I stayed there. Still standing, hands folded behind my back, trying not to pace.
The others were quiet. Watching me. Fractal's feathers were fluffed in worry. Cordelia had her arms crossed and her brows drawn. Ria looked more irritated than concerned—her usual way of showing both. Barbra, as usual, had a half-smile tugging at her lips, but even that couldn't hide the tension behind her eyes.
I sighed, deep and slow.
"Do you remember where we found Ten?" I asked, my voice low.
Cordelia and Fractal exchanged a glance.
"Yeah," Cordelia said after a pause. "That horrid prison."
Fractal nodded. "The one that barely qualified as architecture. Mostly just chains, screams, and despair. Well, I wasn't there personally, I was still at the Academy. But I remember the debrief. And the scars it left."
I didn't reply. I turned my eyes to the gloss still hovering in front of me. The message I sent had yet to return a seal. The Royal Missive system always took a moment longer. A beat of silence passed.
Then—chime. The seal came through.
[MISSION RECEIVED – CLASS: A+]
LOCATION: Otherrealm Gate Site – Lower Prison Wing, Marr Tier Eight OBJECTIVE: Investigate escalating miasma surges within unstable Otherrealm perimeter
NOTES:
Gate is long-known, previously sealed by Royal Enchantments
Breach signatures consistent with
Draconic-class
entities
WARNING: Confirmed Dragon activity. Presence uncontained. WARNING: Miasma levels may not reflect actual threat classification. WARNING: Consumption of Dragon Flesh is not advised without appropriate biological conditioning.
[Override: Walker Duarte possesses Hydra skillcube. Hazard tolerable but NOT without risk.]
CAUTION: Adjutants not permitted to accompany you. Portal stability cannot withstand external soul-bond presence without collapse risk. This is a solo deployment.
— Issued by Royal Authority: Crown Prince Marryllin of Marr
P.S.: That person vouched for you, you know. I don't get why, but I trust them. So don't die. And if you do—take three of them down with you.
The screen dimmed. I could still see my reflection—tired eyes, cracked lips, the faint bruises from training with Temptation still etched across my cheekbone. I took a deep breath.
"Well?" Barbra asked, her tone light but strained. "Is this where you tell us you're not going to do it, and that you're going to finally take a week off?"
"No," I said softly. "It's where I tell you I've already accepted."
Ria looked like she was about to throw something. "Alexander. You do realize this mission has two hard warnings, three soft cautions, and a 'don't eat the meat unless you want a third eye?' Even I think this is nuts."
"I won't eat unless I have to," I replied. "But if I do, it's an option I can survive. That's more than most Walkers."
"You still shouldn't go alone," Ria muttered. "You've only had two days of proper combat drills. You're trying to use a winged mount, you're not even tuned to Sky, Wind, or Cloud mana. You're a Dimension-aligned Walker—your mana folds space, not air. If you fall, you fall."
"I don't have Wind mana either," Fractal chimed in again. "And I can fly."
"You are a bird," Ria snapped, hands flaring.
"Still counts!" Fractal huffed.
I shook my head, letting their bickering fade into the background. It helped, strangely. Grounded me. Gave me something to stand against before stepping into something I might not return from.
"This mission matters," I said finally. "And it's not just about the breach or the cube. It's about what was left behind. There are still echoes in that place. Still things pulling at the threads of Ten's past. Of our past. If someone's trying to use the prison gate again, I want to know why. And I want to know who."
The room went quiet.
Barbra finally spoke, leaning on one leg and tilting her head. "And this… 'that person' the Prince mentioned. You have any idea who it was?"
I didn't answer right away. I thought of him—the way he always smiled like he knew something I didn't. The quiet way he'd offered help without asking for anything. The almost irritating way he always seemed one step ahead but never used that step to hurt me.
"I have an idea," I said. "But I'm not sure I understand his motives yet."
Barbra snorted. "You never will. People like him… they don't reveal their full deck until the table's on fire."
"Well," I said, turning toward the door, "then I'd better bring my fireproof gloves."
Cordelia frowned. "Alexander…"
"I'll be back," I said. "I promise."
"You always say that," she whispered.
"I always mean it."
And then I left.
***
The prison was still as awful as before.
The only difference now? I wasn't being paraded past the barbarism like some outsider observing a distant horror. I wasn't spared the cruelty this time—I walked in it. Breathed it. Felt it. My aura hummed with the lingering weight of pain pressed into stone. Every crack in the wall, every fleck of rusted metal screamed of the system that broke people instead of rehabilitating them.
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Each prisoner here, I could feel them. Not through sight, but through the suffocating pressure in the air. They were treated like war criminals at best… and like half-starved beasts trained to fight other beasts at worst. The fact that most of them were on death row didn't absolve any of it. Monsters or not, there was no honor in this place. Only rot.
The guard walking in front of me didn't say a word at first. I hadn't bothered to catch his name—not because I was trying to be cold, but because he was clearly the type that would try to compensate with noise. He led me quickly, taking what he claimed was "the least cursed route" to E-block. Every checkpoint we passed, he unlocked the gate, let me through, and locked it behind us.
The locks clicked with a sense of finality each time. A ritual of confinement, again and again.
E-block had changed since the last time I was here. It wasn't empty anymore.
But the others inside weren't like Ten. Not even close.
The moment I stepped into the cell block proper, they scattered. Skittered away like roaches from sudden light, vanishing into the corners of their cells and deeper into the gloom. They didn't meet my gaze. They didn't speak. They trembled.
I couldn't tell if it was fear of me… or fear of what was behind me.
Either way, it filled me with a cold, biting fury. Not the kind that made you shout—but the kind that made your fists clench and your jaw ache from restraint.
The gate I'd come for was deeper in, nestled behind a fortress of seals—layered walls, runes etched into stone, barriers reinforced with spell-lattices that shimmered faintly against the flickering lights. All to prevent a breach… or at least delay one.
It wasn't enough to make me feel better. It all still made me sick. A physical nausea coiling behind my ribs. Rage, thin and sharp.
"WALKER SIR!" came a too-loud voice beside me, shattering the stillness like a dropped plate.
It was him. The same incompetent from before.
"How'd you get here so fast anyway, sir?! That's unreal—just bam! You're here, sir!"
I didn't bother turning to face him. "Warp crystal. Now silence. Please."
"Oh! Of course, sir! Quiet as a whisper, sir! Like my mother's cows, sir—super quiet beasts—"
I rubbed at my temples. I could already feel the migraine forming. Cows? Of all the analogies.
"Do you realize," I said slowly, "that you should be addressing me as Your Grace? Not 'sir.' This is a sovereign mission. You don't want to spark an international incident with your mouth, do you?"
He went rigid. "I'm so sorry, Your Grace, sir! I mean—Your Grace! I'll be silent now, Your Grace! Silent like my mother's cows, Your Grace, they're just so—"
"Shut. Up."
It came out sharper than I intended, but I meant every syllable.
He silenced himself with a startled hiccup and froze in place. Finally.
I let out a slow breath and turned my attention back to the gate.
I needed focus. Absolute stillness of mind.
Because even now, the mana twisted around the runes. The miasma that bled through was thick, but not loud. Subtle. Like something waiting, coiled. Listening back.
I had to prepare. I had to feel it. Every strand of energy. Every pull of warped space.
"I want this perimeter resecured. Four guards stationed here until I return—rotating shifts if you must, but no fewer at any time." My voice was steel, clipped and direct. "I want three days' provisions prepared, along with a compass for internal mana orientation testing."
The guard nodded quickly, trying to keep up.
"And lastly," I added, pausing for full effect, "I request that you wear a gag at all times while I'm here."
His eyes bulged.
"Do I make myself clear? Respond with a nod. Not your voice."
He nodded so emphatically I thought his neck might snap.
"Good. Fetch the requested supplies. Then get out of my sight."
He ran.
He ran very, very fast.
I was grateful for the silence that followed. Letting the world settle again, I extended my aura over the gate, probing for its composition. Mana. Miasma. Alignment. Structure. Everything I could sense without crossing through.
A word came to mind immediately— Hungry. So… hungry.
This gate didn't just resonate with hunger. It was hunger. A fundamental alignment. It drew in the ambient miasma from Demeterra's plane, devouring it like breath—like prey. But where it went? I couldn't tell. It disappeared into some other lattice, some distant thread that frayed the veil between realms.
Beyond that, there was a weight to it. Not a physical one—not a Gravity alignment—but a conceptual heaviness. Like guilt. Like history. It pressed against the senses, hard to explain and impossible to ignore.
As I refined my probe, three mana aspects emerged with clarity: Earth. Sand. Twilight.
Earth and Sand implied grounding, shifting terrain, desolation. Twilight was more concerning—an aspect often tied to endings, transitions, secrecy, or entropy. Still, the combination didn't scream immediately lethal. Just difficult. A test.
I didn't even flinch when Temptation appeared beside me.
He had the courtesy to wait in silence until I pulled my aura back.
"You forgot your sword," he said at last, holding the long bundle out to me.
My odachi.
I took it, nodding once in thanks. I couldn't draw it here—the hall was too narrow, the air too tense—but I felt better with it in my hands.
"When you return," he continued, "you'll be forging a new blade. And no—before you ask—you will not be using your mask to absorb the skills for it. You will learn it. The hard way."
Typical Temptation. Lessons through bruises.
"But whatever else you forget, never leave behind your blade, your bow, or your mount. One day soon, it'll be your griffin. Until then, walk like you already carry its wings."
His smile was faint but real.
"Don't die, Alexander. I know we've been cruel—but cruelty in training is a kindness that spares you cruelty in death."
I only nodded.
There wasn't much more to say between us that hadn't already been etched into bruises and repeated drills.
I wrapped the saya of my odachi in my sash—the same silk I'd weaponized earlier, the same one he knew I could kill with.
But then, as I turned, Temptation stopped me with a gesture. "One more thing," he said, reaching behind his back and pulling out a weapon I hadn't expected— A flail.
He held it out by the handle.
"You're not fit for an infantry role," he said bluntly. "Your strength lies in movement, control, angles—not brute confrontation. That makes your loadout inefficient on foot. So take this. Something for when they get too close."
I took it, giving the weapon a test pull. It felt foreign, awkward… but not unwieldy.
"Thanks, Temptation," I said. "I appreciate it."
A pause. Then, with a grimace: "Although… I'd really prefer not to use something I've never trained with."
He gave me that half-amused, half-disappointed look he'd mastered. "Then let's both pray you never need to."
We both looked at the gate in silence.
And for a moment, it felt like it was staring back.
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