The night creeps into the dim cell, its icy touch enveloping Leor, Navi, and the others as they huddle against the cold. Suddenly, the metallic screech of the cell door jolts Leor awake. Still half-asleep, he barely has time to react before rough hands grab his shackles, dragging him to his feet. Disoriented, he stumbles as he's hauled out of the cell, the chill of the night air biting into his skin.
Before he fully grasps what's happening, Leor finds himself back in the courtyard. A soldier shoves him forward, then delivers a sharp kick to the back of his legs, forcing him to kneel on the frost-covered ground. Pain shoots through his knees as he struggles to steady himself.
The Officer emerges from the shadows, his polished boots crunching against the gravel. He grabs a handful of Leor's hair, jerking his head upward so their eyes meet. "How did you do it?" the Officer demands, his voice a low growl. "Tell me how you controlled the Pawn!"
Leor blinks, confusion clouding his thoughts. He shakes his head weakly, struggling to form words. "I... I don't know," he manages to choke out, his voice hoarse.
The Officer narrows his eyes, his expression darkening. "Lies," he spits, his voice cutting through the cold air. Without warning, his fist slams into Leor's stomach, driving the breath from his lungs. Leor gasps, doubling over as pain explodes through his body, the world around him spinning into a haze of agony.
The two soldiers yank Leor back up to his knees, the cold gravel biting into his skin. The Officer crouches down, his piercing gaze locked onto Leor. "How can a teenager with no training or experience command a Pawn the way you did? Who are you?"
Leor lifts his head, still gasping for air. His voice trembles, a mixture of frustration and desperation. "My name is Leor. I don't know how I did it, okay? I'm not lying to you!"
The Officer studies him for a moment, his expression unreadable. He finally straightens, calling over his shoulder, "Bring two Pawns to the courtyard. Now."
The soldiers nod briskly and hurry off. A tense silence settles over the courtyard, broken only by Leor's labored breathing. Moments later, the soldiers return, guiding two Pawns into the open space. One stands at the edge of the courtyard, motionless, while the other is positioned directly in front of Leor.
The Officer steps closer, his voice cold and commanding. "Do it again. Command the Pawn like you did this morning."
Leor glances at the Officer, then at the lifeless Pawn before him. His heart pounds as the soldiers holding him release their grip, pulling him to his feet. The Officer's voice cuts through the icy air like a blade. "And listen carefully, boy. If you pull that stunt again you'll regret it."
Leor swallows hard and nods slightly. Hesitant, he raises his arms, trying to summon the same mysterious force he had felt before. But nothing happens. No surge of power. No connection. Panic rises in his chest.
Suddenly, a searing pain rips through his skull. Leor cries out, clutching his head as his vision swims. His legs buckle, and he collapses onto the ground, the headache growing more intense with each passing second.
The Officer watches him intently before barking another order. "Get him some water and bread. Now."
One of the soldiers rushes off, returning moments later with a cup of water and a small piece of bread. Kneeling, the soldier places them in front of Leor. The Officer crosses his arms, his tone softer but no less commanding. "Eat. Drink. Regain your strength. We'll try this again."
Leor's trembling hands reach for the cup. He gulps down the water, the cool liquid running down his throat and dripping from his chin. Without hesitation, he grabs the bread, devouring it in hungry bites.
The Officer remains silent, giving Leor a moment to collect himself. The courtyard feels oppressively still, the weight of expectation heavy in the air.
After some time, Leor notices the throbbing pain in his head has finally subsided. He sits up straighter, his breathing steadier now. The Officer, observing him closely, steps forward and speaks with an authoritative tone.
"It seems you're ready. This time, listen carefully." The Officer kneels slightly to meet Leor's eyes. "Feel the energy inside you. Think of it like water in a cup. Your task is to pour that water into the Pawn. Do you understand?"
Leor nods hesitantly. "I'll try."
"Good. Close your eyes. Focus."
Leor obeys, shutting his eyes tightly. At first, all he feels is the cold night air biting at his skin and the lingering exhaustion in his limbs. But then, faintly, something shifts within him—a strange, subtle warmth blooming deep in his chest, like a spark faintly igniting.
"I feel... something," Leor murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's warm. In my chest."
The Officer's expression sharpens with interest. "Good. Now move that feeling. Guide it to your hands. Let it flow, like a stream finding its way downhill."
Leor takes a shaky breath, focusing on the sensation. Slowly, the warmth begins to spread, inching its way from his chest, down his arms, and into his hands. It's as though a current of energy is coursing through him, faint but undeniably there.
"I feel it," Leor says, his voice steadier now.
The Officer steps back, giving him space. "Raise your arms and aim at the Pawn. Direct that energy outward. Command it."
Leor lifts his arms, his movements deliberate, almost hesitant. His hands tremble as the warmth pools there, filling his palms. He sets his gaze on the Pawn standing before him and speaks firmly, though uncertainty still lingers in his voice.
"Move!"
For a moment, nothing happens. Then, slowly, the Pawn's fingers twitch. Its hands jerk faintly, as though awakening from a deep slumber. The sight sends a jolt of exhilaration and terror through Leor.
"It's... moving," Leor whispers, his voice tinged with disbelief.
The Officer watches intently, his expression unreadable, but there's a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "Good. Keep going. Feel the flow. Strengthen the connection."
Leor continues to channel the warmth, pouring his energy into the Pawn. His arms shake with effort, but he refuses to stop. Then, something strange happens—his vision blurs and shifts.
Suddenly, he's no longer looking at the Pawn. Instead, he sees through its eyes.
The sight startles him. He sees himself standing in the courtyard, his brown tunic hanging loosely on his frail frame, his ripped pants exposing bruised and scraped skin. His black hair, short and disheveled, clings to his forehead with sweat. Dirt streaks across his face and hands, a stark reminder of his time in captivity.
For a fleeting moment, Leor feels a pang of sympathy for the figure in front of him—himself. He wants to reach out, to comfort the boy staring back at him, the boy who has endured so much. His heart aches with the weight of everything he's been through, and tears threaten to blur his vision.
But then, the connection begins to waver. The vision flickers and fades as the warmth in his chest dwindles, draining away like water spilling from a broken vessel. The Pawn's movements cease, and Leor collapses to his knees, barely catching himself before he falls face-first onto the cold ground.
Breathing heavily, Leor clutches his chest, his energy utterly spent. Exhaustion washes over him like a crashing wave, leaving him trembling and weak.
The Officer steps forward, his boots crunching against the gravel. He stares at Leor, his expression a mix of intrigue and disappointment.
"You were close," the Officer mutters, his tone colder than before. He straightens, addressing the nearby soldiers. "Take him back to his cell. Let him rest."
The soldiers move without hesitation, hoisting Leor to his feet. He offers no resistance, too drained to even lift his head. As they drag him away, he casts one last glance at the Pawn, standing motionless in the courtyard.
The faint scrape of boots and the rattling of chains draw Navi's attention as Leor is dragged back into the cell. His captors shove him inside, and his body crumples to the ground like a broken doll before the door clangs shut behind him.
Navi rushes over, kneeling beside him. "Leor," she whispers urgently, shaking his shoulder. "Where did they take you? What happened?"
But Leor doesn't answer. His chest heaves with exhaustion, his face pale and damp with sweat. His eyes flutter open briefly, meeting hers with a glazed, distant look, but they close again as his strength gives out.
Navi frowns, her worry deepening. "Leor, wake up!" she says, shaking him again, but he's already lost in a heavy, deep sleep.
Sighing, she carefully grabs his arms, dragging him toward the wall. She props him up, settling his head on her lap. Her hands linger for a moment, brushing the hair from his dirt-streaked face.
"You're so stubborn," she mutters softly, almost to herself, her voice tinged with frustration and care.
Leaning back against the cold stone, Navi lets her eyes wander around the dimly lit cell. It's then she notices the boy from earlier sitting silently in the corner, his green eyes fixed on her and Leor.
His gaze is piercing, filled with curiosity, but Navi meets it briefly before looking away. She doesn't have the energy to entertain his silent questions. Instead, she leans her head back against the wall, her focus returning to the unconscious Leor.
The boy, however, doesn't look away. His eyes flicker between Navi and Leor, observing every movement, every detail. After a long moment, his expression softens into something unreadable. Finally, he closes his eyes, retreating into his thoughts, leaving the cell in a fragile silence.
Leor finds himself in a place that feels hauntingly familiar. The warmth of home is gone, replaced by a chilling, oppressive cold. He walks cautiously, calling out, "Grandma? Grandpa?"
His voice echoes, but no answer comes.
A faint cracking noise pierces the silence. Leor freezes, his heart pounding. The sound seems to come from outside, so he rushes to the door, his bare feet sliding against the wooden floor. He pushes it open, and the scene before him steals the breath from his lungs.
His grandmother lies motionless on the blood-stained grass, her eyes staring blankly into nothingness. Her once gentle face is pale and lifeless. Leor tries to avert his gaze, but he can't look away.
"Grandma!" he cries, his voice trembling, but she doesn't stir.
The cracking noise comes again, louder this time. He turns his head sharply, searching for the source. In the distance, he sees a soldier impaled on the branches of a massive, gnarled tree. Blood drips from the jagged wood, pooling on the ground below.
Leor's gaze lowers, and his breath catches in his throat. A soldier's corpse lies at his feet, the body mangled and broken beyond recognition. Shards of bone protrude grotesquely from torn flesh. Then he notices his own hands—stained with blood, trembling.
"No… no, no, no," he stammers, stumbling back.
He turns, desperate to escape the horrific scene, only to freeze in terror. Standing in the doorway of his home is… himself.
But this version of him is wrong. Its eyes glow an eerie, malevolent red, and its expression is cold and empty. The other Leor tilts his head, lips moving soundlessly at first. Then the words come, soft but unrelenting:
"You did this."
Leor shakes his head violently, stepping back. "No! I didn't!"
But the words keep coming, growing louder and louder, as if they are reverberating inside his skull. "You did this. You did this. You did this."
Leor screams, clutching his head, desperate to drown out the voice. His doppelgänger's face twists into a cruel sneer, and the words become deafening.
In a final, horrifying moment, Leor's vision blurs, and he sees his own hands rise to his neck. With a guttural cry of anguish, he pulls violently, ripping his head from his shoulders.
The world shatters.
Leor jolts awake, gasping, as icy water splashes over his face. A soldier stands over him, shouting, "Get up! Wake up!"
Shivering and drenched, Leor blinks, his heart hammering. The dream lingers, vivid and raw, as his trembling hands instinctively reach for his neck. He's back in the cold, harsh reality of the cell, but the nightmare clings to him, leaving him shaken and breathless.