A Thread of Will

A low bell tolled somewhere above the dungeon, signaling the evening hour.

Footsteps approached—slow, reluctant, the kind that carried news no one wanted to deliver.

Suzan lifted her head only because the sound was too close to ignore.

The guards stopped outside her bars.

“Prisoner,” one said. “You’re summoned.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t fight. She simply rose, her movements small and tired, and followed the pull of the chains.

For a moment, it almost felt like every other hearing.

Almost.

But halfway up the stairs, the corridor bent into torchlight—

and a second pair of guards appeared, breathless, anxious.

They handed over a sealed parchment.

The senior guard read it, jaw tightening.

And without looking at her, he said quietly:

“Turn her back.”

“Turn her back?” one said flatly asking.

“What? Why?”the other asked.

“Council’s word. They don’t want her seen. Pity’s spreading too far already.”

Suzan didn’t ask what they meant. She only turned quietly, letting the chains scrape against the floor as she walked back toward her cell.

She had no idea that the very streets she used to fill with chaos—the market she once ran through, the people she once annoyed, the fountain she once danced on—were now standing for her, speaking her name in defense.

But inside the court, none of that mattered. The judges feared truth more than guilt. They didn’t want mercy; they wanted control.

Because to them, Suzan’s suffering had become a symbol.

If they admitted she was innocent, they’d lose the illusion of order.

So they buried her beneath it instead.

They walked her back to her cell leaving her alone again, the silence of the cell returned—thick and suffocating. She sat still on her cot, her body trembling faintly from the cold. The torchlight outside her bars flickered like breath.

They said the council was “discussing.”

She knew what that meant.

Another day of waiting.

Her mind drifted far from the dungeon—to the streets outside, to the smell of bread and the chatter of the market. She whispered sometimes to herself, like a child talking to a ghost.

“Lily, stop running,” she murmured, tracing the cracks in the floor with her fingers. “You’ll fall again. I told you not to steal pears…”

She smiled faintly. “He’ll chase you with the broom again.”

One of the cruel guards paused outside her cell. “What’s she muttering?”

“Don’t know,” another sneered. “Lost her wits, probably. Can’t blame her.”

They laughed and moved on.

She didn’t even notice. Her gaze was fixed somewhere far away — not the dungeon, not even the world. Just memory.

Unaware of the whispers and the courage blooming outside, the people were fighting for her. Suzan sat once more in the silence she knew—believing no one cared, no one remembered, and that her pain meant nothing.

For her, hope was already gone.

But in truth, the city she thought had forgotten her…. the capital she once called home, hope had only just begun to stir.

___________________

That night, Kael descended to the lower levels. The torches flickered as he passed; the air was damp and heavy with silence.

The guards stiffened when they saw him, stepping aside immediately.

He stopped before her cell.

The sight struck him like a blade.

She was sitting against the wall, knees drawn close, her hair tangled and dull, her skin almost translucent beneath the torchlight.

For a moment, he said nothing. His throat tightened too much for words.

Then, softly—

“You did well today,” he said the only word that could maybe console her here, maybe encourage her a little.

Suzan stirred, blinking as if waking from a dream. Her voice came barely above a whisper. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You endured,” he said. “That’s enough.”

She gave a faint smile — the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “You come here often,” she murmured, her voice trembling with exhaustion. “But you don’t guard this cell. Are you free to walk? Like I used to be?”

Kael’s breath caught. “Something like that.”

“How is it… outside?” she asked after a pause. “Is it morning there? Or is it still night?”

“It’s night,” he answered quietly. “The city sleeps.”

“I miss that,” she whispered. “The city. Even the shouting. Even the noise.”

Her eyes glistened faintly as she looked toward the faint torchlight. “I used to think the streets would never forget me. Now I think… maybe they already did.”

Kael gripped the bars. “They haven’t.”

She tilted her head weakly. “Then why do you sound like you’re lying?”

He bit his lower lips

He couldn’t answer. The words he wanted to say — because the streets are whispering your name, because they’re starting to remember you again— because they see you innocent and are defending standing for you- caught in his throat. He only whispered instead, “Just one more day, Suzan. One more. Hold on.”

She gave a soft, broken laugh. “You all keep saying that. One more day… one more trial… one more breath.” Her smile flickered, faint as candlelight. “What comes after one more day?”

Kael didn’t answer.

When she looked up again, her eyes had lost focus. Like she was gone again, “Are you here to beat me up too?” she asked softly. “If you are, please… don’t use the stick. My back already hurts.”

He turned away, his hand pressed tight over his mouth. “No,” he whispered. “I’m not.”

Suzan blinked slowly. “Good,” she murmured. “Then stay a little. The walls stop talking when someone’s here.”

Kael looked back at her — the girl who once laughed in crowded markets, who teased guards and danced on fountain.

He felt his chest twist with something too deep to name.

He wanted to tell her who he was, what he was doing. That the King himself was waiting to save her. But the words wouldn’t come. They would only make her hope — and hope could get her killed.

He exhaled shakily. “Rest,” he said at last. “Don’t speak anymore.”

Her eyes fluttered. “Will you still be here?”

“For a while.”

“That’s enough,” she whispered.

He stood there until her breathing steadied — shallow, uneven, but still there falling asleep.

Only after he made sure she was sleeping he turned away, walking up the corridor with his jaw set tight and his fists clenched until the knuckles turned white.

By the time he reached the end of the hall, Kael’s composure cracked. His teeth sank into his lip to keep from making a sound, but the tremor in his chest betrayed him.

He stopped beneath the final torch, his shadow trembling against the wall.

His hand went to his hair, gripping it tight — the anger, the shame, the helplessness all twisting together until he could barely breathe. He had stood beside kings, faced armies, delivered decrees of death without faltering… but this — this was what broke him.

A child.

A child sitting in chains, whispering if he had come to beat her too.

He pressed his palms against his face, trying to stop himself from getting emotional but the tears came anyway — hot and soundless, slipping through his fingers. For the first time, he trembled not from rage, but from grief. From guilt. From a sorrow that felt like it would hollow him out.

He had promised the King she would be safe.

He had promised himself she would never reach this point.

And yet here she was — a ghost of a girl who used to laugh at danger.

What was left to save?

Would she even be herself by the time they reached her?

His breath quivered as he turned back toward her cell. The torchlight behind him wavered with his movement, throwing his shadow across the bars — long and uneven.

He stepped closer, close enough that the iron’s chill bled through his gloves.

“...Please stay alive. Stay until we can reach you,” he whispered.

For a moment, he simply looked at her — the faint rise and fall of her chest, the pale strands of hair that clung to her skin. Then, very slowly, he lifted his hand and drew a steady breath.

The air around his palm shifted.

It was subtle — a slow bending, as if the space itself bowed to his will. A faint shimmer, soft and fluid, escaped his hand.

It wasn’t light, not exactly — more like colorless heat that shimmered against the cold air, curling like smoke, yet precise as a drawn blade.

Mana.

The lifeforce that flowed through every living being in the kingdoms, unseen and unnoticed, except when called upon. To the untrained eye, it looked like a soft mirage. To him, it was the rhythm of life itself.

Not light, not warmth — but will itself, shaped and given form. It hummed faintly, soft and alive, like the pulse of his own heart carried into the air.

The air stirred around him, weightless but alive. The faint hum filled the quiet corridor, and the torches bent slightly as though bowing to it.

Kael exhaled, steadying the thread with his mind. He had never used it like this — never to give, only to strike, to bind, to command. But tonight, he didn’t summon power to wound; he summoned it to hold her together.

“Please… hold on,” he murmured.

The silver thread crossed the narrow space between them, sliding through the bars like mist and brushing against her chest. The moment it touched, the air thinned, trembling with quiet tension. Her body twitched faintly — not in pain, but as if it remembered something. To relax.

Kael closed his eyes. He focused on his breathing, on the pulse in his fingers. Each beat of his heart carried another faint wave of mana — small, measured, but steady. The thread brightened, dimmed, then brightened again, pulsing with the rhythm of his will.

The air shimmered faintly as his energy touched her aura strengthening her — flickering, weak, but still fighting.

Suzan stirred slightly, her body tensing, then loosening as if her lungs had found a breath they’d been searching for. Her breathing eased — just a little.

The stiffness in her hands relaxed.

He felt the mana drain from him, a slow pull that made his body grow feel heavy, but he didn’t stop.

Not until the trembling in her chest eased into stillness — not deathly stillness, but rest. She slept quietly now — the faintest color returned to her face.

Then, faintly, her lips moved.

“...Lily... don’t leave…” she murmured, her voice small, childlike, trembling in sleep.

Kael froze, the sound like a knife twisting in his chest.

“...I wanted… to taste that ice cream again…” she whispered, so weakly he almost thought he imagined it. “Does freedom… always demand a price…? Why…?”

Tears welled in Kael’s eyes, burning hot against the cold. He clenched his jaw, but the sob escaped anyway — raw and broken.

He pressed his forehead harder to the bars, whispering into the silence, “Please… just survive a little longer. Hold on to hope… just a little longer, please…”

He stood there a long while — until the torch burned low and the cell fell quiet again.

Only then did he step back, leaving behind the faintest trace of silver in the air — a thread of will still clinging to her, unseen but breathing with her heartbeat.

When he finally left the dungeon, the light of dawn was breaking. His footsteps echoed hollowly through the corridor, each one heavier than the last.

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