Prison Break

Jarathia | At The Back Of The Volcano | Inside The Cabin

“How are you, Nine?” Sunthia asks.

“You mean… with Jerome.” he says.

She nods.

“I was angry,” Nine admits, “but I never wanted to watch him suffer. He was doing his best to keep fate at bay—to save people. But in the end…”

“Is it because of me?” Sunthia’s voice is weak.

“No. None of it is your fault.”

Her composure breaks. “Nine—but if I were stronger…” Tears spill. “I’m still the weak child who depends on you. I can’t change that—even on my deathbed, I—”

She rises onto her toes, eyes locked on his, leaning in—

—but a shudder of disgust runs through her and she turns aside, ashamed.

Nine rests a hand on her shoulder. “You were only doing your job too. Sunthia… you’re the sun of Jarathia.”

“I want to be honest about my feelings.” she whispers.

“Don’t force yourself to. Never.”

She nods, wiping her cheeks. “I’m just scared. I don’t know what comes next.”

“I don’t either.” he says. “But I’ll do everything that I can.”

On the table, the Rubik’s cube sits solved—colors aligned, edges perfect.

Jarathia | At The Back Of The Volcano | Outside the Cabin

Hanla stares at the Outskirts, past the spare pines around.

All of this feels like a punch to the gut… Today taught me more than I can process. I have so many questions: how do societies decline, why patterns repeat… there’s wyverns that spawn from heat and dust and shelves full of books on souls and mana. Why focus on the soul—and the network? It’s strange.

“Rokku…” she murmurs. “I wish I could see the connections as easy as you did…”

The door opens. Nine and Sunthia step out.

“So… you confessed?” Hanla teases.

Sunthia blushes. “C-confession?”

Nine blinks. “Confessed what?”

“Maybe you ARE an airhead, Nine.” Hanla laughs.

“Maybe.” He agrees, still clueless.

“City, then!” Hanla grins. “Time for an epic prison break!”

Jarathia | Slums

The walk is quiet. Sunthia clings to Nine’s arm, while Hanla keeps pace—a faint, lopsided smile on her lips as she watches them.

From the alleys, people pour out toward them.

“Nine…” A woman sighs in relief.

“Nine, Nine—Nine!” the children chant, swarming around his legs. Some of the kids glance at Hanla, eyes bright. “Hello hero!”

“I have to go.” Sunthia tells Nine softly. “To check up on Faisc. Please make it back safely. And Hanla—thank you.”

She turns and, halfway down the lane, throws her voice back to declare: “Nine and Hanla have important HERO things to do, everyone! We can hang out with them later!”

Laughter ripples along, hands wave and doors ease shut again.

“That was… a lot. At once.” Hanla says, exhaling.

Nine just starts walking and Hanla falls in beside him, stretching her arms overhead with a sudden snort of laughter. “So—suicide mission, woo!”

Hands in his pockets, Nine nods toward the mist-stained horizon. “All the way up to the refinery.”

“Wait—what?”

“Follow me.” He says, already moving.

Jarathia | City Outskirts | Old Refinery And Prison

The refinery sprawls out in rust and shadow, its old machines studded with stones that no longer hum. The ground is scorched black.

A warped placard hangs crooked at the gate:

JARATHIA PRISON

“It’s so empty.” Hanla says, peering over the railing. A gigantic shaft yawns below them. “And this hole… all the walls are destroyed!”

Nine rubs the back of his neck. “That was me. I pushed the beast down to get away. The higher-ups got lucky that it surfaced here— It’s sleeping now.”

“They said you lost against it.”

“I did, kind of.” He answers, dry. “I put it to sleep and still couldn’t free Mersa. I failed. And the prisoners here are mostly dead. So I gave up hope. Didn’t see the point in trying again.”

“And Mersa is…?”

Footsteps quietly patter closer. Chisa steps out of the heat-haze, silent as a shadow.

“In the lower grounds.” Chisa says. “You smashed the beast into the hole. The guards still have access tunnels to Mersa. Shafts. I don’t know if he’s alive though. The whole complex has been abandoned for a year. And I can’t breach the contract-”

She tosses a key to them. Nine catches it—and flicks it back to her.

“We won’t need them—the shaft keys,” he says, “we’re killing the beast AND freeing Mersa.”

Hanla squares her shoulders. “Exactly.”

Chisa stops an arm’s length away from Nine. “I’m sorry I thought you killed Jerome.”

“I won’t forgive you so easily.” Says Nine.

“I know.” she whispers, “but I really am sorry. Please—” She breathes in, steadying her voice. “We did what we did for Jarathia. Trust me on that.”

“You killed.” Nine snaps. “Over and over—”

Crystal fragments shiver up from the ground.

“Focus.” Hanla cuts in.

Nine exhales—the shards whither away.

“I’m a killer, yes.” Chisa says, voice low. “The world is… complicated. I want to make things right. Please—the both of you—save Jarathia. Fight for us. I’m not as strong as you. But Jerome and I… we meant well.”

Purple lighting rises around her body and with the speed of light, she’s gone.

“Chisa…” Nine’s hand curls. Hanla touches his sleeve.

“Later.” she says. “We have something to defeat.”

They edge to the rim. Nine steps into empty air—and a spiral of crystal steps bloom into existence, leading downward.

“Handy ability.” Hanla mutters, following.

They descend past a second, narrower shaft and rows of cells. Inside, only rot and rust remain. Hanla’s gaze catches on shadows—movement—thin, congealing darkness that hangs just behind some bars.

“What are those?” She breathes.

The shades burst from the cells and ignite—ragged silhouettes wreathed in flame.

Nine takes one long stride forward. A forest of crystal lances spear outward, pinning the fire-shapes in place. They go still.

“What is that?” Hanla crouches. In the charred remains, eyes gleam—flat, red, wrong.

“You see it too.” Nine says.

The air grows heavier, colder, as if something beneath them has begun to awaken.

“It’s the miasma saturation—from the Calamity?” Hanla asks. “Does it warp the dead or…?”

“At the bottom,” Nine explains instead, “there’s a main cell. Mersa’s there. Maybe he’s dead already.”

“Trust me.” Hanla says quietly. “Sometimes survivors remain where you’d never expect any.”

Goosebumps crawl up her arms.

I took things too lightly again. Why is my body rebelling? I have agency, power—I’m doing something—so why do I feel this dread? What am I not admitting to myself?

“You don’t see corpses often. Your body is giving you away.” Nine says. Then he inhales, grimacing and coughing right after. “Ugh, right. Sure smells like corpses. Didn’t miss this. Bah.”

Hanla barks a laugh in spite of herself. “That’s dark. Thanks for the warning, I guess?”

“You’ll get used to it,” he says, "and at least you’ve got a charismatic companion with you.”

Her breathing steadies.

“Let’s keep going.” Hanla decides.

They take the crystal staircase further down the shaft. The light shifts as they descend, the world washed into greyscale, and only black shadows keep the hole’s shape clear.

At the lowest level, machinery glints in harsh contrasts—black-and-white rigs: a drill, a humming counter and a tarnished placard stamped with a name:

Jerado — Guard

“They used this as a refinery before. Jarathia is rich in minerals—lots of special stones. It’s also one of the few Islands with Blackwood on it.” Nine says. “They rebuilt the refinery into a prison and started throwing the stronger people in here. Because the old prison had too many outbreaks, according to Jenna. And yes, the main reason for this place was that the mayor feared Mersa a lot.”

“That’s why they tied it to the refinery—every cell used to be a shaft…” Hanla murmurs.

Nine steps up to the counter, fishes a blue crystal from his pocket, and slots it into a socket. The walls thrum and a hidden stairway grinds out of stone. Light spills through mana channels. The refinery-prison wakes up.

He grips a lever on the table. “We set everyone free. They’ve suffered long enough.”

“What do you—”

He pulls.

Bars clatter open along the circular walls. Above them, plentiful shapes—fire-wreathed shades—drop from the higher tiers.

Nine’s traps bloom into life upon the walls: arrays of crystal spikes that impale each falling shade. One by one they burst; the ground starts to fill with embered ash, a strange reddish substance and the clink of loose cores—fire stones and water stones—freely rolling about as the shades vanish.

Hanla swallows. Nine closes his eyes.

“Hey, Nine—what did you mean by—”

“You’ll get it later.” He says quietly. “If I say it now, I’ll lose control. I don’t want to hurt you. And we have more to do.”

She nods and files the clues away.

They move on to the lowest area. A single cell waits on the left—on the right looms a stone golem, seven meters tall, green veins pulsing along its rocky body. Propped up beside it: a flaming green sword.

They head left.

“The walls are too strong.” Nine says. “Can you open the door? My crystals can’t crush this alloy.”

Hanla reaches for the box in her bag and touches a black stone. Her hands go night-dark, veins glossy as obsidian; the same sheen slips over her thighs. Nine lifts a palm and seals the corridor with a muting veil, then leans against the wall.

“Do your thing, Guild Master.”

“Let’s lift the mood a bit, Vice Leader.”

“Got any good jokes before we die?” Nine teases.

“Macabre. I like it.” She comments, and drives her fist into the door.

Again.
And again.

Nothing gives.

“And you threw the key away! Grr…” Hanla complains.

“That key opened a different gate,” Nine comments, “and if you can’t break this door, you won’t have enough power to end the beast either.”

Hanla draws a deep breath, focusing. “Obsidian is brittle… I have an idea!”

She taps a fire stone. Her hands get darker, threaded now with searing lines like burning parchment. Heat blooms. She presses her palm to the door and pours fire in—hotter and hotter—until the metal glows cherry red, then white.

“Wait.” Nine says. “You can’t heat it more, that’s—”

But she does. Stone and steel soften. A small, molten hole yawns open, then grows larger.

Finally, Hanla pulls away, shaking off bright embers. “Heh. I’d pat my cheek, but I’d singe it… Your turn!”

Nine steps in. He sweeps one arm up—crystal bars grow along the hole, bracing it like a jack. He increases the crystals. A hairline crack rings out. He pours more strength through the framework, muscles standing out under his sleeves.

“Come on!”

The crystal brace explodes inward—taking the door with them—shards skittering all the way to the opposite wall.

The cell’s door stands open.

“Tough…” Nine mutters.

Hanla cools her fists against her cheeks—the black sheen fades from her skin. She lifts a knuckle. Nine bumps it.

“So,” she grins, breathless, “we successfully pushed the door open!”

“Yes,” he says, “and… I should admit—you’ve got a strong ability.”

“Years of training!”

They step inside.