that."
She nodded faintly, drawing in a shaky breath. "I… my mother worked at the Turkish Embassy. She was a diplomat. And my father… my father was American. A soldier assigned to protect the embassy. That's how they met. In the middle of protocol, drills, formalities… and somehow, love grew between them."
Her voice softened further, almost a whisper. "They married not long after, and I was born. From the very beginning, I was… different. My mind… it worked in ways that made learning languages effortless. I could pick up new words, new sounds, and soon I was speaking fluently things that would take most years to master. Books were… my refuge. Literature, novels… I devoured them, analyzed them. Characters, plots… I saw patterns where others saw only words."
Orion stayed silent, listening intently. The faint brush of his shoulder against hers was grounding, a reminder that her words weren't falling into emptiness.
She closed her eyes briefly, memories pressing against her. "My teenage years… weren't easy. In my senior year of high school, my father left on a mission. Six months later… he was declared MIA. Gone. Just like that." Her jaw tightened, the words hard to push past her throat. "It… it was devastating. But I refused to let it break me. I channeled it into… achievement. I went to a prestigious university, majored in literature and finished my degree a year early."
Her golden eyes flickered to Orion's side, the dim light catching in them. "And then… I joined the army. Half because I had student loans I couldn't otherwise pay. Half… because I wanted to honor him. My father."
There was a pause. Her fingers flexed slightly in the chains, brushing against his arm. "That's… all I'm willing to share. For now."
Orion let the silence stretch, letting her words sink in. His own chest rose and fell, keeping time with hers in quiet solidarity. "Lucia," he said finally, voice low, careful, "thank you. That… that means a lot. I get why you don't talk much. I get it. We all have reasons."
She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes and let the weight of their shared vulnerability settle. They were still captives, still chained, still surrounded by cold stone and oppressive darkness. But for the first time in days, perhaps weeks, there was a thread of connection between them; fragile, tentative, but real.
Orion shifted slightly, cautious, respectful. "You're… incredible," he murmured. "I don't say that lightly. Not just what you can do… but who you are. Everything you've been through… and you're still standing. Still fighting."
Her shoulders relaxed fractionally, the faintest acknowledgment passing through her. She didn't reply, but the pressure of her body against his back, slight as it was, conveyed more than words could.
For a long moment, they remained like that: back-to-back, breathing in unison, anchored by the faint warmth of human presence amid the cold isolation. And in that quiet, fragile intimacy, both of them found a small measure of strength.
Lucia's thoughts drifted briefly to the future; to plans for escape, for survival. Yet beneath the discipline and strategy, beneath the calculated calm, something else stirred: a recognition of the value of trust, of sharing pieces of oneself even in captivity.
It was dangerous. It was frightening. And yet… it felt like hope.
They sat in silence, back-to-back, hands occasionally brushing against each other as if testing the fragile boundary between proximity and comfort. The cell smelled of damp stone and sweat, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Time had lost meaning.
Then, abruptly, the door swung open. The sound echoed through the cell like a gunshot, and both of them jumped, chains rattling.
The enemy lieutenant stepped inside, grinning with cruel satisfaction. "Hope you enjoyed your off days," he said, voice low and mocking. "You'll meet someone you wish you wouldn't."
He gestured with a sharp tilt of his chin. A soldier stepped forward, yanking the chains so that Lucia and Orion were pushed upright, then loosened the chains and moved to sit them side by side. They stumbled, arms scraping against cold stone, chains clinking with every shift, but neither spoke. They sat rigid, muscles coiled, eyes alert.
From the shadows, a figure stepped forward. Tall, muscular, his presence immediately commanding. Gray hair fell slightly over a face both familiar and foreign. Amber eyes, sharp and piercing, scanned the cell like he could see straight through them. A scar ran from beneath his left eye down to under his chin, jagged and telling of a past battle.
Lucia's body froze. Her breath caught. Every muscle, every instinct, screamed at her.
The world tilted. The memories she had buried deep rose in a violent surge.
The amber eyes met hers. Recognition flashed; slow, steady, undeniable. Silence filled the room, thicker than any walls, heavier than any chain.
Lucia's hands clenched the iron cuffs, her mind racing, heart hammering. The man in front of her — the one she never expected to see again — was here. In this cell. With her.
Orion's green eyes shifted between her and the man, sensing the storm behind her golden gaze but saying nothing. He simply stayed close, ready, silently acknowledging that whatever came next, they would face it together.
And for that moment, in the dim light of the windowless cell, past and present collided. The past she had tried to outrun, the present of their captivity, and the fragile hope of survival intertwined.
Lucia's lips parted, ready to speak again, but no words came. Only the echo of one single, fragile word lingered in the heavy air.
"Dad?"