And your result weaken with anger and discontent

The silence in the cell wraps around me, suffocating. Minutes drag by, slow and heavy. Every so often, I hear distant footsteps, the clang of a door, but no one comes near my cell. “Is she okay? Of course she is. She’s Laila. Nothing can happen to her—she’s immortal…” Part of me knows that, but another part won’t stop worrying. «This is boring…»

The door screeches open, but Laila isn’t there. Three guards stand before the cell. I get to my feet, my throat tightening with anxiety, making it hard to breathe. «Where’s Laila?» I ask, my voice hoarse.

The guard who entered glances at me, indifferent. «The girl?»

«Yes, where is she? Why hasn’t she come back?»

«She caused trouble during interrogation. Used magic powers, which makes her a threat to prison security. She’s been put in isolation.» His tone is flat, emotionless.

«What an idiot.» I mutter, slapping a hand to my forehead. I feel thrown off, but not surprised; in some way, I expected it. «Eeeeeehhhh, guess it’s my turn now.»

«You guessed right. Give me your wrists.» As soon as I hold them out, he cuffs me. The guards push me down a corridor that seems endless. The smell of damp and dust is sharp, echoed by the thud of our footsteps. Finally, we stop before a massive iron door with no handle. The guard who cuffed me knocks three times, and the door creaks open. “Don’t they ever oil doors in this world?”

I step into a room lit by a single lantern hanging from the ceiling. There isn’t much inside—just a table and two chairs. I sit in the only one free.

The man across from me has flawless posture, stiff and disciplined. His snow-white hair is streaked with crimson strands. A scar runs down his face, from nose to the corner of his jaw, giving his expression an even sterner edge. “Wait, I’m confused… I thought this was supposed to be a steampunk archipelago. What’s a samurai doing here?”

The man studies me with sharp eyes. There’s no hostility in his gaze. He clears his throat. «Greetings, I am General Ito Kenji, 47 years old, married. A pleasure to meet you.» He bows slightly. «What is your name?»

«Nero Søren, 21 years old, single.» I reply, leaning on the table, my leg bouncing restlessly.

«Nero-san, I’ll ask you just a few questions. I ask that you cooperate so we can finish quickly and complete the necessary arrangements for hosting you.» He leans forward slightly, fingers interlaced on the table. «You said you’re single. What is your relationship with the two girls?»

«We’re just companions in misfortune, lucky enough to cross paths.»

«I see. Where did you come from?»

«We were fleeing the Kingdom of Spis.»

«What was your destination?»

«This kingdom.»

«How did you escape?»

«On the back of a familiar Nadia summoned.» “He won’t give me a break.”

«The child?»

«Yes.» “I can’t slow down.”

«Why were you fleeing?»

«Because we were being hunted by Goran’s army.» “One false step…”

«Why were they hunting you?»

«Because I was accused of killing a smert jesera.» “…one hesitation…”

«When?»

«About seventeen days ago.» “…and we’re done for.”

The general pauses. He crosses his arms and closes his eyes. “Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the smert jesera. But what else could I have said?”

His eyes open slightly. «Were you, by chance, wounded in the back and maimed on your left leg that night?»

“What?! How the hell does he know that?” «Y-yes…»

«I see…» His fingers brush his scar. «The memory of that night still burns.»

«Wait—you were there? You were that dragon thing?» I blurt, agitated.

«Of course. Who else do you think saved you from that vile beast? You have no idea the shame I felt returning to the kingdom with a wound inflicted by such a weak creature.»

«And that was weak to you?! Are you kidding me?!» I slam my hands on the table, rising to my feet.

His glare pierces me, but his composure never falters—if anything, he seems more distant. «If the king is as thirsty for revenge as you say—»

«I never said that!»

«Then, to avoid trouble, we should return you to Spis.»

«You don’t understand!» My fists clench so tightly my knuckles start bleeding again. «We risked our lives to get here. We can’t just leave!»

«The codes of our kingdom are clear, Nero-san. We cannot harbor outsiders who would draw greater attention from the Lord of Ashes.» Kenji rises, no longer meeting my eyes. Instead, he stares past my shoulder, as if I’m already a resolved issue. «The prison is not meant to host you for long. Given the circumstances, I assure you, you’ll be treated with proper respect on the journey to Spis’s border—no further.» He turns his back, heading for the door. «That’s all. Take him away.» His indifference grates on me.

The guards grab my shoulders, but I twist free, slide across the table, and clutch the back of his armor. «Hey, bastard, where do you think you’re going? We’re not done yet.»

Slowly, he turns to me. His eyes finally lose their unnerving coldness. «How dare you touch me?»

I release the armor, dropping my arms in irritation. He turns back, glaring down at me with superiority. «I don’t care if you send me back, but the girls must stay. They’ve got nothing to do with this.»

«You? Alone?» he scoffs. «A weak boy like you wouldn’t last a day—I’ve seen it.»

«You haven’t seen shit!» I take a step forward. «You saw me then. Since then, I’ve been through hell: I killed Captain Wilkotak, a loutky… I stood before the king and the three generals, survived a direct clash with Stoyan.»

His hand tightens into a fist. His face hardens, his eyes narrowing into slits.

«A brat like you shouldn’t toss those names around.» His voice is a low, dangerous growl. «Someone like you, who couldn’t even kill a smert jesera, isn’t worth the sheath of Wilkotak’s sword.» Silence falls. The tension is so thick the air itself could ignite. «Fine, Nero-san,» he sneers. «Since you’re so convinced of your fantasies, prove me wrong. Show me how good you are with a sword.»

«Fine.» My voice is flat. Kenji gestures with his hand and turns away. The guards shove me forward. «Where are we going?» I demand as we step through the door.

«We need space.»

We march down a damp, dusty corridor until we reach the prison courtyard. Guards line the perimeter, watching in silence. General Kenji stands on the far side. A soldier brings him the scabbard of a massive ōdachi. With regal fluidity, he draws the curved blade, as tall as I am.

One guard unlocks my cuffs and shoves me forward. «Choose your weapon,» he says, pointing at a rack by the wall—my confiscated swords. Of the three, I choose Wilkotak’s zweihander. Kenji’s eyes sweep from my face to the blade. His gaze sharpens. “He recognizes it. Now he’ll finally believe me.”

«Prepare yourself,» he orders, taking stance. I fumble with the zweihander, then ready myself too… But this isn’t a duel. It’s a brief, merciless dance. His ōdachi is lightning-fast, his technique flawless. He isn’t even trying, I can tell. After just a few exchanges, I’m disarmed before I realize it. The zweihander clatters to the stone floor. Kenji points to it with his blade. «That is not Wilkotak’s sword,» he says with contempt. «It’s a cheap imitation. And you are just a boy spouting lies to seem strong.»

«I’m not lying!» I shout.

«I’ve heard enough!» The guard with the scabbard approaches. Kenji sheaths the ōdachi with a sharp clack. «If you are truly as dangerous as you claim, then you are a threat to this nation. The girls traveled with you. The king will want their heads as much as yours. I’ll personally deliver all three of you back to Spis.»

He turns his back, heading for the courtyard exit, leaving the guards to seize me again. They drag me away, but I don’t feel them. All I see is the general’s back, growing smaller and smaller.

«stop…» I whisper. But he keeps walking, deaf to me.

«Stop!» I command louder. Heat spreads through my hands. The guards yank me along. His figure retreats further.

«STOP!» I roar with every breath in my lungs. The heat in my hands bursts. The guards are thrown back as heavy amber chains erupt from the ground, lashing forward and wrapping around the general. Kenji freezes, pinned to the earth. He turns his head—the only part not bound—his detached expression replaced with genuine surprise.

«I won’t let you take Nadia back to that slaughterhouse!» I shout, clenching my hand, tightening the chains. «If you truly were the one who saved my life, then how can you turn your back on an innocent child?»

«Release the chains, boy,» Kenji orders, calm but stern. But I won’t—I can’t! «The only thing you’ve proven,» he says coldly, «is that you’re a danger to everyone. Even to the girl you claim to protect. What guarantee do you have that you won’t lose control and attack her yourself?»

«Because my power was born to protect.»

«And by doing this, who are you protecting now? Her—or your ego?» His words pierce me like an arrow. I stare at the chains binding him. My gaze drops to the hand gripping them… Memories flood back—the chained Haab-shu, Goran’s godlike arrogance at the castle. “I… I’m like him…”

My hand slackens. The chains loosen and sink back into the earth with a dull thud, as if they never existed. Now free, Kenji turns and commands, «Take him to isolation.» The guards hesitate. «What are you waiting for?» His voice is cold authority. The guards close in, cuffing me again and dragging me away. I don’t resist. I let them.