Fenghar’s back hurt from slouching. The stone walls were cold and built of a human need for judgment and isolation. It had only been three hours and he was dying for a single breath of fresh air, just a little greenery, feeling sick in the confines of this dingy cell. Three hours in and he was bordering on insanity.

To be caught so simply, especially after an act of kindness was infuriating. He awaited his fate, angry at himself. A good two years of consistent thievery would probably give him even more years within a cold, soul-crushing place like this. Hopefully less but he doubted it. And worst of all, nobles didn’t take too kindly to notorious criminals who kept getting away with robbing their so-called “civilized”, “upstanding” people. He feared a much, much harsher sentence.

All Fenghar could do to pass the time was find new ways to interlace his fingers. He quickly discovered there weren’t many variations. Perhaps with enough time he would find a new way — an impossible configuration happening by some divine miracle.

The Divine. It made him think of the woman from the camp. Tyna. He couldn’t believe he was feeling remorse for robbing her now. He never felt guilt for stealing. It was just something he did to get by. But something about her was so strange and intriguing. The words and promises she gave made it feel like he had done a great disservice to the world by disrupting her forward motion. As if she was certainly going to achieve her goals and change the world.

But still… killing the Gods? Ridiculous. It had to be. Her confidence still impressed him as much as it freaked him out in that short exchange they had.

And so, Fenghar continued to wait. He was terrible at it. There was always something to do while traveling, even when the day came to an end. Preparation and movement was a constant companion and in this cramped place there was little to nothing to prepare and nowhere to move that was different, and he felt himself become antsier by the minute. When would they come let him know the next steps of his punishment? Tomorrow? Did they really throw him in here all day just to wait in silence? This was punishment enough if they really wanted to think of something to do to him.

He stomped a foot and sang songs. Snapped his fingers. His last resort for something to occupy his time, singing the songs he learned from the town that raised him.

Right when he found a way to take up hours, the sound of metal shifting and grinding against itself interrupted his song, his voice echoing away into the sounds of new arrivals. Slowly, Fenghar stood and approached his cell door, gripping the bars with his large hands. The dungeon-like prison outside the door was damp and dark, something inhumane for living creatures to reside even a small amount of time within. The hallway dividing prison cells vanished away to the right from where the sounds were coming. Loud, slow footsteps approached.

Fenghar breathed in deeply, knowing exactly who it was. Humans had a distinct scent. Orcs did as well.

The Orc Knight who had bested him came into view, walking straight, not even turning to look at him, her features strong and striking within the light of the torch she carried. Fenghar gripped the bars tighter.

“Steelworker,” Fenghar accused.

The woman smiled and shook her head, laughing beneath her breath. “Ouch,” she said, turning to look slightly down at him, as she stood a good few inches taller. “Not surprised someone like you would use such an outdated insult.”

Fenghar stepped back, looking her up and down. “Doesn’t change the truth. You wear their armor. Wield their weapons. The tools of structure and design.”

“What a nightmare, thief,” she replied, almost bored. “So you belong to the roaming, then? How many Orcs still wander, rejecting the new world?” She eyed him. “You’re quite young, like me. Sixties? It’s still possible you’ve come into contact with those who follow the old way, I suppose.” Her voice was direct and uncaring for the glare in his eyes. She crossed her arms and stood as still as stone, looking mighty in her armor, an enormous sword carried on her hip. Her eyes were sharp and her mouth was strong and expressive. One side of her head was shaved while the other was long and dark as night. “So now we decide what to do with you.”

Fenghar sat back down with a heavy sigh. “Do what you will. Just get on with it.” Fear struck him for a moment but he couldn’t feel fear. Not now. It was too late for that.

She nodded. “Might we greet each other properly before any judgment is placed on you? Haven’t met many fellow folk in this city in quite some time.” She stepped closer to the bars. “I know your name of course, but it would honor me to hear you speak it.”

Fenghar furrowed his brow and looked up at her, a mixture of anger and confusion. Why the niceties now? Or perhaps it wasn’t. Maybe she was just posturing, showing that she had complete control over him. So she could talk and treat and request of him whatever she wished. There was nothing else to do and punishment would come soon enough. So he went along with it. “Fenghar Ogorstone.”

The woman was taken aback. “Not even a stand or a bow or a request to hear mine. I thought you followed the old way?” She smirked. She stood tall and brought her fist to her chest, looking him directly in the eyes. “I am Ghoza Morgaxe. I face you and see you, honoring your presence.” She bowed just slightly, keeping her fist to her chest. “Well met.”

Fenghar looked away. Ghoza looked up and smiled from her bow.

“Oh Fenghar,” she said, leaning against the bars. “You just want to be downtrodden, don’t you?”

He stood up then, clenching his fists. “Don’t tell me what I want to be.”

She remained still, looking at him. Then, she turned and leaned against the bars, crossed her arms and sighed. “Alright, thief,” her voice harsh once more. “There’s one thing I need to know before we move forward with what happens to you… the bags we found in your possession…”

Fenghar’s eyes widened.

“There are concerning things in there. Forbidden things. Things that some of our greatest minds, mystics and mages cannot decipher or explain. Books that shouldn’t exist. Artifacts that emit magic and energy that could threaten every life in this city.” She turned and stared him down as Fenghar took a seat once more. “You appear to be quite simple so I doubt you stole the things within these bags. No, you stole these bags from someone else, didn’t you?”

Fenghar couldn’t believe what she was saying. The contents of Tyna’s bags were that dangerous? And he carried that all this way with him?

Ghoza slammed her arm into the bars and Fenghar flinched, for the first time in a long time.

“Tell me where you got these bags from. Assist us and we’ll lessen your sentence to two months of prison time.”

That wasn’t a terrible deal. But… still…

“I don’t understand…” Fenghar said. Was that woman really telling the truth? Was she in possession of powers that could actually threaten the Gods…? There was no way. No way! “What was in there? What was she carrying?”

Ghoza raised an eyebrow. “She? Who is she?”