He leaned against the corroded metal bars, his forehead scraping against the uneven surface. His hands clutched tightly around a bar each, and his hollow gray eyes gazed into the long, dim hall. The malnourishment was evident in his pale, skinny, yet subtly muscur physique. The cell was situated at the far end of the hallway and was barely spacious enough to accommodate a bed and a bucket. Gloomy red brick walls stood between the two ends of the corridor, adorned with spiderwebs and debris. The only source of light was a lit torch inside the cell, casting a faint glow on the older man sitting a few meters away from the bars.

  The older man was writing with a quill on a sepia-toned parchment resting on the old wooden table, which wobbled with each stroke of the quill.

  “It’s my birthday today, Henry,” the man in the cell said in a monotonous voice. His eyes shifted from staring at a wooden pnk in the rocky floor to looking at Henry’s stiff neck.

  “Sixteen, huh?” Henry said, setting down the quill and running his rough hand over his weary face. “This is the age when most men decide whether to marry and contribute to the economy or join the ranks of the Ironfang Order to protect the realm.”

  “Why would anyone choose to fight, knowing death is inevitable?” the young boy asked. His gray eyes flickered with a spark of interest as he engaged in the one thing he found captivating in life—speaking to the only man he had ever spoken to.

  To show respect, Henry stood up and carried his chair to sit in front of the cell, studying the young man’s face. “Well, Lorian, choosing that path demonstrates that you are a just man with… uh… honor,” Henry answered hesitantly after a moment of contemption.

  “What does it mean to be just?” Lorian inquired.

  “To be fair in behavior and treatment,” Henry expined with a hint of pride in his voice.

  “And why would someone fair risk his life while the royal families live in peace? Does that not imply our king is unjust, as he is not doing his part?” Lorian said, a slight annoyance creasing his forehead.

  “Lorian! Tread carefully!” the guard blurted out, standing up quickly and pushing his chair back.

  “All the stories and lessons you have imparted to me throughout my life have led me to this conclusion…” He paused, catching his breath, and continued without hesitation. “The just always lose in life, while the unjust rise to the top, creating the rules of what is considered just!” Lorian excimed. “They are controlling men like puppets, sending them to their deaths in exchange for honor that is quickly forgotten as the next wave of young soldiers marches off into battle! The aristocrats are essentially firing bullets with names and families that are long forgotten after they have served their purpose!”

  Henry’s eyes widened as he listened to the young man’s blunt opinion. The st time Lorian had raised his voice was three years ago when he tried to wake him up after Henry had suddenly colpsed and remained unconscious for hours. Henry was shaking with a mixture of confusion and conflicting emotions. He had anticipated that the next time Lorian would raise his voice against him would be when he fought for his freedom from the cell he had been raised in. To his surprise, Lorian’s first act of defiance was against the unfair hierarchy of society, which Henry was well aware of. But this unfairness did not directly affect Lorian, so why did he care about the Ironfang Order sending young men to their deaths? These young men, at the very least, had a life worth remembering. They had families. They had witnessed the sun and the blue sky. They had seen the moon and the night sky. They had felt the grass between their toes. They had heard the cheerful ughter of their loved ones. They had lived. So why was this child concerning himself with them when he had experienced nothing but a void surrounding him?

  With anger and irritation etched onto his face, Henry rushed towards Lorian and grabbed him by the shoulders through the bars. It was the first time he had touched him in years because the higher-ups had prohibited him from even getting close to the dangerous boy in the cell. His hands were trembling, and his eyes twitched as he saw his reflection in Lorian’s eyes, resembling the beautiful white sage pnt. The young boy was shocked by this sudden action and did not know how to react. He felt the rough hands chafing against his pale and delicate skin.

  “How dare you, L-Lorian! How could you even arrive at that conclusion?! You are nothing! Absolutely nothing but a minor inconvenience for the Ordo Nox, so they pced you here to rot! The moment I began protesting and fighting for your liberty, they severed the left arm of my nine-year-old daughter in front of me! Every night, I lie awake, reflecting on the fact that I am contributing to an innocent child never seeing the sun. I don’t even know what you have done or why they are keeping you in this remote area in the middle of nowhere, but I have no say in this. What gruesome and revolutionary act could a baby have committed to anger the Order to this extent?

  “I cannot even begin to imagine the fact that you have not experienced waking up next to the person you love on a glorious morning, with the sun’s rays piercing through the windows onto your body, warming you until you are ready to rise and enjoy a pleasant breakfast accompanied by a family who cherishes your presence. Goddammit! Everyone deserves to have that feeling at least once!

  “Why are you never compining?! Why have you simply sat there every day for the past sixteen years, never questioning why you are in there?! What did you do to deserve this? Why are you so damn accepting of your situation and then have the audacity to even possess the humane emotion we call empathy?! How dare you, Lorian? The moment I try to help you, they will murder my family before my eyes and then let me starve to death while chained, surrounded by their decomposing bodies. I can’t keep living like this, and you certainly can’t, so why are you so kind?! Why are you not protesting and creating an uproar to be released?!”

  Henry was out of breath as his grip on the young boy’s shoulders loosened. Lorian’s eyes began to shimmer, and a gentle smile formed on his face.

  “Henry, I am but a fraction of your life. This fraction seems to haunt you, and it saddens me greatly that I am the cause of your sorrow. Without this dark part in your life, you would be as pure as crystal. Although I was only a small part in the beginning, it appears that I have affected the purity of your soul, for which I am deeply regretful. However, you do not seem to understand that I am merely a part of your life, while you are my entire life. You are the only human I know, aside from the Nightwatcher. But you are the only one who speaks to me, tells me about the world outside, and shows me how human emotions function. When my entire world revolves around someone as admirable and esteemed as yourself, I cannot be displeased, but rather grateful.”

  The shaking had subsided, and they both locked eyes. Henry moved his hands back to his sides and shed a single, solitary tear that traced a path down his cheek. He realized deep down that he was the sole architect of this young boy’s character, and he had turned out to be a masterpiece that the cursed humanity did not deserve. Too many thoughts raced through his mind, and he needed time to process them, but he was resolute on one thing: Lorian would not spend the rest of his life here.

  A knock echoed from the depths of the hall, and they both understood its meaning.

  “Good night, Lorian.”

  He grabbed the parchment he had been writing on and began walking into the darkness until his silhouette vanished from Lorian’s sight. At the end of the hall, after a left turn, Henry opened a celr door that revealed the orange and pink hues of the sky on the horizon. The Nightwatcher walked down the stairs past him without uttering a word and headed toward Lorian. Henry closed the door behind him and walked toward his horse to ride home in the sunset.

  Lorian was already lying on his rusty bed, staring up at the ceiling with his fingers interlocked behind his head. He closed his eyes, attempting to see darkness, but he still saw the room he had inhabited for sixteen years. It was etched into his mind, and he could not escape it, no matter his efforts. Even his dreams unfolded within the confines of the cell, except for a few instances when he experienced the stories Henry had recounted. Those rare dreams were the most cherished thing he knew, and he prayed every night, yearning for another glimpse of the outside world. He heard the Nightwatcher sit on the chair and remain silent, as always. Lorian perceived the Nightwatcher as an inanimate object, nothing more. They never spoke or looked at each other. He simply sat on the chair until Henry returned.

  ? ?--? ?

  After six hours of sleep interspersed with retrospective contemption about his conversation with Henry, he heard a loud creaking noise that reverberated through the hall. He quickly leaped out of bed and peered through the bars, attempting to discern what was happening. Lorian saw very little, due to the dim lighting, but he noticed the Nightwatcher standing up slowly while reaching for the two daggers on each side of his hips, strapped to a belt. In the many years of the same nightly routine that felt like an endless loop, Lorian had never witnessed anything like this before. It was always quiet and still until he fell asleep—nothing else.

  He could feel his heart pounding faster with anticipation of what might occur. It seemed that human curiosity persisted regardless of the circumstances. Lorian’s ear twitched as he heard footsteps approaching from afar. They sounded heavier than Henry’s, who was heavier than the Nightwatcher. The subtle vibrations as the footsteps drew closer gave Lorian’s toes a tingling sensation he had never experienced before. He could not help but process all these novel stimuli. Finally, someone new after sixteen years of the same two individuals. Each step triggered something in his brain, which began comparing the sound, vibrations, and aura of this mysterious person approaching with those of the two guards.

  “Move, or breathe your st,” said a smooth yet stern older man’s voice. Lorian saw the shadow emerge from the darkness as he stepped into the light. He stood directly in front of the Nightwatcher, who had already drawn his daggers and assumed the stance of a seasoned and lethal assassin. A potent, colorless aura enveloped the assassin, making it difficult for Lorian to remain standing. His eyes widened as he watched from behind the bars, and he felt a gentle breeze of wind for the first time in his life. It was a consequence of the aura emanating from the Nightwatcher. Lorian felt utterly powerless in his presence. It seemed as though even a million of him could not defeat the assassin. The disparity in power was simply too immense to comprehend after witnessing the raw strength arise from the man he had seen every night of his life.

  The Nightwatcher’s attire was entirely pitch bck. He wore no steel armor, as it would impede his movements too much. A dark robe with a hood was all Lorian could discern from inside the cell. Beneath the robe were simple dark cotton pants and a dark jacket with buttons tightly fastened around his torso. His boots were made of dark brown leather and appeared newly polished, reflecting the glimmering light from the torch. His face was always concealed by the mask he wore, covering everything except his emerald eyes and the battle scar between his eyebrows. His skin had a simir hue to sunburnt desert sand.

  The old stranger appeared to be over sixty-five years of age. He seemed to be at least two hundred and thirty centimeters tall. The Nightwatcher’s slightly below-average height of one hundred and sixty-eight centimeters seemed minuscule in comparison. Not only did he tower over the assassin, but his muscles were significant and well-defined in every visible part of his body. He was shirtless, revealing his broad shoulders, rge chest, and sculpted abdominal muscles. Lorian was astonished by this titan of a man; he seemed strong enough to bend the iron bars Lorian was gripping tightly. The old giant wore metal leggings that looked as though they would shatter at any moment if he flexed his leg muscles. A dirty, ripped red cloth hung around his waist, reaching his knees. His body was covered in countless scars and veins. His face was no exception, marked by scars and deep wrinkles on his forehead and bald scalp. His nose was burly and wide, his blue eyes calm and half-closed. As the man stepped further into the light, a rge, white, ungroomed beard became visible. It matched his pale ivory skin and had a braid at the bottom. The metal gauntlets around each fist appeared heavy enough to weigh ten kilograms each.

  “Brave warrior! Let us engage in an honorable duel!” excimed the old man with a voice so powerful Lorian could hear its echo for several seconds. He assumed a formidable stance, bending both his legs and pcing one foot slightly ahead of the other. His fists were raised high and clenched tightly. Once the stance was locked in pce, an aura of incredible power emanated from the old man. Lorian had difficulty breathing and fell to his knees as it felt as though gravity had increased tenfold. Even the Nightwatcher was trembling as he struggled to remain upright.

  “I go by the name of Odinus. What is your name, brave warrior?” the old man said, looking down at the assassin who was close to colpsing from the sheer force.