Three hundred and twenty eight. That was how many stones made up the walls of Leo Feldmanis’s home. He would know; he’d counted them hundreds of times. There wasn’t much else to do when you spent your every day in an Otharian prison. Each day blurred into the next, the passage of time told only through the movement of shadows and the arrival of the occasional meal. The ex-Voice had no idea how many years had transpired since the start of his incarceration. He’d tried to keep track in the beginning, marking the days as they came and went, but soon things became fuzzy, and eventually he stopped trying altogether. There was little worth in counting towards the day of your release, after all, when you had been sentenced to a lifetime in a cell.

He’d thought that he’d figured it all out. He’d thought that they would never notice something so small, so well-hidden. They’d noticed. Now he spent his days counting stones, waiting to grow old. Waiting to die.

The worst thing about life in Eveningtide Prison was the monotony, or so he’d thought. The dreary day-to-day life withered your spirit, draining you of your will to exist. He’d seen many a prisoner shrivel up from it until what was a person was now nothing but an empty husk. He could feel it happening to himself as well, regardless of what little fight still burned within. One day he would fall like all the others.

But he’d discovered that there was indeed something worse than the slow, inevitable erosion of the soul. That process at least had the side effect of numbing its victim, letting them slip painlessly into the night. This was the opposite. It poked at him actively, taunting him with his own futility, parading his fears and doubts before him, hinting at possibilities and leaving them to fester. For the first time since his confinement, something had happened on the outside. Something big. Something important. But he would never know what it was.

His thoughts went, as always, to his village, his wife. He’d had confidence that they would survive even without him, as long as they obeyed the Church and his replacement. He’d impressed that knowledge into them when the Apostle had come for him. They’d trusted his judgment. Otharia was not a haven for change. Decades could pass between notable events.

But now he wasn’t sure that remained true. Disquieting hints of something amiss kept appearing. Several of the prison guards were nowhere to be found, gone without warning. The others, who before would amble down the halls without a care in the world, nonchalantly going about their daily business, now walked with a tension unlike anything he’d ever seen. These people, grown men and women, were scared of something. Something all-encompassing enough to scare each and every one of them.

At the same time, Leo had begun to hear sounds off in the distance that he’d never noticed before. Strange, rhythmic clicks and clacks would pass by at predictable patterns each day, always too far to properly make out. He thought they sounded like footsteps, but there were too many feet. Maybe new patrols of two-man groups? He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that these new sounds had appeared very soon after the sudden change in the guards’ demeanor, and while he couldn’t prove a link, everything inside him screamed that the two occurrences were related.

Divorce was not an option in Otharia. As long as he still took breath, his wife was not allowed to marry another, meaning she had no husband to help support her. Was she safe? Was she even alive? He would never know. All he could do was stew in his own worry, day after day. It was enough to make him tear his hair out, had balding not done the job for him already.

The sound of a door opening down the hallway interrupted his circuitous thoughts. Strange, it was far too early for a meal. Soon he heard the sound a chains. Now this had his full attention. The sound of chains only came with prisoner movement. He listened harder, trying to make out the number of footsteps. One set would be for a guard. If there was a second, that was a new prisoner. If not, somebody was about to leave their cell. He could only hear one.

The steps moved closer, and Leo had to force down his surging hopes. The guard would not be here for him, a man with a life sentence. Then the guard came into view, and it wasn’t a guard at all. It was the warden. Leo rarely saw the warden. The man came about perhaps once a year at most to inspect the cells, flanked by guards. But today, he carried a pair of shackles, and walked alone. Leo could barely contain his shock when the man stopped in front of his cell.

“Present yourself for constraints,” the warden ordered tersely. Leo did as instructed, sticking his hands and feet through specially designed holes so that the warden could attach the shackles to them. The prisoner made sure to make no sudden movements as he withdrew his limbs back into his cell and waited for the warden to open the door. The warden fumbled with the keys, his hands trembling slightly. Leo couldn’t help but notice the sweat pouring down the warden’s head as he struggled to unlock the gate. The man was on edge, he realized, even more so than the guards. Finally the door opened.

“You will follow me,” came the command.

He followed the warden as quickly as he could, his weak body unused to the exercise and his strides limited by his shackles. It wouldn’t do for him to fall behind and get lost. In all the years he’d been in Eveningtide Prison, he’d never set foot anywhere other than his cell, so within a minute Leo had no idea where in the complex he stood. All he knew was that they were headed somewhere higher, as they’d already climbed several flights of stairs but descended none. Suddenly their journey ended at a large wooden door. The warden opened the door and ushered the prisoner inside. Or rather, outside, onto a large balcony.

For the first time since his conviction, Leo Feldmanis found himself before the sea. He’d always loved the sea, at least as much as anybody could love a giant body of water filled with death. Almost as if on cue, water spouted from the surface of the ocean off in the horizon, leagues away. A grand leviathan, it had to be. No other living being could create something visible from such a great distance. Leo bet that it was large enough to eat the entire prison in just a few bites.

Giant aquatic life aside, it was a beautiful sight, one that brought tears to his eyes. Tears that clouded his vision so much that he nearly missed the hulking metal person right in front of him. The man, or what he assumed to be a man given that he could find no actual hint of flesh showing anywhere on his hulking frame, stood facing the ocean, back turned to the warden and his charge. His massive gray arms hung loosely behind his back, hands clasped together as he studied the scenery. Leo recognized the way the man carried himself immediately. He’d seen it before from afar, whenever he’d been lucky enough to snatch a glimpse of the Church leaders during the Church’s yearly assembly. This was a man used to giving orders.

“Thank you, warden,” the being in the armor said suddenly, never once turning around. “Now leave us.”

“Y-yes sir!” the warden stammered as he retreated from the balcony with haste.

“Now with that distraction gone,” the man beneath the metal began, once the warden had shut the door. Leo had confidence now that a man stood inside that great suit of armor, with its strange angles and lines running this way and that across the entire assembly. The voice had a buzzing, atonal quality to it that lent it an uncanny, emotionless quality to it, but the more he heard it, the better he could hear the human voice beneath. “Leo Feldmanis. Forty-seven years of age. Graduated from the Academy Voice program with honors. Considered to be one of the best up-and-coming administrators of his generation. Sentenced to life imprisonment for the crime of siphoning off Church funds for non-Church purposes on the fifty-fourth day of winter, in the year 1755. Has been an inmate of Eveningtide Prison for the last eight years. Am I correct?”

“I am Leo Feldmanis,” he replied, his head buzzing from the news. Eight years... To think it had been so long. “I know I am but a wretched criminal, but would you do me the honor of your name, sir?”

“You may call me High Apostle Ferros,” the person before him stated.

Leo jerked. A High Apostle? Here? For him? He thought he knew all the High Apostles. They were rare, after all. But much could change in eight years. “With all due respect, sir, I do not understand why either of us are here.”

“It’s simple,” the High Apostle answered. “Otharia has need of your skills.”

His skills? The notion was absurd. Leo had been a good administrator, a great one even, but there were others that could do what he could just as well, if not better, than he. The only reason they would want him, a disgraced criminal, would be — a chill ran down his spine as he connected the dots. A sudden lack of people with his skills. The abrupt change in the the demeanor of every guard that remained, and the disappearance of the rest.

“Something happened, didn’t it?” he inquired. “The Elselings, they finally invaded after all these years?”

The metal man remained silent.

“How many survived? Are the villages okay? Please, tell me!”

“It was brutal campaign, but I can say without hesitation that the side of good emerged victorious.”

Leo fell to his knees in relief as the strength left his body momentarily upon hearing the news. “Thank Othar,” he whispered.

“I have a job for you, Feldmanis,” the metal man said.

“Of course, sir,” the older man deferred.

“However, there is something you must do before you are granted freedom. Freedom that, in the eyes of the Church, you do not deserve.”

“I understand.”

“You must admit you were wrong.”

Silence settled over the area as Leo tried to digest what he’d just heard, but after several seconds he still could not make heads not tails of it.

“Sir?”

“Your actions, the ones that led you to rotting away in this place, cut off from your wife, your village, from everybody you ever knew or cared about. I want to hear you admit that they were wrong, and I want you to mean it.”

“I don’t understand. I admitted my guilt at the trial.”

“I never said anything about guilt,” the Apostle growled. He turned away from the ocean for the first time and Leo flinched as he laid eyes upon the man’s front for the first time. Instead of a face, Leo found himself staring at a mask, flat and featureless save for a strange slit where a mouth would be and a pair of glowing, angular red eyes. There was no nose, and the contours of the mask combined with the frowning shape of the mouth slit to lend the entire mask an impression of dour disapproval. The ex-Voice found himself recoiling from the pressure the High Apostle exuded, the man’s baleful red gaze pressing him down. “I read the transcripts. You admitted to your crime. But not once did you say that what you did was wrong. Not once did you show any remorse. You stole from the Church, the very fabric of society! I cannot think of a greater crime! Do you really believe that we could allow an unrepentant criminal loose in our lands? Of course not! Say it! Admit to the truth of your deeds!”

“I-I-” Leo stammered and stuttered as the metallic Apostle’s verbal blows rained down upon him. Concepts of duty and loyalty warred with each other in his head. His country needed him, but to serve would require him to sacrifice his truth, the one thing that had kept him sane since the beginning. This terrible man wanted him to give everything he had just for the privilege of helping his nation. He wanted more than anything to get out of this accursed place and once more contribute to society, but... “I cannot.”

High Apostle Ferros towered over him, crimson judgment shining down from the mask, his fury palpable even through the suit. “Explain,” he commanded.

“T-the blight struck my lands harder than most. Even after a highly successful planting season, and better than usual weather, the crops withered away. The stores would only last another half a season. We rationed, we prayed, we petitioned for aid from those above me, but nothing came of it. They were going to die. I could not allow that to happen. So I made some small alterations to the district budgets. There was a surplus anyway. It was going to go wasted anyway, spent on a third caravan when we didn’t even have the people for the second! I did what I had to do. Eighty-six people! They believed in me, and trusted me to lead them to a better life. What Voice would I be if I did not do all that I could to prevent their deaths?”

“And now? Would you do it again, if given the choice?”

“In a heartbeat,” the prisoner replied immediately, all doubt driven from his mind. In some odd way, the Apostle’s interrogation had settled his mind. He was at peace, awaiting his punishment from his superior with a calm soul for the first time in as long as he could remember. Ferros could do as he wanted with him. His people had survived. His life was a small price to pay for that.

“Wonderful,” the Apostle replied.

Suddenly the shackles binding Leo’s limbs turned to liquid, sloughing off like melting wax. He simply stared at the sight, unable to understand what was going on.

“Come on you two, let’s get the hell out of here,” the Apostle said, as if suddenly a completely different person hid behind that mask. “All the salt in the air makes my nose itch.”

You two? Who was he talking to? He turned towards the sound of steps to his left to find a girl around the age of ten walking towards him, her face sour as she stared scornfully at the Apostle beside him. She wore a large, thick collar around her neck, which mostly hid beneath her shoulder-length brown hair. How had he not noticed her until now? She must have been present the entire time, but he’d been so swept up by the man in front of him that he’d never realized they were not alone until now.

The girl responded to his attention by turning her dour gaze on him and his next words died in his throat. Leo wondered what could make a child have such an unpleasant face.

“That’s Sam, don’t worry about her. She’s just pissed at me because I was pretending to be an Apostle.”

Wait, what?

Before his mind could find purchase on this constantly shifting situation, a large metallic polyhedral structure appeared on the other side of the balcony wall, rising up seemingly out of nowhere. A ramp extended down to the ground in front of Ferros and he strode inside before turning around and beckoning them to follow.

“Seriously though, let’s get going. We should be able to make Wroetin in time for a late dinner if we really book it.”

Wroetin? That was at least ten full days of travel from this place! He wanted to cross that distance in... Leo looked up at the sun’s position. Less than half a day? And he wasn’t an Apostle? Who was he? What was this monstrosity that he stood in? Where had it come from? Why was there a little girl following him? What in the name of Othar was going on?

In a daze, Leo stumbled up the ramp after the others. The ramp magically retracted itself into the structure, and suddenly the entire place began to move, picking up speed with alarming quickness! A quick peek over the ledge revealed six long, segmented legs taking huge strides across the land, like some sort of gigantic insect. He glanced back towards the prison rapidly shrinking into the distance behind them to see several other insects, smaller four-legged ones this time, crawling about the outside. Nothing made sense.

“Who... are you?” he hesitantly asked the metal man relaxing against the cabin’s side.

“Like I said, I’m Ferros. The man who conquered Otharia. I want you to help me run the country,” the man replied as if he were talking about what he’d had for breakfast that morning.

Leo’s legs gave in and he fell onto his rear, though his head was swimming far too intensely to even notice. Otharia had been conquered? By this strange, unperturbed man? And he wanted Leo’s help for what? Suddenly a nice quiet life in a cell didn’t seem so bad anymore.

Wroetin glowed with an unnatural light, the myriad tall poles placed around the city cutting through the night. Leo contemplated his future as he looked over the city where he’d spent his formative years learning to be a Voice. So much had changed, and yet so much remained the same. Inns and taverns still stood right where he remembered them, as if not even a day had passed, let alone the twenty-five years since his graduation from the Academy. Even the market looked similar to his hazy recollections. Only the Academy, the place where he’d trained in his calling, was different, the complex now nothing more than rubble razed to the ground by Ferros’s forces. That and, obviously, the Grand Cathedral.

He’d already known the truth by the time they’d arrived at the capital. Ferros had willingly explained much of his past actions and his future goals during the journey. Even so, despite the man’s claims, his suit, and the massive six-legged metal beast that they’d ridden, part of Leo had been unable to believe any of it. It was all so surreal, as if he were actually still in his cell trapped in some strange dream. That was, until he witnessed the mighty gray fortress standing where the Grand Cathedral once presided. Only then had reality truly taken hold.

The country he once knew was gone. In its place stood a grim mockery of his memories, filled with a fearful populace huddling in their homes, hoping to avoid Ferros’s notice. Four-legged metal abominations patrolled the streets and strange objects hovered high up in the sky, watching everything. Ferros’s presence pervaded every corner, every street, every alley, creating an atmosphere that left the citizenry ready to jump at the slightest noise.

That was part of what made this all so confusing. The man who had conquered Leo’s country, who kept its people frightened and meek, didn’t seem to match the man he’d come to know over the last half a day. The Ferros who’d freed him seemed strangely forgiving and flexible for an Elseling despot. The most prominent example of this was the reason Leo sat on the cold metal floor at the top of what Ferros called his “observation tower”. After learning the truth of everything, Leo had expected an ultimatum. Instead, he’d been given a choice: he could take the dictator’s offer and work under him, or he could go free.

The decision was proving to be far harder to make than he’d first thought. Ferros had suggested that he go to the “observation tower”, as a way to gain perspective and clear his head. He was right, it was a good place to ponder. Part of the problem was that the choice was more than just between working for him or leaving. His wife, Erta, was likely still alive and out there somewhere. Ferros had offered to help locate her as an incentive for working with him. If he declined, he’d have to find her on his own, a proposition that was more unlikely than he’d like to admit. It complicated an already brutal decision.

The night passed slowly as the moons made their slow trek across the star-filled sky. Hours of thinking had brought Leo very close to a decision. He stretched out his legs; all the sitting on the floor had put them to sleep. He needed to head back in soon.

The sound of something locking into place behind him gave him a start. He twisted around and watched the metal door slide open, moving as if possessed. The doors, the strange little room behind them that moved itself, and all the other bizarre contraptions in the fortress unnerved him. They seemed to have minds of their own, as if they were controlled by the spirits of the dead.

To his surprise, Ferros did not emerge from behind the doors. Instead, Leo found himself meeting eyes with Samanta, the strange little girl that Ferros kept with him almost like a pet. The girl looked away after a moment and walked out onto the deck, all the way up to the fence that enclosed the entire platform. She stared out at the city, not saying anything. Leo split his time between watching the city and observing the child nearby. His eyes couldn’t help but be pulled to the thick collar around her neck.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?” he asked. For some reason, Leo felt the need to talk with the girl, if only for a little. He’d heard barely a peep from her all day. Plus, with Ferros not around, he had a chance to get an answer or two that would confirm whether or not his decision was correct.

At first, the girl did not answer. In fact, she didn’t even seem like she had heard him at all. Then, just as he was about to say something more, she spoke.

“Why are you still here?” she asked, turning to him with a puzzled expression. “He said you could leave.”

“I actually wanted to ask you about that,” he replied. “Do you really think he would honor my decision? Is he an honest man?”

Samanta pondered his question for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “He doesn’t lie.”

“He just lied earlier today,” Leo reminded her. “He lied about everything.”

“That was different. He was testing you. To see if you were the person he’d been looking for.”

“Strange, you’re defending him. I thought you didn’t like the man.”

“I don’t like him!” she cried as she began to stomp her feet and beat on the fence behind her in a tantrum, all the emotions she’d been storing up coming out all at once. “I hate him! I hate him! I’ll never forgive him! Never! He’s the worst! He should just die!”

Slowly Samanta lost steam, her back gradually sliding down the fence until she sat against it, her knees raised up to her chest. She hugged her legs closer and buried her head in them, defeated.

“I didn’t get a choice,” she said so softly that he almost missed it. “Why do you get a choice?”

Leo was wise enough to know not to go anywhere near that question. Whatever was going on between this child and Ferros was obviously something more complex than it initially seemed. It would be a while before he’d be able to fully grasp just what was going on between them, so he decided to withhold jumping to any conclusions just yet. Instead, he moved over to her side and sat down beside her.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m thinking of staying,” he told the forlorn girl.

Her head whipped up to stare at him in stupefaction. “Why? He is an Elseling!”

“Well... when I was a boy, there was this older boy in town who really wanted to be a blacksmith. The thing was, the only smith in town wasn’t taking apprentices and refused to teach him. But the boy wouldn’t listen. He wanted to be a blacksmith so badly that he was stuck on his course and nothing and nobody could change his mind. One night he snuck into the forge when the smith was off on business, alone, and tried to make something on his own. Instead, he burned down the smithy and two nearby homes.

“I couldn't help but think of that boy when I talked to Ferros. He shares the same drive that boy once had, that quality where once he's decided he's going to do something, he's going to do it no matter the consequences. I remember thinking, back when it happened, that if somebody had been in there with him maybe they’d have been able to prevent the fire, or at least keep it from being as bad. That same thought sits with me today. I can’t stop him. I’m not a fighting type. But, if by staying here I can keep the country from falling into ruin, that’s something. I can keep him from burning down the country by mistake. Who knows what might happen to Otharia without somebody to steer him in the right direction?”

“Why aren’t you angry about what he did? He ruined everything!”

“I’m not happy about it,” he admitted, “but I don’t think there is much to gain from living in the past. We are where we are, and we can’t change how we got here. I think it is important to instead look to the future, and work to make it as grand a future as we can. Tomorrow can always be better than yesterday.”

Samanta pondered what he’d said for a few moments.

“Blake,” she said finally.

“I’m sorry?”

“Blake. That’s his name. His real name. ‘Ferros’ is just some dumb name he made up or something because he’s dumb and stupid.”

“Oh? Ohoho! Well, thank you for revealing his secret weakness,” he laughed and the girl giggled as he stood back up and stretched. “With that said, it’s late, and I’m sure you understand today has taken a lot out of me. I’m going to go tell ‘Blake’ my decision. Sleep well, Samanta. Remember that tomorrow can always be a better day.”