In the back of the king’s carriage, a special compartment was built to keep any prisoners close and secure. The space inside was small, but just enough for the king, or anyone else to interrogate prisoners without any interruptions. For the king, a cushioned seating arrangement was built for his travel needs. For the prisoners, an iron cage with nothing but a metal plate to separate interrogations between the high and mighty, and the low and weak.

Leonidas held Kalvin with a knife by his throat, all while Kalvin exhaled short and spastic breaths to keep himself alive as much as possible. His stab wound was causing a tremendous amount of blood loss by the minute, and if he didn’t get treated soon, his survival through the coming night would be impossible.

Oscar and Paris had chains wrapping their hands and legs together to prevent them from escaping. However, even if they tried to break free and run, Leoindas would surely end Kalvin’s life. Therefore, escaping wasn’t a viable option.

There were three noises occupying the space inside, all of which had their place in providing the right amount of pressure for the scene. First, the constant tapping of a wooden finger against a solid armrest. It was like an old grandfather clock, always ticking, ticking, ticking, and ticking, passing time being the obnoxious guide. Second, the constant bumps and jumps the carriage had to deal with from the cobblestone road leading to the castle. The streets were fairly clean in Nirvana, but the thin wheels holding the carriage were as fragile as a piece of ragweed. Third, and perhaps the most annoying sound, was the morphed breaths escaping Kalvin’s lungs and the deep flaring of nostrils coming from the large man holding Paris’s blade. The man smiled wide, his eyes glued onto Paris’s body.

“Kalvin Pride,” The king started, tapping his finger and twirling his silver hair with another. “It’s been some time since me and you sat down and chatted… Perhaps it’s been too long,” He said matter-of-factly.

Kalvin didn’t answer, with the pain below his ribcage, and the knife against his throat, he didn’t have to.

“Now then, what do you believe should be your punishment?” Asked the king, years of mold and drought presenting themselves on his face. “Hmm, tis a very tough decision indeed. And I see you brought some friends as well.” His eyes darted towards Paris and Oscar.

Paris was about to spit in his face as well, but Oscar nudged her on the shoulder, shaking his head.

The king chuckled, his laugh sounding like a dying animal. “I see since the man with the scar isn’t with you, I can safely assume he's fallen… Although it is strange Beljuan didn’t report back to me. He’s a man of honor.”

“Your majesty,” Leonidas smirked, “Cairo’s possibilities of surviving after me and Beljuan are slim to none. That man and his bastard wolf were taken by poseidon, I’m sure of it.”

“Hmm,” moaned the King. “I do believe your words, my son. I do believe them very much… However, if I find out he’s alive, and Beljuan betrayed me, you best be prepared boy.”

Kalvin felt the blade shiver beneath his neck, fear creeping upon Leonidas loosened his concetrantion. This was not his usual pretend-like cowardness he acts out, no, this was real fear. Fear that will engulf a man’s soul like no other. Fear that will embark hallucinations and illusions that seem far too real to be dreams. Fear that eats, and never forgets.

Leonidas bowed his head, his voice shaking. “Y-yes, f-father.”

The king smiled, focusing his eyes onto Oscar and Paris. “Now the question lies on what should I do with you two?”

“Uhh,” Oscar pondered, “You can let us go?”

A loud, disturbing cough escaped through the king’s throat, followed by silent giggles from the man next to him. “I like your attitude boy! I’d offer you a role with me, but I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.”

Cratuja sighed, “Got a drink?”

The king hesitated for a moment, then broke out into another laugh. After settling down, he nodded his head to the man next to him, who handed Oscar a partially open wine bottle.

Oscar took a sip, inhaled, then smashed the bottle against Leonidas’s head, grabbing the knife out of his flimsy hands and placing it against his neck. “You move,” ordered Oscar, “Your son dies.”

The King stayed motionless for a second, curling the edges of his dry lips to the corners of his cheeks. “And here I thought we would have a lovely chat…” He said, snapping his fingers.

Oscar pressed the edge of the blade against Leonidas’s neck, “I ain’t afraid to kill, chief. Stop the carr—”

Forthwith, and without explanation, Oscar dropped to the ground like a statue. Kalvin’s breaths became even more shallow, and Paris wouldn’t even dare to move.

The king pulled out a small vial of mysterious neon-green liquid. He shook it gently, gesturing towards the wine bottle, “One sip of this little lovely, and the whole body enters a state I refer to as Paralyzed.” He laughed, putting the vial away.

Leonidas slowly got up, his head dizzy and shaken, blood beginning to drip down his ever so clean and silky skin. He picked up the knife again, on the verge of ending Oscar’s life, but the king stopped him, saying there is no need to act so ecstatically.

Leonidas managed to muster the strength to calm his temper, however, the sweat dripping down his fingers on the handle of the blade was practically squealing in anger. His hair was flailing down like a tangled mess, showing his true self behind all of his previous innocent smiles and washed personas.

“I was so close to crafting the perfect weapons…” The king sighed, “So close to creating you children into weapons of war. My army would have been unstoppable if it wasn’t for that blasted woman and that bastard kid. I realized that even after all the precautions, the security wasn’t enough. My army suffered too great of casualties.”

“What the… hell a-are you talking about!” Kalvin wheezed, his vision blurry and parched.

“Please, Kalvin. Have you been blind?” No answer came back, so the king continued. “I’m rebuilding the Gulag. Just a few more touches and it will become inescapable. No man or child will ever see the light of day until they are formed into monsters they’re meant to be.” He laughed again, coughing. “I learned from my previous mistakes, and I’ll make sure I won’t repeat them.”

“You’re a psychopath!” Paris yelled, trying to break free from her chains. However, with a vigorous grunt of stiff force, the large man grabbed hold of her neck, slipping a few drops of the mysterious liquid down her throat. Resisting, Paris’s body twitched a few times, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. The tension in her struggle relaxed, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Kalvin blurred his pain, but settled quickly. “If you’re g-going to k-kill me, just do it a-already.”

“Kill you?” The King raised an eyebrow, slight concern touching his brows, “That would be too easy. Too cruel. Too… Simple. No, no, no. You betrayed me Kalvin Pride. Betrayal I don’t take lightly to.” He gestured with his wooden finger, and with no resistence, Kalvin was zapped into paralysis from the liquid forced down his throat.

…

The night settled quickly within the castle walls. Darkness swept through every room as if it was meant to be there, leaving no traces of any light. The only sources to extinguish the darkness were those mounted on the walls, and of course, candles and lanterns out and about.

Kalvin, Paris, and Oscar were all thrown into a metal cell underground. The cell wasn’t big, nor did it have anything but a candle lighting the surroundings. It was just the right amount of light needed to prevent any sort of escape. And just the right amount of captivity to hold them in there.

Kalvin was the first to wake, his wound pulsing and throbbing with every breath he took. His skin was pale, his body was as cold as ice. He wasn’t going to survive through the night. That was certain.

He let out a few grunts, barely managing to drag himself against the cell bars to sit upright. He needed strength to hold on, but everything was fading from him—hope, love, his life. Everything was turning into a pile of sweat and blood below him—his eyes began to close, fading into darkness—and he laid there, nonchalantly, his pain fading away.

Moments later, Oscar’s consciousness began to spring back to life. His throat was dry, his bandanna was dirty, and his wrists were scuffed from the chains. “Waaahhh!” He yawned, waking Paris, his stomach grumbling from the acid within it.

His eyes danced around his surroundings like a predator hunting its prey. Darkness filled his vision from left to right, and the only light that remained was from the single candle in the center of the cell along with two giant torches in the far distance.

As his vision began to adjust to the darkness, he could see Kalvin’s body peacefully resting against the metal beams. And for once in his life, Oscar actually seemed more interested in someone other than himself. “Kalvin!” He jittered, crawling up to his captain on all fours.

He reached for his sides in an attempt to shake him awake, but it didn’t work. He then slapped him, “Kalvin!” His scream echoing throughout the hollow walls. Nothing responded.

Oscar felt a warm, dark liquid flowing through his palms, and as he hovered it against the candle, he noticed Kalvin losing far too much blood, far too quickly. He tried shaking him awake again, but nothing worked. No screams or any sorts of potions were going to save him now. He needed life, hope, and a reason to push on. But in this darkness, those things were as distant as the sun.

Just as Oscar clenched Kalvin’s blood between his fists with agony, a loud, screeching sound made its entrance beside the torches in the far distance. It was a door, a door that sounded as if it’s been rebuilt over hundreds of times in the past decade.

Against the changing flame of the torches, a small black silhouette of what seemed like a child made its entrance. Two guards could be seen pushing the child through, and a silent whimper escaped from the silhouette. “Go!” Manly voices directed the child, “Bring’em their shit and head back! We’re keepin’ an eye on you!”

The child stumbled and nearly fell over, slowly walking towards the cell with Oscar watching every breath of every step. He quickly placed Kalvin behind him, and postured himself to a more cautious stance.

However, as the child approached, Oscar lowered his guard as the darkness of the silhouette vanished, replaced by a young, barefoot slave girl holding a bucket of brown liquid. Her hands trembled as she set it down, barely managing to squeeze it through the tiny food-hole in the cell. “I-I’m so ss-sorry,” Her voice trembled more than her soft hands, and her eyes began to water, reflecting Oscar’s face back at him under the candlelight.

Paris carefully observed the bucket, nearly puking as she took a smell inside it, “What the hell is this!?” She shouted, her hands covering her nose and mouth.

The girl stayed silent, her eyes locked onto Kalvin’s injured body. She jerked her face away in horror, wiping her eyes with her dirty clothes.

Oscar lowered his guard, as the little girl was in no better place than them. He assumed the guards sent slaves to care for them due to their Gifts. It only made sense, but his Gift is useless in a situation like this. And Paris’s proved no good inside a prison cell. “Thanks.”

Oscar let out a desperate breath of air, simultaneously smelling the foul excuse of a soup in the bucket. He dried Kalvin’s blood against his trousers, then leaned back with a dull groan.

The little girl was about to leave, when she suddenly reached for the cell, her hands feeling the cold bars tingle her delicate skin. “T-that man… Is h-he going to be o-okay?” She asked, her voice as quiet as the flame between them.

Oscar took another look at Kalvin, gritted his teeth, then punched the ground. He didn't answer her, and he didn’t need to. Kalvin’s blood was slowly creeping up to the girl’s bare feet, and another tear dropped from her soft cheeks onto the ground below her.

“Q-uickly,” She whispered, turning her gaze to and back from the end of the hall, “Bring h-him h-here.”

“What can you possibly do?” asked Oscar, his face grim and shallow. “He’s gone, no—”

“I-I can heal him!” She squealed, noticing the guards barging in from down the hall.

“What’s taking so long!” The guards yelled, marching in the darkness in their high and mighty armor like a pair of vikings during a feast.

“Please! Now!” The girl yelped.

Just from the sound of her voice, Oscar knew he couldn’t deny her. So, he wrapped his arms beneath Kalvin’s, and dragged him to the edge of the cell to the girl.

The girl motioned with her fingers to cut the light, and Oscar spat on the candle as she commanded. Seconds later, as the guards were nearly meters away from the cell, a white glow escaped through the girl’s hands in the darkness, illuminating the shadows of the steel bars.

Nonetheless, the guards finally scurried towards the girl, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her out as if she was a pig. “That’s it! Our Lord will hear of this for sure!”

“Noo!” The girl wept and moaned as the guards dragged her out forcefully, without a single hint of mercy. Her cries echoed down the hall, masked by muffled laughter beneath the steel helms.

“Bastards!” Oscar yelled after them, but more peals of laughter and cries answered back, and the door slammed shut behind them.

Darkness fell over Oscar and Paris once more. Pure, cold, darkness.

Paris leaned against the cell, her heart pounding against the medal. “Why are we here…” She buried her face into her arms, muffling her voice into a quiet whisper. “What’s going to happen to us…”

Oscar didn’t respond. Instead, he scooched towards Kalvin again, hearing his breaths become more steady and clear. This seemed unusual given his current state. Breaths like these only come from sleeping bears, not from men who are minutes away from death.

“Kalvin?” Oscar shook him again, only being able to see his outline in the darkness.

“What use is it!” Paris snapped, unable to see them. The noises of blood and leather gliding against each other were enough of a visual. There was also a sound of shuffling against the floor, so she could only imagine what Oscar was trying to do. “We couldn’t save him! There was nothing we cou—”

“You... didn’t need to save me…” Kalvin coughed, his voice as frail and flimsy as an eggshell.

Oscar let go, instantly bouncing atop of Kalvin with the most fierce hug he could muster. Kalvin was alive, and that’s all the reason he needed to swing his mood into the opposite spectrum.

Paris remained stunned, hand on her mouth and eyes fixated on the darkness around her. “K-Kalvin?”

Kalvin coughed, feeling his stab wound still damaged, but slowly beginning to heal. “That girl…” He said, slowly. “We need to get… her out of here…”

“What did she do?” asked Oscar, the adrenaline rushing through his hands, making him release his grip.

Kalvin gently propped himself upright, exhaling another cough from his droughted lungs. “Her Gift… She can heal... any injury besides death… If the king finds out… She’ll never smile again in her life…”

“What are you sayin’?” Oscar stumbled on the ground, kneeling. “How do you know he already hasn’t?”

“Because… She wouldn’t be down here if he did.”

...

Inside the King’s hall, where the minstrels wheep and the beggars cry, King Richard II sat alone atop his golden throne. His head rested on his wooden palm, and his finger tapped against his armrest. The sunlight from the outdoors burst through the curtains, creating countless shadows casted upon the King’s wrinkled face. Partial rays of light flickered across the Vault of Glass, giving the King no concern for his precious items.

Guards and previously renounced wardens circled the throne, waiting, as they always do. With the cold months approaching, the heat inside the castle would make their daily standing routine a little less miserable.

Leonidas, who was now well-taken care of and properly dressed, walked through the front gates into the King’s Hall. He decided it was the right time to dust off his previous status, and place it atop his head again.

As he approached the throne, he kneeled—holding his general’s hat close to his heart—and bowed his head. “My lord,” He greeted.

The King didn’t say anything, gently putting a pause to his constant tapping. “How does the search go inside the catacombs?” His voice as rusty and drawn out as his hair and face.

Leonidas stood back up, a straight line drew itself across his mouth. He knew bringing news the king didn't want to hear was always an unlucky affair. “I’m afraid the search parties are still inside. However…” He stopped, clearing his throat, “The Jewel was said to be sighted last night.”

The king’s sleepless eyes seemed to open a little, but not enough to gain his interest. “How does the jewel get sighted, and yet it fails to be delivered into my possession?”

“Your majesty,” Leonidas felt goosebumps trickle down his spine, “It was only said to be sighted. I’ve interrogated the man who saw it, but I’m afraid he can’t remember who, or how he saw it.”

The king growled under his breath, his head wobbling against the wood, “Why do you bother telling me useless information. Every time the jewel was said to be found, the man responsible for such claims never remembers anything. Every damn day it’s the same… Nothing but lies and betrayals towards me and my throne…”

“Father, I’m afraid I should have mentioned the jewel wasn’t the only thing that was found,” Leonidas swept his voice with a mysterious demeanor, “A new passage has been found. One that’s yet to be explored.”

“A new passage? How is that possible? We have had hundreds of search parties for years, and there were pathways those idiots still haven’t found?” The king sighed, his breaths becoming more shallow and scarce, “I’d go down there myself if I could. Can’t ever trust idiots to perform a simple task.”

The man with Paris’s blade stepped forward, bowing and kneeling in front of the throne. “I will go, your majesty. And I will not return until I have the jewel in my possession.”

“Nonsense, Jackals!” Barked the King. “You’re one of my most loyal men. I need you here, in my chamber, protecting, watching, observing.”

The man named Jackals looked as if he were about to cry tears of joy, “Thank you my lord, for such kind words. I swear on my life I will not disappoint you.”

“Good, now go and gather the idiot lowlife’s living down there. Tell them the king has a message for the people of Harvoria.”

“My lord,” The man nodded his head happily, and raced off to the streets.

Meanwhile, King Richard II ordered the remainder of the guards to clear the room. Everyone except for Leonidas and his father remained inside the king’s hall.

Looking around, it was unusual for such a large chamber to be so empty. Usually, there would be feasts, parties, even social gatherings for the rich and wealthy King Richard II would host. The Vault of Glass was always heavily guarded, but even if the guards were dealt with, breaking through the first layer of Glass was more difficult than finding the Jewel of Mynotna. Meaning it was possible, but luck won’t be the only thing one would need.

Without so many people, the silence that crept through such a large and open space was enough to drive someone mad. Perhaps that’s why the king always tapped his finger against the armrest. He needed to drive the silence away; He needed noise to occupy this lowly chamber; He needed to be kept awake. For if he falls into a slumber in this silence, he wouldn’t see the light of day ever again.

Leonidas stepped closer, dropping his smile, “What do you plan on doing with the escapees from the Gulag?” He asked, his tone matching his father’s. “If you let them live, they’ll take their revenge on you one way or another. On me as well.”

“Don’t speak nonsense boy, if they wanted revenge they wouldn’t wait seven years to do so,” howled the king. “Their nothing but brainless morons. They have no evidence against me, and no way of ever coming close to my chamber.”

“What will you do with them? Would you like me to induce my specialties onto them while they’re still kept prisoner inside the castle walls?”

King Richard II thought for a moment, tapping his finger again. He needed some sort of noise to occupy his mind while he dove inside it, even a cricket chirp would do the trick. However, although Leonidas’s proposal seemed clever and timeworthy, the king thought of a much better punishment for the Gulag escapees, and the warden who betrayed him.

“Your services won’t be necessary at this time, my son.” The king leaned his head back against the throne, sighing deeply, watching his chest contract and depress. “I don’t want them to be scarred for their punishment. They shall be clean and ready to cry if need be. I will announce my actions and their betrayals to our people shortly. For now, make sure they are clean and ready to be humiliated.”

Leonidas smiled, “As you wish, your majesty.”

…

In the underground chambers beneath the castle, where empty souls reach for light and fallen men cry in the darkness, the screeching door swung open, and Leonidas stepped through. He held a large torch in his hand, luminating his steps inside the blackness around.

Kalvin, Oscar, and Paris were all dehydrated and aching to see the sunlight again. Something about pure darkness for hours on end—with no sense of time—was more miserable than three years inside the Gulag. Kalvin swore he heard whispers bugging him in his sleep, Oscar began to hallucinate, and Paris waddled back and forth—her head buried in her knees—on the cold ground below her.

Leonidas grabbed a bucket of water, placed his torch aside, and drenched them all with a single splash.

It was unexpected, but the fresh tingle of cold water was actually quite nice for them, being exactly what they needed to wake their minds up. Kalvin was the only one that tweaked and twitched dramatically, but that was only due to the nightmare he was having. His insomnia had gotten the better of him.

After jerking awake, they all glared at the torch as if it was their first look of sunlight after months of isolation. Kalvin pretended to be hurt, instantly covering his stab wound with the palm of his hand.

“That’ll do enough for the cleaning,” Leonidas whispered under his breath, picking up his torch from the ground and dropping the bucket. He shoved the torch light against the cell, letting them sink in the light as much as possible. He was toying with them, his grin lively. “My father has a very special surprise for you three. Be prepared, today might be your last.” He laughed, walking off with the light source tucked between his hands.

The door at the end of the hall shut loudly, echoing throughout the cracked walls. Even the ceiling seemed to shake, however high it might be. For all they knew, they could’ve been hundreds of feet under the ground, but from the tiny pebbles and dust falling from above, it was safe to assume they were on the first floor of the Gulag, high above the rest beneath them.

Kalvin shook himself further awake, helping Paris get a firm grasp of her surroundings. His wound was still aching, but without the slave girl’s help, he’d be as good as dead by now.

“Well mister captain,” Oscar said in a leaky voice. “What’s the plan now?”

“The plan…” Kalvin sighed, “If only I had such a luxury to come up with one in every situation…”

“What do we do den? Wait till we die in here?”

Kalvin didn’t respond. He needed time to think. Time he was running short on. The only thing he had was patience. Patience for the right moment to come, and patience to make something happen.

…

After a few consultations and private discussions, the townsfolk of Nirvana began to crowd around the central courtyard. Although not everyone came, most of the capital’s population was there, some on roofs, some on balconies, and some watching from afar. There were even those who lurked in the shadows, those with a white wolf by their side.

The central courtyard was astonishingly beautiful from the castle windows, perfectly aligned with the throne for the best possible view during the day. Seeing something so clean and washed was a pleasing sight to have, especially during times like these. Food wasn’t necessarily a problem during the king’s reign, but dirt and filth was so common it was actually quite difficult to find something shining besides coins and jewelry.

Nirvana, the capital of Harvoria, was always kept clean. King Richard II never liked a mess beneath his steps. He valued it as something weaklings and gremlins used to wash themselves. Dirty hands, feet, faces, all signs of weakness and commoners.

The courtyard itself was carefully trimmed and polished, mainly done so for whenever the king had announcements to share. It catered for many individuals to be able to see and hear the king speak.

As the king’s carriage settled itself on the outskirts of the courtyard, Leoindas came through, walking over to the stone-built podium in the center of the courtyard. He cleared his throat, waited for the chatter to die down, then took out some sort of scroll to read off of.

“Good afternoon citizens of Harvoria! I am pleased to announce that I, Leonidas, the rightful heir to the throne, was given the honor of welcoming your rightful King Richard II to speak to you all today. Please take note that our precious king has had a lot on his mind lately, and all of your dearest concerns are all being dealt with as we speak. For now, please give a warm welcome to King Richard II.” Leonidas wrapped up his scroll, bowed, and hustled over to the side as he watched his father exit the carriage.

After a thorough introduction, King Richard II waddled himself over to a perfectly crafted podium in the dead center of the courtyard. Guards huddled around him, as well as making a border for the townsfolk not to cross.

The king cleared his throat, leaned himself against the podium, and spoke. “Greeting my fellow Harvorians!” The crowds cheered, and Faibel—who was sitting carefully atop a roof—smiled delightfully.

King Richard II waited for the applause to die down, braced his lungs, then continued. “I am here today, sadly, to inform you of unfortunate news brought upon our kingdom.” Gasps and howls of horror roared back, just as the king expected. “Recently, there have been a group of individuals that have not only terrorized your beloved king, but threatened the lovely people of Harvoria.” More gasps and cries followed his remarks, but he settled them quickly.

“However! Due to my trusted advisors and skillful men, I have captured said individuals, and will bring them to justice!” There was no describing how loud the people rejoiced. Some even dared to fight the guards to get just a tad bit closer towards the king to thank him. The thunderous applause nearly shook the cobblestone tiles below the king’s step, and the roars of lightning howled through each and every throat watching.

“Please, I welcome you all to join me this afternoon in a public execution, for not only acts against the Kingdom, but acts against the people within it as well. Thank you, and I wish to see you all shortly!” King Richard II concluded, stepping off his podium, and strolling back to the carriage that brought him here in the first place.

Inside the shadows, beneath the rooftops and overhangs, a man stood next to a great white wolf. His teeth were clenching, his fists were tightened, and his eyes focused on every breath the king made.

Next to the man stood another gentleman, one with a calm temper, and a curly mustache. “Soon, Cairo. Soon we will act… Just give it time… and patience.”