Master of Your Own Fate

A fortnight had drifted by since the strange phantoms of that nightmare, and existence had once more congealed into a tranquil, if somewhat repetitive, rhythm. For a total of three weeks, this subterranean chamber had represented the entirety of my universe, a domain from which I had not taken a single step. The passage of time was marked solely by the daily visits of the young princess, who would linger for several hours, sharing conversation and an assortment of confections brought from the palace kitchens. With unwavering persistence, she had been championing my cause before her father, the king, and the royal council, striving to secure a pardon for my transgression. Escape, of course, was well within my power; I could have engineered my own freedom at any moment. Yet, such an action would inevitably besmirch the princess’s good name and sabotage the delicate progress she had made with the kingdom’s sovereigns. Thus, I remained, placing my trust in her and convincing myself that a lawful liberation from this dungeon would prove to be a uniquely interesting novelty.

She made her appearance at the customary hour today, her arrival a vibrant splash of color against the dungeon’s perpetual twilight. An ever-present, damp chill clung to the stone, but she seemed exceptionally buoyant, her smile a radiant beacon as we prepared for our daily discourse.

“So, little princess, what is on the docket for today?” I inquired, my back resting against the frigid iron bars. “Will it be the saga of the three hundred half-clothed soldiers who drove back a million invaders with naught but spears and shields? Or perhaps we shall return to humanity’s desperate struggle against a conquering race from beyond the stars?”

Our conversations had long ago transcended the mundane affairs and common knowledge of her world, which she referred to as Terra. At her insistent prompting, I had started to recount the plots of celebrated films my old mentor had once urged me to watch. She was utterly spellbound, hanging on for hours with every new tale I spun. Even the guards, who were at first impassive and stoic, had begun to find reasons to linger nearby, their ears straining to capture fragments of the extraordinary narratives. Despite the profound cultural and technological divides that rendered certain concepts alien to them, the princess and her sentinels were an enthralled audience. Their spontaneous reactions—gasps of suspense at a climax, stunned quiet following a plot twist—were a ceaseless wellspring of private amusement for me.

Whenever I tried to press her for information about this kingdom or the world that lay beyond my stone confines, she would answer with nothing more than a mischievous smile. “You will simply have to see it for yourself,” she would reply, her words carrying the subtle implication that my freedom might be closer than I thought. Her playful coyness ignited a peculiar spark of hope within me, a sense that something truly remarkable awaited me once I was finally at liberty.

“Mr. Criminal,” she began, her tone acquiring a new gravity as she settled back into the plush armchair that had been provided for her comfort, situated beside a small, round table and a standing lamp. “What is your conception of a hero?”

“I beg your pardon?” The query was so unforeseen that it caught me entirely by surprise. We had been in a brief lull in my narration of a world facing annihilation from a colossal stone descending from the heavens. She had just passed me a cup filled with a hot, rum-spiced beverage that sent a welcome warmth radiating through my entire body.

“A perfect hero,” she elaborated, her gaze intense and serious. “Assuming such a being could even exist. You appear to possess such vast knowledge about so many things. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

“The perfect hero? Little miss, you are looking at one,” I quipped with a low chuckle, taking another draft of the steaming liquid. It seemed to grow more delectable with each sip. “Any hero who is a precise reflection of myself is, by sheer definition, perfect!”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. I ought to have known better than to pose a serious question to you.” The princess knitted her brows into a mock scowl, a display that was, nonetheless, utterly charming. Teasing her was a genuine pleasure.

She took a sip of her own warm, non-alcoholic drink. In recent days, she had developed the habit of bringing enough for the guards as well, a gesture that visibly pleased them. It was clear she must be a beloved figure among the common people, or at the very least, deeply cherished by the castle’s staff. She treated everyone she encountered with an authentic warmth, utterly devoid of condescension. I found myself wondering if this was the standard for royalty on this world, or if she was a singular exception. What a world it would be if everyone could be like her.

I resumed my story, guiding the day’s installment to its conclusion. This was typically her signal to take her leave, but today she remained, an uncharacteristic cloud of melancholy descending over her. She seemed to shrink in her chair, her earlier ebullience having completely evaporated.

“Is something troubling you, little miss?” I asked softly, surprised by my own initiative. “You have been staring at the flagstones for a considerable while.”

Her head jerked up, her eyes locking with mine for a brief, fleeting instant before she averted her gaze once more, slumping back into the chair. “It’s… it’s about my sisters,” she murmured after a protracted silence, her voice hushed and forlorn. “Soon, it will be my turn. In only a few days, I will be required to go, too.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, concealing her face between them.

“I see,” I said gently. I didn’t require the particulars to comprehend her dread. The prospect of being dispatched to a faraway land to satisfy some family tradition or uphold a point of honor—it must be a terrifying notion, particularly for one so young.

She stayed curled in on herself, silent. The very fact that she would entrust this fear to me, a prisoner, spoke volumes about the bond we had forged. With her sisters already gone, I suspected she had few people in whom she could confide. Perhaps that was the true motive behind her daily visits for these past three weeks. What sort of tradition could impose such a crushing weight on a girl of her age? While I grasped that our cultures were vastly different and that those of high station carried unique burdens, this felt excessive. I knew I might have to intervene at a later point, but for now…

“I will not advise you to run away or to shirk your duty,” I started, sensing that she was listening intently, though her face was still obscured. “I am an outsider, after all. I cannot possibly understand the full gravity of your circumstances.”

“But allow me to tell you this.”

I levered myself off my cot and crossed the short distance to the front of the cell. Extending a hand through the bars, I rested it gently upon her head. She did not recoil.

“Irrespective of the situation, you are the sole person who truly knows what you desire and what you feel you must do. Therefore, trust that inner voice. Follow the path that feels right within your heart. Do not permit others to dictate your journey or to weaken your resolve. In the final analysis, every individual is the master of their own fate.”

Silence followed. Had my words missed their mark? I had thought it was a rather profound statement, a feat I rarely managed.

The guards, posted at a respectful distance, had grown rigid the instant my hand had touched the princess, but they eased their posture slightly upon seeing I was merely patting her head.

The quiet stretched on for a few more seconds before I altered my gentle pat to a rough, affectionate tousle, disheveling her immaculately styled, silken hair. “Kyaa!” She let out a tiny shriek and swatted my hand away, her face at last lifting to meet mine.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she chided, her brow deeply furrowed. “Touching a lady’s head without her leave, and ruining her hair, no less!” But the spark had returned to her eyes. She was herself again. I could just make out the faint, glistening paths of tears on her cheeks. She truly had been crying.

“There you are,” I said, my voice reverting to its customary lighthearted tone. “I thought I had lost you for a moment there.”

“Sheesh!” She brushed at her eyes, a small smile finally breaking through the gloom.

“The master of our own fate…” she whispered, her voice regaining its strength. “That does sound rather wonderful.” She looked at me directly, her gaze unwavering and intense. “You had better ensure my faith in you is not misplaced. We are the masters of our own destiny.”

With that pronouncement, she rose and pivoted to depart. After several steps, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “Axel, you said that if all heroes were like you, perhaps things would not be so terrible.”

Her smile was sudden and blindingly brilliant. “If it is possible, I hope that my sisters and I might see that for ourselves one day.”

I grinned in return. “You will, princess. And on that day, I’ll be the one with the smug expression, presenting an array of delicacies you have never even imagined.”

I struck a confident pose, folding my arms across my chest. I couldn’t wait to witness her reaction when I finally succeeded in concocting a fizzy, carbonated beverage for her to sample.

“And it’s Rylan Maxton,” I added, deciding the time was right to give her my true name, not the codename from a life I had left far behind.

“Rylan Maxton?” she repeated in a soft whisper, her smile growing even wider. “Very well, Rylan. I shall look forward to it.” She appeared genuinely happy as she walked away, her form receding down the corridor until it vanished. For the next few days, she did not appear. I presumed she was occupied with preparations for her impending assignment. It was only then that it struck me, with a sudden jolt, that I still had not learned her name.

A little more than a week passed in silence. I began to wonder when my release would finally come. The little princess was confronting her own trial, and I was reluctant to compound her burdens by creating a disturbance. I resolved to wait with patience for a few more days before I considered taking matters into my own hands.

On the very next day, a contingent of guards materialized before my cell. Their uniforms were more ornate than those of my usual wardens, and they carried themselves with an unmistakable air of superior rank.

“By order of His Majesty the King, you are hereby summoned to his presence,” one of them declared, his voice saturated with arrogance. “You will approach the throne, bow your head, and supplicate for his pardon!” These newcomers certainly held themselves in high esteem. Fortunately, I was long past the age of being easily baited. The old me would have torn this cell apart and shown these men the meaning of a waking nightmare.

That was not to say, however, that I had grown soft. “Well, it’s about damn time,” I retorted, a sharp, menacing grin stretching across my features. I met his haughty stare with a piercing look of my own. “Tell the old geezer I’m on my way to pay him a visit.”

My insolent reply momentarily flustered the envoy. This man was clearly a figure of authority, yet he was far more easily discomposed than the young princess. It made me ponder which of them was truly the more mature.

“Fine. Follow me,” the man snapped, managing to regain his composure. “We depart immediately.”

He unlocked the cell and fastened a pair of heavy, intricately carved shackles onto my wrists. It had been a long time since I had last worn these; the princess had seen to their removal weeks ago. They escorted me out, four men positioned in front and four behind. It seemed a rather theatrical precaution, given that only two guards had ever been deemed necessary for my trips to the latrine. This time, however, my eyes and ears were left uncovered, granting me the opportunity to finally observe my surroundings.

I soon walked past the familiar doorway to the latrine, officially venturing farther than I had since the start of my confinement. My cell was situated in what was clearly the most sequestered section of the dungeon; I had the distinct impression I was its solitary occupant.

After we traversed a few more corridors, we arrived at a circular stone staircase that spiraled upward without end. This was it. I was finally ascending from this damp, wretched place. Based on the time that had elapsed since my morning meal, it had to be around midday. It felt like an eternity since I had last seen the sun.

The stone steps were narrow, scarcely two meters across. As we climbed, the atmosphere grew warmer and drier. We eventually emerged into another corridor, this one wider and shorter than the ones below, culminating in a large wooden door. It was an imposing barrier, standing three meters tall and equally as wide, constructed from thick timber planks reinforced with iron bands and studs. It had the look of something incredibly durable.

Beyond it, we stepped into a vast, rectangular hall—a different world entirely from the dungeon. The ceiling soared at least five meters overhead, and the air… the air felt pure and fresh. I inhaled deeply, a sensation of renewal washing over me that I had not known in weeks. The hall was lit by a series of small, circular windows set high along the walls. A man stood behind a nearby counter, which seemed to function as a sort of checkpoint for the dungeon. A receptionist for an empty prison. Or perhaps his post was solely for my benefit. I felt strangely honored.

The envoys extinguished the lamp-like instruments they carried. They were neither electric nor simple candle lanterns. I had no notion of their power source, though I suspected it might be related to the luminous stones I had occasionally glimpsed in the dungeon below.

The lead envoy collected a bundle of clothes from the counter and presented them to me. “Change into these. You cannot appear before His Majesty looking like a vagrant.”

Despite his condescending tone, he handed me the garments rather than tossing them at my feet. I had a sense that, under different circumstances, he might have been a decent fellow. My earlier conduct had obviously left him with a poor impression.

I shed the plain shirt I had borrowed from a guard, the last vestige of my previous life here. The elegant one the princess had gifted me had been lost during that strange incident weeks ago. I recalled how distressed she had been. “How does one lose a shirt in a place like this?” she had demanded, her voice thick with exasperation. I had no answer for her then, and I had none now.

The new attire was of a similar design to the one she had given me, exquisitely tailored from glossy velvet and embellished with elaborate embroidery. I observed that the envoys themselves wore comparably fanciful clothing. It was a style of dress that would undoubtedly be considered exotic back on Earth.

We moved past the receptionist’s desk and continued down a more elegant, slender hallway. The rough stone floor transitioned to polished, decorated tiles. Ahead, the corridor grew progressively brighter. There had to be an opening to the outside. As we approached, I saw that the solid walls gave way to railings on either side. It was not a hallway at all, but a bridge linking two separate structures.

The moment my foot touched the bridge, I froze, every muscle in my body seizing. The spectacle beyond was so utterly stupefying that my eyes felt as if they would bulge from their sockets. This was no ordinary bridge; it was a sky bridge. Beneath it, stretching as far as the eye could discern, was nothing but a churning expanse of white clouds. The entire edifice I was in was floating. It was not built upon a mountain peak or held aloft by any visible pillar. It simply hung suspended in the sky, an impossible castle anchored to nothing but a colossal, rocky foundation that plunged down and vanished into the mists below.