Chains rattled in the darkness, and the hair on my neck prickled. My inventory materialized in my peripheral vision—the Horned Aegis waited there, ready to be summoned. My amulet—Impenetrable Hide—hummed within my chest, magic coursing through me like electricity, making my tattoos shimmer with a faint, phosphorescent glow.

  Cronia materialized on my shoulder, hands clasped behind her back as she studied the shadowed figure hunched in the corner. Her silver-white form cast dancing reflections across the damp floor. My eyes adjusted slowly, revealing a robed form with a silver-threaded beard protruding from a hood. Chains wrapped around him haphazardly, as if he'd been thrown in without care—though something about their arrangement seemed almost deliberate.

  I reached instinctively for Gripjaw, my fingers finding only empty air where my companion should have been. The absence felt like a missing limb.

  "He lunged off before you confronted that councilman," Cronia said quietly. Her words carried no judgment, but they made me grimace all the same.

  The hooded man stared.

  “Who are you!” I yelled.

  When he didn’t respond, I began pacing, bare feet leaving prints in the thin layer of sand coating the floor.

  The man watched my restless movement, his silence more unnerving than any threat. The quiet stretched until I could hear my own heartbeat, the soft whisper of cloth against stone as I moved. Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying an odd buoyancy that seemed at odds with our grim surroundings: "Quite a show you put on out there."

  I tensed but said nothing, though my tattoos flickered brighter in response to my agitation. Each step kicked up small clouds of sand, the grains catching the torchlight like miniature galaxies.

  "Most would cower before a councilman," he continued, chains clinking musically as he shifted. "But not you. No, you charged right in, didn't you?" A wheezing chuckle that echoed off the stone. "Just like your training with that knife lady."

  My head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "How do you—"

  The chains fell from his body with a sudden crash that made me jump. The sound reverberated through the small space, setting my teeth on edge.

  I staggered away, raising my fists into the defensive stance Kor had drilled into me. The familiar position brought a measure of comfort, even as my mind raced. Who was this man? And how the hell did he know about my training?

  "I know many things, young Beachstrider." As he rose, the flickering torchlight revealed not the hardened criminal I'd expected, but an elderly Asian-looking man. “Many things…” His eyes twinkled with an intelligence that seemed to pierce right through me, as if he could read every doubt and fear written on my soul. "Like how thoroughly you broke that councilman's nose. Along with his pride."

  “He deserved worse.” Sweat trickled down my neck, carving cool paths through the grime of the day. I clenched my fists tighter, feeling my nails bite into my palms. "People like him always pick on the weak, the powerless—"

  "People like him?" Another wheezing laugh, but there was an edge to it now. "The ones with power? The ones who look down on others?" He took a step forward, and though he was shorter than me, his presence seemed to fill the cell. "Tell me, boy, when you struck him, was that justice you were dealing out, or just satisfying rage?"

  My blood simmered, essence churning beneath my skin until my tattoos blazed like captured lightning. "You don't know what I've been through!" The shout bounced off the walls, making the torch flames dance. "They took everything from me!"

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The doctor's sneering face flashed in my mind, his contempt still razor-sharp after all these years. Then came the parade of suited men who'd destroyed my father's reputation with their lies and manipulation. Each memory stoked the fire in my veins higher.

  "Ah, yes." He nodded slowly, his beard catching the light like spun silver. "It is your past life you speak of. The great injustices that drive you." His voice grew softer, almost gentle. "And now you train, you fight. But tell me—what happens when you get strong enough? When you have the power?"

  My thoughts scattered. Past life? Wait, did he— The implication sent a chill down my spine despite the humid air.

  "Tell me. What happens?"

  I cleared my throat, suddenly unsure. The certainty that had fueled me moments ago wavered like the torch flames. "I'll make things right," I said, but the words rang hollow even to my own ears.

  "Make things right?" His eyebrows rose. "Like how the council makes things right? Like how that cult leader makes things right?" His laugh dissolved into a coughing fit that made his whole body shake. When he recovered, his eyes were sharp as daggers. "Interesting how you hate authority while seeking the power to be one."

  "Why are you asking me these questions?" I turned away sharply, hating how his words burrowed under my skin. And what did he mean by past life? He couldn’t know I was from Earth!

  "Peace, Zale," Cronia whispered. Her silvery mist spread across my chest like a cooling balm, and I felt my pounding heart begin to slow. My fists still shook, but the blind rage receded enough for me to think clearly again.

  The old man settled back onto his pile of chains without another word. They clinked beneath him. I looked away quickly, though questions bubbled up like sea foam in my mind. Instead of voicing them, I resumed pacing the cell like a caged animal, trying to work off the excess adrenaline that poisoned my blood.

  That quest notification popped up again, text glowing softly in my vision:

  [Updated Bond Quest: Xelmir]

  [Objective: Find a way out of prison.]

  [Reward: +20% Bond Progress]

  [Failure: ???]

  Right. Focus on escape.

  I glanced past the metal bars to study the room beyond. One heavy wooden door dominated the far wall, flanked by iron brackets holding guttering torches. A quick plan began forming: wait for the guard to bring food, grab him through the bars, throttle him…

  Cronia's alarm buzzed through me like an angry hornet. No killing! The guards aren't the enemy.

  I blinked. “I just choke him till he passes out.”

  Planning session over.

  Time to train.

  I didn't need weapons to practice Kor's forms. Taking several deep breaths, I centered myself and began moving through the stances she'd taught me, jabbing at invisible enemies while adapting to the confined space.

  Sweat soon soaked my tunic, plastering strands of hair to my face. The exercise helped ground me, each movement precise and purposeful. This was something I could control, something I understood.

  "Strong form," the man commented unexpectedly, making me stumble. "But strength without direction is just another kind of weakness." A lute materialized in his hands as if conjured from the shadows. The incongruity of it barely registered anymore.

  I ignored him, moving faster, harder, letting the familiar motions drive out his unsettling words.

  Time passed, and my XP ticked upward with satisfying regularity:

  [Brawling +35 XP]

  [Melee Combat +15 XP]

  "When you strike," he whispered over gentle strumming that somehow cut through my labored breathing, "you strike like him, you know. Same rage, same conviction." A pause heavy with meaning. "Same blindness."

  "You don't know what I've been through!" I roared, spinning to face him. The motion sent droplets of sweat flying like scattered gems in the torchlight. But he just sat there, unperturbed, playing his instrument with that knowing, irritating expression that made me want to scream.

  I turned to stalk away, nearly colliding with the bars. Breathing hard, I found my gaze drawn to the dancing torch flames. His melody wove through the air like silk, and something shifted inside me—not rage this time, but a painful nostalgia that caught me completely off guard.

  The flames seemed to flare and shift, forming impossible images that stole my breath. Emily's face materialized in the fire, so clear I could count her freckles. Then Mom's appeared beside it, but not wearing her usual gentle smile. Instead, her features were contorted in grief, tears streaming down her cheeks in endless rivers of sorrow.

  I'd only seen her cry like that once. One horrible moment that had scarred itself into my soul like a burning brand, deeper and more permanent than any tattoo. And as the torch flames flickered, every heartbreaking detail of that night crystallized in my mind—sirens wailing, badges glinting in darkness, and my father's voice, steady even in chains.

  But they took him anyway, leaving nothing behind but my mother's broken sobs and the seeds of vengance taking root in my heart.