Behind me, the iron-barred door slams shut, only to bounce open slightly.
I turn around, half-expecting to find a heavy lock or thick chains binding it shut—but there is nothing… No physical restraint keeps it from closing completely, yet something far more oppressive lingers in the air, pressing down on me like an invisible hand around my throat. The cold metal looms before me, and despite knowing better, my small, fragile fingers twitch toward it, driven by a futile instinct.
And just as I expect, a warning bar flickers to life in the lower-left corner of my vision.
╔════════════════════════════ ══╗
║ ⌈ Warning ⌋ ║
╠════════════════════════════ ══╣
║ + New Passive Command Added: ║
║ - Do not attempt to escape ║
║ + Commands in Queue: ║
║ - Obey orders from any Karthmere noble ║
║ - Do no harm to any Karthmere noble ║
║ - Fear any Karthmere noble ║
║ - Avoid your own death at all costs ║
║ - Do not attempt to escape ║
║ + Defiance Progress: 6% ║
╚════════════════════════════ ══╝
"I wonder… if I pick you up and throw you against that door, would it open? Would we be able to escape?" A boy's voice, sharp yet oddly calm, drifts from behind me.
He sits on the bottom bunk of the three-tiered bed, his almost-bald head catching the dim light, and his frame a bit too muscular for a child that size. His expression is relaxed—almost too casual for someone trapped in a dark, cramped, and stuffy place like this. But then I notice it—a slight shift in the boy's Defiance Meter ticking up a few percent.
That lazy amusement of his twists into irritation, a subtle but undeniable change.
And a quiet chuckle follows… Across from him, a girl sits curled against the cold stone wall, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Shoulder-length blonde hair, cut with soft bangs, frames a face dusted with freckles across her nose and cheeks.
She barely moves as she mutters, "Of course, just thinking about it counts as an attempt, you idiot."
"No, of course not. It's just the magic acting up," the boy retorts, scratching his ear as if the whole thing isn't worth taking seriously. Then, with an offhanded scoff, he adds, "And who do you think you are to know anything about this?"
The girl stays silent for a moment, the corners of her lips twitching before she finally speaks—her tone edged with challenge. "Why don't you take a guess?"
So he eyes her for a beat, then shrugs. "You're Solmarian?"
A smirk from the girl is the only answer we both get. It's clear she takes pride in whatever the boy just got right about her.
"Well… at least now I know that in our previous life, we weren't enemies."
"Drakenshore?"
Apparently, the guessing game hasn't ended yet. It has merely changed sides, with her—seated on the damp floor—now taking her turn to guess.
"Oh? Not bad." The boy's eyes gleam with amusement. "I'm quite surprised you could tell even though I disguised my accent."
Yet, as if his own words hold no real weight, his attention drifts… His gaze flicks toward me instead. "Alright… So what about you there?"
And since lying is second nature to me, I give a casual shrug and say, "No idea. I lost my memories of the past."
"Oh, really? So how does it work… Do you even remember your name?"
"Deon Ravenheart…"
"Right… and?"
"That's all I can remember."
To which the boy casually lies back on the hard wooden board of his bed, letting a pause stretch between us before finally offering a response—one that comes far too late.
"Sucks to be you then… Mine's Gideon, by the way. Nice to meetcha."
Words full of indifference, but such a thing barely affects me. Or at least, they are nothing compared to the bloodcurdling scream that suddenly echoes from the far end of the long hallway—a corridor lined with a hundred cages just like ours.
"Let me die! I said let me die! Why can't I die!? Someone—anyone—please kill me!"
The voice is familiar, unmistakably so. My guess had likely been correct. It belongs to the boy who had sworn, with unshakable resolve, that he would never bend—that he would rather take his own life before morning comes.
And I can't blame him. His breakdown feels almost inevitable—natural, even. Just like the two beside me, whose expressions make it clear that they understand the agony in that scream all too well.
"What a poor Solmarian knight," Gideon murmurs, his voice growing lazier with every word, as though sleep is creeping up on him. "I bet he died so peacefully and honorably before… His sacrifice must've meant so much—to his kingdom, to his pride."
The boy's words drip with something between sarcasm and pity, but exhaustion dulls whatever emotion had been there.
Still, every word he speaks mirrors my own thoughts. The kid at the far end of the cage—his screams rattling through the stone halls—has to have suffered war trauma in his past life. There's no other way to explain the raw, unrelenting agony in his voice, the way each desperate cry carries a force that seems to shake the very air around us.
"If you want me to kill you too, Solmarian girl, I won't refuse. But you'll have to wait until morning... I'm too sleepy for all this nonsense."
The girl's expression shifts—just slightly—a carefully maintained mask of composure, yet not enough to completely conceal the faint aura of despair seeping through.
That for a moment, I think she will keep whatever is weighing on her locked away, unwilling to voice it… But then, I am humbled.
Her voice, though steady, carries an unmistakable edge of vulnerability—like a quiet plea for guidance. "Have you thought of any way to escape from here?"
"What for?" Gideon chuckles dryly. "Those bastards planted Nyxthorn roots in our bodies. So why bother thinking so hard about escaping? We're dead either way—just a matter of time."
"Nyxthorn?"
"Uh-huh."
"What's that?"
The boy lets out a sigh, as if squeezing out the last drop of patience he has left to tolerate my ignorance—making sure I notice his irritation. Yet, despite that, he still answers.
"Maybe ever since you woke up from the dead, you've been too panicked—too busy keeping yourself looking calm in front of the enemy. But it seems you missed something about that cold body of yours." Gideon remains still, his eyes shut as he speaks. "Now tell me, lost little amnesiac… Have you noticed that you don't have a heartbeat?"
I freeze. There is no need to check my wrist or neck—I feel it the moment the thought crosses my mind. No pulse. No rhythmic thumping in my chest. Just the faint sensation of old sutures and scars against my skin… and the darkened veins tracing beneath.
And yet, my blood still flows, circulating as if everything is perfectly normal.
But it isn't my heart making it happen.
Something else is keeping me alive… something I can't understand.
"A long time ago, nobles used to drive those cursed roots straight into their soldiers' hearts, believing it would make them stronger, that their abilities would grow at an accelerated rate. I don't know if that part was true or not… but what I do know is that every single one of them aged five times faster and died, withered and frail, in just two years. All of them." Gideon's voice darkens. "That alone was enough to bring Valkenheim to its knees, turning it into a vassal state—enslaved by Solmaria."
And then comes his final remark, slurred with drowsiness, just before the sound of soft snoring follows.
"When I was younger, I had many comrades from Valkenheim. They were exceptional warriors—strong, disciplined—and I even held a great deal of respect for them. If it weren't for their king's greed, his obsession with surpassing the military power of other kingdoms, then my comrades wouldn't have had to die such a foolish death."
Gideon falls asleep almost instantly after his somber, serious words, leaving me and the little girl in silence—both of us seemingly agreeing that saying nothing is the best response.
Unfortunately, his snoring is loud enough to ruin the moment, shattering any lingering sympathy in an instant. Probably the reason why the girl beside me eventually turns to face me and asks, "What about you? Do you have a plan?"
I sigh, eyeing the top bunk and trying to figure out how to climb up. The effort seems pointless since it clearly doesn't look that difficult, but at least it gives me something to focus on.
Still, staying silent in response to her question feels like too much of a burden, so I decide to throw out a small reminder.
"I don't even have any memory of magic existing in this world. What exactly do you expect from me?"
"Right… Forget it."
Realizing that asking me is a sign of her own desperation—that she isn't thinking clearly—the girl lets out a quiet sigh. She gives up on the conversation and withdraws into herself, arms still wrapped tightly around her knees as she sinks back into her thoughts.
~~~~~