Master of Your Own Fate

Two weeks had passed since that odd nightmare, and life had settled back into a peaceful, if monotonous, routine. For three weeks, this subterranean cell had been my entire world, a world I had not once left. The days were marked by the visits of the little princess, who would stay for a few hours to talk and share a variety of delicacies she’d brought from the palace kitchens. She had been tirelessly pleading my case to her father, the king, and the royal council, hoping to secure a pardon for my transgression. I could have forced my own escape, of course, but such an act would only tarnish the princess's reputation and undermine her efforts with the kingdom's rulers. And so, I waited, putting my faith in her and reasoning that a lawful release from this dungeon would be a rare and interesting novelty.

She arrived today at the usual hour, her presence a bright spark in the dungeon's perpetual gloom. Despite the damp chill that clung to the stone walls, she seemed especially buoyant, her smile radiant as we settled in for our daily conversation.

"So, little princess, what will it be today?" I asked, leaning against the cold bars. "The tale of the three hundred half-naked soldiers who repelled a million foes with only spears and shields? Or shall we revisit humanity's desperate war against an invading extraterrestrial race?"

Our chats had long since veered from the mundane and the common knowledge of her world, which she called Terra. At her eager prompting, I had begun recounting the plots of famous films my old teacher had recommended. She was utterly captivated, lingering for hours with each new story. Even the guards, initially stoic and distant, would find excuses to drift closer, their ears straining to catch the fantastical narratives. Despite the cultural and technological chasms that made some concepts incomprehensible to them, the princess and her sentinels were a rapt audience. Their reactions—gasps at a climax, shocked silence at a plot twist—were a constant source of amusement.

Whenever I pressed her for details about this kingdom or the world beyond my cell, she would offer only a cheeky smile. "You'll have to see for yourself," she’d say, hinting that my release might be imminent. Her playful evasiveness filled me with a strange hope, a feeling that something extraordinary awaited me once I was finally free.

"Mr. Criminal," she began, her tone shifting as she leaned back in the comfortable armchair that had been brought for her convenience, along with a small round table and a standing lamp. "What is your idea of a hero?"

"Pardon me?" The question was so unexpected it caught me off guard. We had been taking a brief pause in my tale of a world threatened by a colossal stone falling from the heavens. She had just handed me a cup of a hot, rum-flavored beverage that warmed me to the core.

"A perfect hero," she clarified, her gaze serious. "If such a thing exists. You seem to know so much about so many things. What are your thoughts?"

"The perfect hero? Little miss, you're looking at one," I chuckled, taking another sip of the steaming drink. It seemed to grow more delicious with every taste. "Any hero who is exactly like me is, by definition, perfect!"

"Oh, honestly. I should have known better than to ask you something serious." The princess furrowed her brow in a mock grimace, a sight that was still utterly adorable. Teasing her was a true delight.

She took a sip of her own hot, non-alcoholic drink. Lately, she had been bringing enough for the guards as well, who were visibly pleased by her thoughtfulness. She must be a beloved figure among the populace, or at the very least, cherished by the castle staff. She treated everyone with a genuine warmth, devoid of disdain. I wondered if this was the norm for royalty on this world, or if she was a rare exception. Wouldn't it be something if everyone could be like her?

I continued with my story, bringing the day's chapter to a close. Normally, this was her cue to depart, but today she lingered, an uncharacteristic melancholy settling over her. She seemed smaller in her chair, her earlier cheerfulness gone.

"Is something troubling you, little miss?" I asked gently, my own initiative surprising me. "You've been staring at the floor for quite some time."

Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment before she looked away again, leaning back in her chair. "It's… it's about my sisters," she said after a long pause, her voice low and dejected. "Soon, it will be my turn. In just a few days, I will have to go, too."

She drew her knees to her chest, hiding her face between them.

"I see," I said softly. I didn't need to know the details to understand her fear. Being sent away to a distant land to uphold some family tradition or honor—it must be a terrifying prospect, especially for a child.

She remained huddled, silent. The fact that she would confide this fear in me spoke volumes about the trust we had built. With her sisters gone, I surmised she had few people to turn to. Perhaps that was the real reason she had visited me every single day for three weeks. What kind of tradition placed such a heavy burden on a girl so young? While I understood that our cultures were different and that those in high positions bore unique responsibilities, this felt like too much. I knew I might have to intervene later, but for now…

"I won't tell you to run away or defy your duty," I began, and I could feel her listening, though her face remained hidden. "I'm an outsider, after all. I don't understand the full weight of your situation."

"But let me tell you this."

I pushed myself off my cot and moved to the front of the cell. Reaching a hand through the bars, I gently rested it on her head. She didn't flinch.

"Regardless of the circumstances, you are the only one who truly knows what you want and what you believe you must do. So, trust that instinct. Follow the path that feels right in your heart. Don't let others dictate your course or sway your resolve. In the end, every person is the master of their own fate."

Silence. Had my words fallen flat? I thought I’d said something rather profound, a feat I didn't accomplish often.

The guards, standing a respectful distance away, had tensed the moment I’d touched the princess, but they relaxed slightly when they saw I was only patting her head.

The quiet stretched for a few more seconds before I changed my gentle pat to a rough, playful tousle, messing up her perfectly arranged, silky hair. "Kyaa!" She let out a small yelp and slapped my hand away, finally looking up at me.

"What do you think you're doing?" she scolded, her brow furrowed. "Touching a lady's head without permission, and messing up her hair, no less!" But the fire was back in her eyes. She was herself again. I could see the faint, glistening tracks of tears on her cheeks. She really had been crying.

"There you are," I said, my voice returning to its usual lighthearted tone. "I thought I'd lost you there for a second."

"Sheesh!" She brushed at her eyes, a small smile finally breaking through.

"The master of our own fate..." she murmured, her voice stronger now. "That does sound rather wonderful." She looked at me directly, her gaze intense. "You had better make my belief in you worthwhile. We are the masters of our own destiny."

With that, she stood and turned to leave. After a few steps, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "Axel, you said that if all heroes were like you, perhaps things wouldn't be so bad."

Her smile was sudden and dazzlingly bright. "If it's possible, I hope my sisters and I can see that for ourselves one day."

I grinned back. "You will, princess. And when you do, I'll be the one with the smug look on my face, showing off an array of delicacies you've never even dreamed of."

I struck a confident pose, arms crossed over my chest. I couldn't wait to see her reaction when I finally managed to create a fizzy carbonated drink for her to try.

"And it's Rylan Maxton," I added, deciding it was time to give her my real name, not the codename from a life I'd left behind.

"Rylan Maxton?" she whispered, her smile widening. "Very well, Rylan. I will look forward to it." She seemed genuinely happy as she walked away, disappearing down the corridor. For the next few days, she didn't visit. I figured she must be busy with preparations for her assignment. It was only then that I realized, with a jolt, that I still didn't know her name.

A little over a week passed in silence. I found myself wondering when I would finally be released. The little princess was facing her own ordeal, and I didn't want to add to her burdens by causing a scene. I resolved to wait patiently for a few more days before taking matters into my own hands.

The very next day, a group of guards appeared before my cell. Their uniforms were more ornate than those of the usual jailers; they carried themselves with an air of higher authority.

"By order of His Majesty the King, you are summoned to his presence," one of them announced, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You will approach the throne, bow your head, and beg for his pardon!" These newcomers certainly had a high opinion of themselves. Fortunately, I was past the point of being easily provoked. The old me would have torn through this cell and shown these men a true nightmare.

That didn't mean, however, that I had gone soft. "Well, it's about time," I replied, a sharp, menacing grin spreading across my face. I met his haughty gaze with a piercing look of my own. "Tell the old geezer I'm on my way to see him."

My glib response momentarily took the envoy aback. This man was a figure of authority, yet he was far more easily flustered than the young princess. It made me wonder who was truly the more mature.

"Fine. Follow me," the man said, recovering his composure. "We leave at once."

He unlocked the cell and placed a pair of heavy, ornate shackles on my wrists. It had been a long time since I’d worn these; the princess had arranged for their removal weeks ago. They escorted me out, four men in front and four behind. It seemed an excessive detail, considering only two guards had ever been needed to escort me to the latrine. This time, however, my eyes and ears were left uncovered, allowing me to finally take in my surroundings.

I soon passed the familiar door to the latrine, officially venturing farther than I had since my imprisonment began. My cell was clearly in the most isolated part of the dungeon; I had the distinct feeling I was its only inmate.

After navigating a few more corridors, we reached a circular stone stairway that spiraled endlessly upward. This was it. I was finally leaving this damp, miserable place. Judging by the time since my breakfast, it had to be midday. I hadn't seen the sun in what felt like an eternity.

The stone steps were narrow, barely two meters wide. As we ascended, the air grew warmer and drier. We soon emerged into another corridor, this one wider and shorter than those below, ending in a large wooden door. It was an imposing structure, three meters high and just as wide, fashioned from thick planks of wood reinforced with iron bars and studs. It looked incredibly solid.

Beyond it, we entered a spacious, rectangular hall—a world away from the dungeon. The ceiling soared at least five meters above, and the air… the air felt clean and fresh. I took a deep breath, feeling a sense of rejuvenation I hadn't experienced in weeks. The hall was illuminated by a series of small, round windows set high in the walls. A man stood behind a nearby counter, a sort of checkpoint for the dungeon. A receptionist for an empty prison. Or perhaps he was here specifically for me. I felt strangely honored.

The envoys extinguished the lamp-like devices they carried. They weren't electric, nor were they simple candles. I had no idea what their light source was, though I suspected it might be one of the luminous stones I had glimpsed in the dungeon.

The lead envoy retrieved a bundle of clothes from the counter and handed them to me. "Change into these. You cannot appear before His Majesty looking like a vagrant."

Despite his haughty tone, he presented the clothes to me rather than tossing them. I sensed that, under different circumstances, he might be a decent man. My earlier behavior had clearly left a poor impression.

I changed out of the plain shirt I'd borrowed from a guard, the last remnant of my previous life here. The elegant one the princess had given me was lost during that bizarre incident weeks ago. I remembered how upset she'd been. "How do you lose a shirt in a place like this?" she had demanded, exasperated. I hadn't had an answer for her then, and I didn't have one now.

The new outfit was of a similar style to the one she had given me, exquisitely made from glossy velvet and adorned with intricate embroidery. I noted that the envoys wore similarly fantastical attire. This was a fashion that would certainly be considered exotic on Earth.

We passed the receptionist's desk and proceeded down a more elegant, slender hallway. The rough stone floor gave way to polished, ornamented tiles. Ahead, the corridor grew brighter. There had to be an opening to the outside. As we drew closer, I saw that the solid walls were replaced by railings on either side. It wasn't a hallway, but a bridge connecting two separate buildings.

The moment I set foot on the bridge, I froze, every muscle in my body locking in place. The scene outside was so staggering that my eyes felt as if they would pop from their sockets. This wasn't just a bridge; it was a sky bridge. Below it, as far as the eye could see, was nothing but a roiling sea of white clouds. The entire structure I was in was floating. It wasn't perched on a mountain or supported by any visible pillar. It simply hung in the sky, an impossible castle anchored to nothing but a massive, rocky foundation that disappeared into the mists below.