"Forty-eight. Forty-nine. Fifty."
Arthur's arms locked out at the top of his final push-up. His breath came slow and even as he rose from the cold prison ground, muscles tense but composed. The stone beneath his bare feet crunched faintly—tiny fragments of bone long forgotten or recently broken. Yet Arthur paid them no mind.
He stood tall, shirtless and calm, like a statue carved from obsidian. His long, wild black hair clung to his back, damp with sweat, and his golden eyes shimmered with untamed light. He stared off into the shadows, not seeing the darkness, but something far beyond it.
Five days in solitary.
Two meals.
And he was thriving.
They had thrown him into this pit expecting him to break. But Arthur Morningstar was made of different stuff. He wasn't just surviving—he was growing stronger.
Footsteps echoed.
Arthur's lips curled.
"Jeffrey! You came back! I missed you."
The bald, perpetually scowling human guard froze mid-step, face twisting in irritation.
"That's not my name, freak."
"I know," Arthur said with a grin, stretching lazily. "But it's got a good ring to it. Besides, you never tell me the real one. We gotta build trust, Jeff. This relationship of ours is built on communication."
The guard snarled. "The only communication you'll get is my boot down your throat."
Arthur smirked, stepping toward the bars with the kind of reckless confidence only he could pull off. "Now, now. Don't threaten me with a good time."
With a growl, the guard hurled the food bowl toward the cell. It clattered through the bars, flipped mid-air, and landed upside-down in the dirt.
The slop inside smeared across the ground like old oatmeal mixed with glue and regret.
Arthur didn't blink. He just looked down, then up.
"Presentation could use some work, Jeffrey. And here I thought we were making progress."
"Rot in here, you animal."
I'll miss you too!"
The guard stormed off, boots pounding like thunder in the distance. Once the sound faded, Arthur crouched beside the mess of a meal, sighing.
"Status."
[Status]
[Name: Arthur Morningstar]
[Age: 18]
[Race: Beastborn]
[Bloodline: Kitsune / Werewolf]
[Titles: Solomon's Successor, Brightest Light, ••••]
[HP: 100/100]
[MP: 100/100]
[Strength: 25]
[Intelligence: 40]
[Agility: 20]
[Stamina: 30/30]
[Skill Points: 2]
[Stat Points: 2]
[Quests] [Skills] [Inventory] [Shop: Locked] [Soulmates] [Clan]
"Daily quests and bone push-ups. That's my life now."
He lay down to start sit-ups, when something shifted in the shadows beyond the cell.
The manastones light barely pierced through the narrow windows of the slave barracks. Most of the girls lay asleep on the hard stone floor, curled under thin blankets, their breaths shallow and twitchy from another day of overwork and underfeeding. But not Olivia.
She was wide awake, sitting in the farthest corner, legs crossed, her creamy white hair glowing faintly under the dim light. Her striking pink eyes flicked to the barred window near the ceiling and then to the heavy iron door.
"Okay, Olivia," she whispered to herself with a grin, "showtime."
With a slow, practiced motion, she placed both hands on the ground. Her fingers began tracing symbols, elegant and ancient, across the dusty floor. Shadows from the corners of the room responded, slithering toward her like loyal pets. They pooled at her feet, forming an inky puddle that shimmered unnaturally.
"Form," she said, and the puddle rose like water in reverse. A silhouette took shape—her height, her shape, her hair, everything perfectly mirrored. Her doppelgänger opened its eyes, revealing the same glowing pink irises.
"Don't speak, don't blink, don't move unless they call your name," Olivia instructed the clone. "You're tired. Half-dead. Be convincing."
The clone nodded.
Olivia smirked. "Good girl."
With a practiced step, she let the rest of her body sink into the nearby shadow cast by a leaning cot. The transition was seamless—like oil slipping into water. She emerged in the hallway a breath later, invisible and silent, sliding from one patch of darkness to another.
Two guards stood at the corridor's far end, yawning and gossiping in hushed tones. Olivia waited, pressed against the wall like a phantom. When one of the guards finally turned to relieve himself and the other looked down to pick something from his boot, she slipped past like a breeze.
Down the narrow hall. Left past the armory. Right through the unused supply room. Then straight ahead to the solitary wing.
She emerged from a crack in the wall's shadow, materializing with a silent swirl of darkness. The heavy stone walls of the prison loomed around her, cold and silent, save for the faint creak of chains and the occasional drip of water.
Arthur's cell was near the end. She crept closer until she could see him sitting on the floor, back against the wall, shirtless, and looking like he hadn't slept in days.
"Hey, beast boy," she whispered from the dark, just loud enough to be heard.
Arthur didn't move. "Took you long enough. What happened—your reflection refused to leave?"
You know, Olivia, if you keep skipping meals to sneak over here, you're going to waste away. And as much as I like skeletons, they usually don't have such lovely eyes."
Olivia rolled her eyes as she stepped fully into the torchlight. "Please. Even if I starved and shriveled up into a skeleton, I'd still be the most beautiful person in this place.
Arthur laughed. "Sure, you'd be a pretty skeleton. It'd make up for that awful personality."
A shimmering ripple in the corner of the cell stirred, and Olivia stepped out from the shadows. Her creamy white hair framed a mischievous smirk, and her shining pink eyes practically glowed in the dim light. She wore a ragged prisoner's robe, but somehow still carried herself like a queen.
"Crappy personality? Please, I'm delightful. You're just blind."
"Blind? You're the one visiting me in solitary. I think someone's catching feelings."
"Tch. Don't flatter yourself, furball."
Arthur sat up, brushing dust off his pants. "Seriously though, how do you keep getting in here? There are like, a hundred guards. And that head guy actually knows how to use mana."
Olivia crouched beside him, tossing him half a piece of crusty bread. "Shadow clone. I leave a fake behind and sneak through the gaps. The head guard takes his nap around this time, so the rest can't sense me. I'm just that good."
Arthur took a bite. "You left a clone in your cell? I didn't even notice."
"That's because it's smarter than you."
"Ouch. Right in the pride."
They shared a quiet moment, chewing stale bread and flicking crumbs at each other. The tension in the air, always present, softened whenever Olivia appeared. It was the kind of camaraderie born from shared pain—and constant bickering.
Arthur leaned back against the wall. "So what's the occasion this time? You missing me already?"
"Obviously," she said with a mock sigh. "Being away from your dumb face for more than a day causes physical pain."
"I get that a lot."
Olivia rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I came to tell you... I have a plan."
Arthur raised a brow. "A plan?"
She nodded, eyes glittering.
He studied her expression. "Alright. Let's hear it."
She leaned in, whispered into his ear.
The moment she pulled back, Arthur blinked.
Then frowned.
"Are you insane?"
Olivia just smiled, getting to her feet. "You'll thank me when we're free."
He stared at her. "Or we'll be very, very dead."
She turned toward the shadows, her body slowly fading into the darkness like mist in moonlight.
"Oh, Olivia"?
"Yeah?"
"I've been wondering why your here? You don't exactly look like the usual prisoners."
She paused, her voice softer than usual.
"My dad was a vampire. My mom was a high elf. They… didn't take that well on either side."
Arthur's eyes widened slightly, but he Nodded.
And just like that, she was gone, swallowed by the shadows.
Arthur leaned his head back and exhaled slowly, staring up at the cracked ceiling of his cell.
"A vampire and an elf," he whispered. "That explains a lot."
His smile returned.
"But it doesn't explain how she looks better then me. Damn it."
And for the first time that day, the cell didn't feel quite so cold.