THE AETHELGARD PRISON-DAWN
The torchlight wavered as it traveled across the stone, stretching and shrinking along the walls with each quiet movement of air. The floor beneath the guards' boots gave off a muted thud, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the depth of the corridor.
Water clung to the seams between the tiles, cool against the skin where it had spread thin, and the iron grates set high above caught the light only for a moment before sinking back into shadow.
A chain shifted somewhere ahead, metal brushing against metal with a slow, deliberate scrape. The sound carried farther than it should have, echoing down the branching passageways before fading. One of the guards adjusted his grip on the spear at his side, fingers tightening around the shaft as he glanced toward the descending stairs.
The air pressed close, heavy with smoke and damp stone, settling into the lungs with every breath. At the edge of the light, a figure remained still behind the bars, posture unchanged as the footsteps passed.
The torch flame traced the outline of iron links and the rough surface of the wall, briefly illuminating a face before moving on. When the corridor returned to dimness, only the steady drip of water and the faint sway of hanging chains remained, marking the slow passage of time deep within the prison.
A boy's stomach growled, the sound sharp in the quiet cell. He let out a small groan and turned slightly on the prison bed, the thin surface cold beneath him. His hand pressed against his abdomen without thinking, fingers curling slightly as the feeling refused to settle.
"I'm so… hungry." The words left him softly, uneven, his breath catching partway through.
His hand slid behind his head as he stared up at the stone ceiling, eyes tracing the cracks he had already memorized. "Five days… all for one hundred gelts." His voice came out dry, disbelief lingering as his jaw tightened.
It's not even enough for a loaf of bread and water. The thought stayed with him as his breathing slowed.
"When am I going to leave this place…"
At the entrance, two guards remained in place with their spears held upright, boots planted against the stone. From the darker stretch of the corridor, another figure moved forward, his steps measured as he entered the torchlight.
"It's time to rotate our post." His voice was even, carrying just far enough to reach them as his gaze passed over their stance.
One of the soldiers gave a brief nod, the motion small, then turned and started down the corridor, his footsteps fading as he passed beyond the torchlight. He had only gone a few steps when a scream tore through the passage, sharp and sudden, cutting off just as abruptly as it began.
Both remaining guards stiffened. Spears snapped into position, iron tips lifting as their grips tightened. One of them leaned forward, eyes fixed on the darkness ahead.
"Who's there!" His voice rose hard into the corridor, the sound echoing back with no answer.
The boy pushed himself off the bed, feet settling on the cold stone as he moved to the bars. His fingers closed around the iron, grip firm as he leaned forward to peer toward the corner where the corridor bent out of sight.
What's happening… his thoughts lingered uneasily as the torchlight flickered beyond his view, his breathing slowing while he waited for something—anything—to move.
A sharp sound cut through the corridor. One of the guards jerked, a strained groan breaking from him as his body collapsed against the stone. His spear struck the floor and rolled, the noise ringing briefly before stopping.
There was no time to react. Another silver blur cut through the air. The second guard stiffened, breath leaving him in a rough burst before he fell beside the first, armor clattering once before going still.
A man stood where the shadows had been moments before. A sword rested in his hand, its edge lowered. He drew it back with a controlled movement and slid it into its sheath, the faint click echoing softly through the prison hall.
A red scarf rested loosely around the man's neck, its edge shifting as he lifted his arms. Torchlight caught in his orange hair and reflected faintly in his golden eyes when he glanced down the corridor. A small piercing glinted at his left ear.
Studded gauntlets covered his hands, and one arm was wrapped in a dark sleeve, pulled back just enough to reveal a strange symbol marked into his skin.
"So this is the deadliest prison." His shoulders rose slightly as both hands settled above his head, posture relaxed. A quiet breath left him, unimpressed. "Looks like the rumors were just rumors."