The Prized Possession, the hulking figure in the cell across, watched silently, his eyes fixed on the keys with an intensity that unnerved Stick. His breath caught for a moment, and he gripped the keys tighter, their cool metal biting into his palm. Taking a deep breath, he climbed the ladder and unlocked his cell. The click of the lock echoed through the dungeon like the snap of a bone.

  Stick glanced back at the Prized Possession, who remained frozen in place, his shadow swallowing half the wall.

  “I’m going,” Stick said softly. “You can stay if you want.”

  PP didn’t respond. His silence pressed against Stick like the weight of the air around them. Stick sighed and stepped out of the hole and into the dungeon corridor. The air was heavier out here, damp and suffocating, carrying the faint stench of mildew and decay. The guards who had dragged him here were gone. So was Ed. Turning toward the other cell, Stick peered into the abyss where Hadvar was held. His heart pounded in his chest. What kind of man could Carnifex have deemed dangerous enough to lock away in a place like this? And yet… this was Arslan’s friend. That thought alone stirred a faint flicker of determination in his chest, like an ember struggling to catch fire.

  “Who are you?” Stick called down.

  A pause. Then, Hadvar’s voice drifted upward, dry and weary, like old parchment crumbling in the wind.

  “A has-been on the wrong side of the previous coin flip.”

  Stick hesitated, gripping the keys tighter. What could someone like Hadvar have done to wind up here? Whatever it was, it must have been enough to piss off the High Council. But if Arslan had trusted him, that had to count for something. Right?

  He unlocked Hadvar’s cell. The sound of rushing footsteps echoed almost immediately as Hadvar ascended the metal ladder with startling speed. Stick took a step back, startled, as Hadvar emerged into the dim light. He was taller than Stick had expected, towering over him. His long brown hair framed a sharp, weathered face, but it was the beard that stood out—unkempt and heavy, brushing against his ribcage like the remnants of a forgotten war. It made him look wild, feral even, like someone who had been abandoned to time. But there was something else too—something in his eyes. The way they pierced Stick, scrutinizing him as if trying to peel back his skin and see the truth underneath. This wasn’t a man broken by captivity. This was a man who had been planning his next move for a long time.

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  “So,” Hadvar said at last, his voice low and rough. “You’re calling yourself a hero.”His piercing eyes flicked over Stick with interest, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  Stick chuckled nervously, feeling small under that gaze. “I’m not just a hero. I’ll be the greatest hero of this world.”

  The smirk grew sharper. “Greatness, huh? Funny how everyone thinks they’re the hero of their own story.” His words landed heavy, but there was no malice in them. Just weariness.

  Stick squared his shoulders, forcing himself to hold Hadvar’s gaze. “Maybe. But whatever we do, the first step is getting Shadis out.”

  ”Right,” said Hadvar. ”The NPC.”

  “Yes,” Stick said, a little more firmly this time.

  ”We’ll have to fight.” Hadvar protested.

  ”I’m aware.” Stick affirmed.

  He tried to sound confident, but the words came out tight, like they’d barely made it past the lump in his throat. Stick stared the man he had just freed in the eyes, already feeling a sense of regret creeping up on him. This guy was a Carnifex member no doubt about it.

  Hadvar’s gaze lingered on Stick for a moment longer, and then, to Stick’s surprise, his expression softened. The sharpness in his eyes gave way to something quieter, almost amused.

  “Taking risks is part of taking action,” Hadvar said, extending a hand. “I like people who take action. What’s your name again?”

  “Stick Arslan.”

  “Hadvar.” He grasped Stick’s hand in his own with a strong, firm grip. “Just Hadvar. I don’t hold titles nor power. Not anymore. But I’d feel way better holding a sword in my hand.”

  The clinking of chains pulled both of their attention. The Prized Possession emerged from his cell, stepping into the dim light. His broad shoulders filled the corridor, his movements deliberate and unhurried. Stick’s face lit up.

  “PP, are you coming with us?”

  Stick’s confidence swelled at his words, a warmth spreading in his chest. Whatever happened next, at least he wasn’t alone. But before he could respond, the door to the cell block creaked open, the sound splitting the silence like a blade. The air seemed to shift, the dungeon growing colder. Stick’s head snapped toward the sound, his chest tightening. The shadows beyond the door were impenetrable, but the faint flicker of torchlight hinted at movement. Hadvar was already moving, his strides purposeful and swift. His voice, tinged with anticipation, broke the silence.

  “I’ve been waiting for years,” he said. “It’s time to take action.”

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