Nyra was bored. She'd agreed to stay in the cell for the next two months, after which point Ori and Lyrael should show up to get her back. But sixty days alone sounded much worse than even being in Ori's company at this point. And he's a scary motherfucker.
Urgh, I should've pressed harder, even at the risk of pissing the dude off. It's only been, what, two days since Lyrael was rescued? And I'm already in the mood to stir some shit up from the boredom...
She propped her chin on her hand, sitting cross-legged. Whenever she saw Ori sit around in that position while pondering some incomprehensible plan, she felt something weird.
It's like - how do I put this? Makes it seem like whatever he's thinking about is insanely sophisticated.
And after trying it out, she realized it made her feel like some sort of secretly genius master. Since then, it's become a habit of hers, to ponder in this 'cross-legged-chin-on-hand' position.
creeeeeak
The door to the basement of cells clicked, and then slowly creaked open, letting a bit of light through. Nyra quickly shuffled back to her regular sitting position and leaned against the cell wall, embarrassed.
A young man in impeccably clean, noble garments walked in.
His cloak was embroidered with red lining, and streaks of red shimmered on the tips of his long hair, reminiscent of flames.
That outfit... He's of direct Nether lineage. But what the hell's a prince, and one from a remote region at that, doing here? Hah, haha. Fuck me.
Naturally, Nyra was much the same - royalty from a remote region.
If there was one distinction between the two, it was that Nether's prince wasn't here to get detained, as evidenced by the lack of shackles around his wrists. That made it even stranger to her. Any ole pedestrian could get in here as a prisoner, as long as they put their backs into threatening the Stone Cauldron Lord's life.
Like we did.
However, since the Nether's prince was here freely, it must mean he'd been hired, no - commissioned - to do something here. Even if he pleaded, nobody would let him in.
The question is - what kind of job requires him to be here?
As she was mulling over her thoughts, the man strolled inside, motioning someone behind him not to follow.
slam!
And, after making sure it was just him and the prisoners left, he slammed the metal door shut. Got dark again, of course, but that made his look stand out more. His hair - it wasn't some optical illusion that made it seem red. No, it was literally glowing.
And the strength of the glow intensified by the second, eventually taking on the look of a still flame.
It wasn't enough light to brighten the surroundings, so only his figure, now rather ominous, was visible.
His crimson eyes suddenly started darting around, scanning each cell - specifically, the people inside each cell. It seemed he was looking for someone, but for some godforsaken reason he had to look ominous as hell in the process. The situation freaked Nyra out, simply put.
Okay, then. I just have to do this move my sister's so great at. Blank stare, straight ahead. No eye contact. I am not here. I don't exist...
She stilled her breathing and closed her eyes, imagining herself to be a simple plant. When the man's steps passed by her cell, she very slightly lifted her left eyelid. And then instantly shut it.
Shit! Why is the sleazy bastard looking my way?! I'm a motherfucking plant! Nyra, the bamboo shoot! Though, maybe I'm more like a sunflower - wait, that's one hell of a useless thought process.
"Found you."
In a flash, he appeared in front of Nyra's cell.
***
Two days had passed since Malrik arrived in Stone Cauldron, and it was now time to fulfill his side of the contract.
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The job was a simple one - get answers out of a prisoner. One of noble blood, on top of that.
Nothing could be easier, realistically. Nobles are, and always have been, a soft breed. The kind of people who spend more time in a throne room than on training grounds.
Not that all of them are the same.
Malrik, after all, was a prime example of a noble only in name. He spent basically all the time he could training.
Training might be too gentle a term, actually. It was senseless violence. At least figuratively speaking. There was reason to it - he mostly beat up thugs, and it really did help him grow his combat skills at unprecedented speeds, but a load of people were hurt.
The hurt part was intentional, as well.
After accidentally awakening his fire arts in the middle of a small fight with a friend, back when Malrik was nine years old, he had no control over his fire. To nobody's surprise - except for Malrik himself - his friend was engulfed in flames and died a torturous death.
His father, no, his entire family warned him to never fight regular kids, but he didn't listen. And how could he have known? Nine-year-olds are fucking stupid. Underdeveloped brains, complete lack of emotional intelligence - the list goes on. If anything, the fault was on his parents, for not watching over their young kid that they knew was violently inclined.
An obsession to control his flames perfectly was born, so he started training. Burned his victims for hours, trying to master absolute control over his fire, gaining the uncanny ability to discern exactly how much damage a given person could take without dying or losing consciousness along the way.
And that's why the stranger I met two days ago - the one with the straw hat and bandaged eyes - was so interesting.
Malrik put a good amount of focus into trying to assess the man. Specifically, he focused on gauging the energy flow within the nervous tissue of the hatted guy, but what he saw was incredibly strange. Energy clearly flowed when he picked up a cup, for example, and signals were definitely being sent through the fibers at every move of a muscle... But that was the thing.
The parts of the body he wasn't actively using were impossibly still. The man seemed more like a flesh puppet than a real human.
And then, there was the girl who quietly ate beside the man, mostly chiming in to make fun of him. She was the reason he recalled their encounter.
This girl. Doesn't she look familiar?
Malrik recognized the prisoner he was meant to 'question' soon, and it sparked a question.
Why did she look so similar to someone he recently met?
The whole reason he even went on this detour was to learn where two other prisoners, both companions of the third one they left behind, escaped to. They were described as:
A young man with long black hair and uncanny, inhuman eyes. The one who orchestrated the whole charade and swayed two royal girls into following him along.
And...
A very conventionally attractive woman of tall stature, same age as the man, and the younger sister of the one they left behind... There's absolutely no way, right?
Malrik's mind was working at mach one, pieces clicking together. There was no confirmation, of course, but both the timing and the circumstances made too much sense. The man literally hid both his hair and eyes - the most recognizable features of the escaped prisoner, for gods' sake! And the girl was no better. She was worse, actually. Had no disguise on. Was notably tall, too.
It felt like he'd been hit by a hammer.
Nothing was making sense, but at the same time, everything added up. Even the fact that they were at a pub rather close to the Royal Detention.
Malrik was burning to confirm his thoughts, and the best way to go about it was by throwing a bit of bait.
With that, he spoke up towards the oddly familiar girl bound in chains.
"How curious. I was given a description of your appearance... Nyra, yes? But you really do have the same eyes as your sister."
"!!!"
Her reaction was very strong.
Good, now she probably thinks her sister's been caught. Should be much easier to make her talk this way.
Still, what Malrik said to her wasn't a lie, and their eyes were indeed extremely similar. Could've been a coincidence. Unrelated strangers with similar eyes and features. But now he knew that he hit the nail on the head - everything else lined up, too.
Unbelievable. If dad finds out I accidentally ran into the two most wanted criminals in the Stone Cauldron region but didnât recognize them, even though they werenât disguised...
Malrik shuddered at the thought, and then leaned toward Nyra. It was time to start asking questions.
***
"Shiet, mane! This is kinda hype, no? A whole ass army, if you consider eleven people an army, and the four commanders at the front of it all. I wanna give a villainous monologue right about now."
I was beaming.
It wasnât often that I got to command a team of this power.
First time, actually.
I glanced at the three people next to me.
We had Lyrael and Dren, naturally, but also the sorcerer Nagi by our side. He was going to play a pretty big role in this whole thing.
Actually, quite a significant amount of planning went into this current formation. The goal was to break into a prison guarded by one of the strongest combat forces on the continent, and we had to do so without a single casualty.
Well, that's just my personal condition.
I can't afford to compensate for the death of even a single Black Lake Healer, broke as I am, so I made sure we only had a dozen elites on our side.
At the same time, I shifted my gaze to Lyrael in particular, as she started moving.
"'What, why are you watching me stretch with those weird eyes? Thinking of going down on a princess?'"
"Fuck off, kindly. My eyes are always like that."
"Oh~? So you're saying you've always looked at me like th -"
"No, stop, stop! I give up. I lost the verbal battle, or whatever this shitshow is. You win."
I rapidly disengaged from the unwinnable fight.
At least she seems ready, mentally. Dren and Nagi are done with their preparations as well, so it's only me now. Though I will need to bother Nagi for this part. Sucks to suck, huh?
Regardless of his feelings, I called out to him:
"Nagi. Come here, buddy."
His body visibly shriveled up, and his eyes darted around, looking for a way out.
Of course, I wasn't about to let him dip. It was prime time to put the kid to use.