"Sir, are you truly going to let them go?" one of the two guards asked hesitantly as Jacob continued walking away from the chapel. Jacob stopped mid-step, his gaze lingering on the heavy doors behind them, and after a brief silence he said quietly, "They should have relaxed by now. Fire."

The guards looked at him with blank confusion, but then the sound came, screams, dozens of them, voices of priests carried out into the corridor, raw and desperate. Both men shuddered and quickly turned their eyes away, unwilling to imagine what was happening within those walls.

"Take me to the prisoners who were brought here with me," Jacob said, his voice steady though his fingers twitched faintly at his side. The two nodded at once and led him on, their pace cautious, their heads turning at every corner, for they knew that every step further into the prison complex was one more chance to be seen.

Jacob let the chain fall from his wrist, its clatter against the floor echoing for a moment before fading into silence. It no longer served any use, and he doubted he would need it again. The real problem was finding a path through the halls without drawing attention, and that burden now fell to the guards who had chosen to guide him.

As they walked, his eyes dropped to his hands. They trembled faintly, though he tried to still them, and for the first time he felt the weight of what he had just done pressing down on him. Killing had never been something he sought, but neither had he flinched from it when survival demanded it.

His first kill had been the mage who tried to strike him down during the banquet, his second the vampire who would have drained him without hesitation; both had been enemies who intended his death.

But this time was different. The priests had not raised their hands against him, not truly, they had feared him, they had threatened him, but they had stood powerless in that moment, and yet he had burned them all regardless. He told himself it had been necessary, that their own threats had forced his hand, but still, the thought of their voices and the memory of their faces would not leave him.

He clenched his fists tighter, whispering in his mind, 'my hands cannot tremble after something this small,' as though saying the words would make it true, yet the slight quiver did not cease. He sighed, and the thought came unbidden, 'this is why I am more suited to be a scholar, someone buried in books and knowledge, far away from blood and death.'

The guards stopped abruptly, dragging him out of his thoughts. "Hide in here, quickly," one of them whispered, pulling a door open and ushering him inside. Jacob did not resist and stepped into the shadowed room while they remained outside, standing guard as best they could.

'Those two could betray you,' Yggdrasil's voice stirred in his mind, its tone calm but sharp, as if cutting through his hesitation.

Jacob's eyes lingered on the closed door. 'The warden saw their faces. Even if the others do not know who aided me, he does, and he will kill them without hesitation if he finds them. They know this. They wish to escape as well.'

Before Yggdrasil could answer, Jacob heard the muffled sound of voices beyond the door.

"There's a fire at the twelfth chapel, the prisoner killed them all, he should still be nearby," one of the guards reported hastily.

"Then what are you two doing here?" came another voice responded.

"We were on our way to report to the higher officials," the guard replied quickly, "we managed to catch a glimpse of the prisoner, and it's better they know what he looks like."

There was the sound of footsteps rushing past, fading into the distance, and then silence returned. The door, however, remained closed.

"Sir," one of the guards finally spoke again, his voice shaking slightly, "we have betrayed Whisper for the sake of our lives. We are not strong, nor are we useful enough to be of real value to them."

The second guard added after a pause, his words steadier though carrying a bitterness that could not be disguised, "our mother was a devout believer, she forced us into this life, but we have no faith in any gods. If anything, we despise this place. Everyone here is mad, driven to cruelty by their faith, as if belief itself were an excuse for every horror. It is nothing but a madhouse."

"Even if you escape, you may think to kill us later," the first continued, "and if we stay, we will surely die. We understand that. We are not fools."

There was a brief silence, broken by the second voice again, lower and more desperate this time, "Sir, if you manage to get out of here, then please take us with you. If you allow us to leave, you will never see us again, we'll flee this country and vanish into another land, far away from this madness. Only… please, save us."

They fell quiet, clearly unwilling to open the door until Jacob gave them an answer.

"Aiding members of Whisper is a crime," Jacob said at last, his tone even, "a crime that could place me in a cell myself."

For a moment there was only the sound of their breathing, and then one of them spoke with quiet certainty, "Sir Jacob Skydrid, fourth son of the Skydrid family, disciple of Grand Scholar Lazarus, a mage bearing a grade one aspect, a talent that would be welcomed anywhere. Even if you do this, who would dare punish you?"

'So they knew who I was,' Jacob thought grimly, though he gave no outward sign. He remained silent for several moments before asking, "What of your mother?"

"She is a spy," one of them answered quickly, "working within the capital's local affairs office. If you save us, we will gladly hand her over."

"Your own mother?" Jacob asked, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. Again there was that familiar silence which had begun to settle like a rhythm in their exchanges.

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"She cares nothing for us, nor we for her," one of them said at last, his tone flat. "Her loyalty belongs only to Whisper and to her god."

Jacob closed his eyes briefly, weighing his choices, then gave his answer. "Very well. With the exposure of a spy, your own crimes can be forgiven, and you will have the chance to begin anew. I will help you escape, and I will do so under my name as a Skydrid."

The door opened almost at once.

By swearing on his family's name, Jacob had bound himself to the promise, leaving no room for retreat. He stepped out into the corridor and looked at the two of them. Their expressions were guarded, but their reddened eyes betrayed them. Whatever words they had spoken about hating their mother, it was clear that some part of them still felt the pull of blood, however faint or resented.

"We have no time, let's move," Jacob said flatly, unmoved by the traces of grief that clung to the two guards, for in the end it had been their choice to betray or to remain faithful, and he had little interest in whatever regrets lingered in them.

The men reacted at once, fastening their helmets again and leading the way with quick, practiced steps. They guided him through dim corridors that bent and twisted like veins, past silent security checkpoints, even through a wide kitchen that at this hour stood deserted, its long tables bare and its hearths cold.

'They know this place well,' Jacob thought.

'And you already sense something wrong,' Yggdrasil answered within him, the words carrying the calm certainty of a reminder rather than a warning.

Jacob gave the thought a silent nod. 'Yes. We have met scarcely anyone along the way. I can admire their familiarity with these passages, but if they know these routes, then so do others. They are leading us into a trap.'

'Yet you follow still?'

'They will be waiting with Jessica and Arthur. If we fail to appear, there is a chance they will kill them out of hand. I cannot risk that.'

"How much longer?" Jacob asked aloud, his voice measured though the weight of urgency pressed against his chest.

"Two minutes, no more," one of them answered.

Two minutes, just enough, perhaps, for his gamble. According to the measure Yggdrasil had given earlier, rescuers should be drawing near by now, and Jacob's only hope was that they would arrive in time to intervene once the trap was sprung.

They walked in silence until the guards finally stopped before a wooden door set incongruously into the stone wall, its grain darkened with age. Jacob exhaled once, steadying himself, and then pushed it open.

The air inside struck him first, heavy, sour, saturated with the iron stench of blood. The chamber was a mirror of the other prison he had seen: screams echoing through narrow halls, bodies broken or bound in their cells, the floor marked by trails of filth and crimson. The guards led him without pause, as though blind to the misery that lined the passage, until they stopped before a cell that looked unnaturally clean amidst the ruin.

He heard the sobbing before he saw within. It was a sound he knew, one that seemed to cut into him more sharply than any blade could. Jessica.

He hurried to the bars, his heart lurching against his ribs, praying that she had somehow been spared. What he saw instead brought him to a halt.

Arthur sat slumped in a corner, his head bowed, his arms crossed tightly as though they alone could shield him. His body bore no wounds, yet around his neck was fastened a collar.

At the center of the cell Jessica knelt, her hands clutched desperately around the still form of another. Her tears fell unceasingly, her voice broken by grief that seemed to consume her.

"Open the door!" Jacob shouted, his words echoing harshly against the stone.

Arthur lifted his head at the sound, shock plain on his face, though his lips formed no words. Jessica did not turn, her sobs spilling out in ragged waves.

"We have no keys, Sir Jacob," one of the guards answered behind him.

"Damn it," Jacob muttered, his fists tightening before he called to his sister again, louder this time, "Jessica, what happened? Tell me what happened?"

Slowly, as though each motion cost her more strength than she could give, Jessica turned her head toward him. Her eyes were raw and swollen, her body trembling as she spoke.

"She was fine," she whispered hoarsely, the words breaking apart with her sobs. "Just a few minutes ago she was fine. And then…then she was gone. Mary… Mary just died."

Jacob froze where he stood, a thought so terrible it rooted itself in his mind, yet he tried at once to reject it, to push it aside with all the force of denial he could muster, because Yggdrasil had told him before that the priests could only channel their faith against those of equal rank, and by that reasoning Mary should have been safe, at least from the priests he had burned.

'Kid,' Yggdrasil's voice came softly.

Jacob's eyes narrowed, his silence deep but heavy.

'She died of faith,' the voice continued, firm now, 'it clings to her body. There is no mistake.'

Jacob did not answer, but his expression darkened, his lips pressed thin, his mind circling the unspoken conclusion.

'Kid…'

His words, when they finally came, were cold and stripped of emotion, though the ice in them was born from fear that bit deeper than anger. 'Did you lie to me?'

'I did not lie,' Yggdrasil answered, calm yet edged with something like regret, 'but there are exceptions. Apostles, those chosen directly by their gods can pour their faith into anyone, regardless of rank.'

'Then you should have known if one of them was an apostle,' Jacob thought bitterly, his mind searching for someone to hold accountable, for some gap in the logic that could shift the blame away.

'The high priest was one,' Yggdrasil admitted, 'but I had no reason to believe he was bound to her, nor did I even know she still lived.'

And that was it, the worst possibility made real. The high priest, before his own death, had managed to strike her down, and Mary's life had been cut short because Jacob had not acted swiftly enough, because his hand had faltered in caution and his mind had chosen impulse over precision.

She had died because he thought himself clever, placing his trap as though foresight were enough, when in truth it had been nothing more than arrogance dressed as strategy. She had died because he had not been strong enough.

Did Jacob care for Mary? Not in any way that mattered, for she had never cared for him, and he had not cared for her, and both of them had understood this with the clear distance of mutual dislike. But Jessica cared, Jessica, who clung to Mary as closely as Jacob clung to Belemir. And if Belemir were taken from him, Jacob knew he would be broken, undone in ways no strength could mend.

The thought coiled itself tighter around him. His chest constricted as though gripped by iron, each breath dragging against the weight of guilt. Jessica had once been closest to three people, himself, Lucas, and Mary.

She had other friends, but none who were bound as closely to her as those three. And now what remained of that circle? Lucas was gone, a death Jacob had caused. He himself had withdrawn, shutting her out, another bond broken by his own hand. And Mary, Mary was dead, her end another consequence of his failure.

The guilt rose like a tide. Jacob fell to his knees, his hands clutching his head as though he could force the thoughts back into silence, but they tore at him without pause. His throat tightened until he could hardly breathe, his mind repeating the same sentence over and over, it was his fault, no one else's. The priest was dead, the kidnapper was dead, the ones who had set the stage for this were gone. All that remained was him.

And then, as if the weight of his guilt were not enough, a voice rolled through the prison, every word a thunderclap against the stone walls.

"I knew I would meet you here."

The warden.

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