On the left of my cell is Yun Regnard's spot. He's obviously years younger than me judging from his voice — and get this — he's only been in the tower for two days. Two days and he's been yelling nonstop, so much so that the usually loud and rowdy prisoners hate him for it.
The bars on his cell clank again, loudly, but I roll my eyes, knowing full well it wouldn't budge.
"There he is again," mumbles Armeria with an amused look on her face, "So much energy and over nothing."
Armeria Pruse. I grew up with her, but not in a way that one would think we were friends. She came from a well-off family while I and my benefactor were barely able to make ends meet. She made fun of us for that, but mostly it's just her jabbing at me with petulant words, too much of a shrimp to actually do something. She'd spend tremendous amounts of time pulling off lame pranks that'd leave her laughing for days — her and only her, by the way — because no one else found it funny as much as she did. I loathed her. She was everything I wasn't, and while I didn't want to be her, I did want to wake up every day as if I wasn't going to run out of food.
None of that matters now, though, because right now we're both sharing the same cell, statuses don't matter, and we're birds trapped in a cage. A tragic ending to a children's book, it seemed like.
I look over at her and notice that her stare is empty, like her mind's off elsewhere, not really where it's supposed to be.
"Who's about to tell him there's no way out?" I huff, to which Armeria hums in response.
"Mhm, well, there is a way out," she counters, "Not a lovely one, though." It's then that I recognized the emotion on her face. It's hope. A blind one. One that'd get her killed, and it sends a shiver down my spine, turns my fingers cold, and I stay rooted to where I'm sitting. The dread creeps up.
A shaky sigh escapes my mouth before I could even think about it.
Yes, there is a way out. At least, a window of chance for it. The wardens aren't actively stopping the prisoners from trying to escape. Some would even be foolish enough to aid them, but always, it's the captives who're labeled as fools — because they end up in the graveyard.
It's an unspoken rule that they'd just let them do whatever, but the moment they're literally escaping — out of the tower — the escapees are considered dead men.
And no one dares to ask about them enough to know if they lived. They just end up knowing from word of mouth — this is dead, that's dead, oh, they're dead — and the wardens don't care. They like the hunt, so they act blind. They push their patience to the highest degree, and when it's time to catch, they do it like savages. Make no mistake.
Worse is when the news is on paper, compiled all together, as if it was some sick game. 'Fifteen Unsuccessful Escapees of Kainspell This Month; Truly an Iron Gate!'
Bullshit. Whoever wrote those articles must know that there are no escapees because the escapees are killed.
Over the years, if I've counted right based on the markings of the wall next to me, then that's about a total of two hundred and seventeen. All gone, because they tried to leave.
"You know no one gets out alive," I stated as-a-matter-of-factly. I try to ball my fists to stop the cold that walks on my skin, but it refuses to. Armeria looks like she's made up her mind. She looks at peace now, and she hasn't for a long time. She looks hopeful — blindly, yes, but it's similar to the look on her face when we decided we were going to put it behind and become friends.
Armeria smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "But there's a chance," she looks over my wall, filled with carved lines of the number of people I've counted off as deceased. "And if it's… one out of two hundred and eighteen, then what's stopping me from taking that leap?"
A number was added to what I had originally counted. I was right.
She wants to leave the tower.
"Fear," I answer, not looking at her. "It's so easy to say things like that when you're inside the four corners of your cell, s—"
"Safe?"
I let out a bitter scoff, "No, not safe," far from it, "But sheltered."
"And sheltered is enough for you?" She sounds like the way she did, all those years ago, when she tried to prove a point. When she stated that my benefactor's salary couldn't feed us both for the day, and she wasn't far off, really, but I still didn't like it. That. It reminded me of that. And there's nothing more I want than for this conversation to be over, but Armeria is relentless. She pries her way through for answers, and as if it's the last thing I could do, I listen.
"Are we just meant to be locked up in here forever?"
I wondered when it was that things started changing. Was it when my 'giving back what they did, tenfold' became 'I'm too tired for any of this'? Was it when I realized that some people were powerless against a whole civilization? Or when I accepted the fact that The Kamerian Cavaliers were in charge no matter what? In the first place, I stood no chance. I thought about it for a while. If I did escape, by some miracle, what happens to me outside? Evil souls loomed this land. I'd die in just hours. Sitting here, cold and hungry, was better than dying.
"Not all of us gets to savor freedom, Armeria," I mumble. A bitter taste lingers in my mouth, as if I just drowned in a tea that reveals the reality of our situation. Some people were meant to taste freedom. Once, twice, maybe even three times, and after that, there is nothing.
"I can't stay here forever, Sen," she whispers my name like it's painful to do so.
"You're going to die. Stop it." I warn, my voice the same volume as hers, trying to keep our conversation discreet. In the background it's Regnard's yelling we hear, but it's white noise — it's irrelevant.
"I'd die either way. What's there to lose?"
Everything and nothing, I wanted to say aloud, but I stop my mouth from saying it and instead, said another thing completely. "Your family's imprisoned here. Let's say, hypothetically, you do escape, what happens to them? Do you think Kainspell wardens are just going to sit idly? Don't be stupid."
"No," Armeria breathes, "When I do leave, I'll take my sister with me. Your memory must be terrible... It's only me and my sister left."
The others died trying to escape. Those were the words left unsaid.
"You're taking her body to the grave. With you." There's a minute of silence and for a while it's only Regnard's breakdowns they hear from the other cell. The poor boy's crying now, and I think he's probably struggling to wipe that snot off of his nose. Serves him right for being so loud.
Armeria smiles. It's a smile filled with sorrow, but there's a truthfulness to it, one that I can't deny. "If my body ends up in the graveyard, then at least I got to set my soul free."
And I could've told her not to do this. I could've told Armeria to go, but to not drag her sister with her. Or to stay instead and rot in this cell where the world can't possibly ruin her further.
But I didn't say anything.
I didn't because I see it in her eyes. Armeria Pruse doesn't really want her body to escape. It's her soul she wants to set free — to follow the rest of her family.
The girl had no magical prowess nor did she have any special physical attributes. It was quite obvious now, when I really think about it, that Armeria just wants to end everything as fast as possible. It was damning to see my cellmate of five years lose her hope when she once was the one who kept encouraging me to keep living like this. That somewhere out there, a savior would come.
My negativity from all those years ago must've seeped into her now; keep moving forward, but where to? It's almost laughable on my part. Pathetic that I've never noticed such intentions from the girl I shared my cell with. Armeria had been quiet on some days, staring at the window way too high for anyone to reach — and sometimes she'd hum a song she once mentioned was written by her mother — and she'd stay there for hours, watching, waiting, thinking.
If I had paid much attention — maybe I would've seen the signs.
If I hadn't exhausted my sorrow, there'd be a bucket full of it — but I have, and there's no room in my heart left to stop my friend. Everyone stayed in Kainspell Tower or left to die, unintentionally or not. What right did I have to make Armeria stay?
———~~~———
"God — fucking — damn it! Let me — out — you fucking — ugh!" Regnard yelled with every kick he unleashed upon the bars. Goodness, who was he even yelling at?
"Knock it off," I say, only loud enough for him to hear. "You're bothering those who're asleep."
There was growling on the cell to my left, a desperate whine followed, and then, as expected, another yell. "I don't care! I need to leave!"
I looked over at Armeria, asleep, probably dreaming her sorrows away.
"Why the hell won't this thing break?" I heard Regnard asking himself.
"You really think you can break them? You're a complete moron." I could almost imagine his frown.
"I'd like to see you try, then. See if you can do all this."
"You can leave in two hours to eat dinner. Don't waste your energy trying to break those bars. You can't." And besides, I don't need to prove anything to you, I wanted to say. I tried too, many times before. The bars don't break. It's a cell for life, only meant to let you out on certain hours of the day.
As if his anger had been extinguished, his voice lights up, "Really?"
I nod my head even though the other prisoner obviously couldn't see me. Force of habit. "Yes."
There's a sharp breath of relief that comes out of his lips.
I know it'll crush his desire to leave once he finds out there's still no way out, though.
Finally — finally, the noise dies down from his cell, followed by a loud thud, assuming he dropped himself onto the floor.
I lie there for a few minutes, waiting for the clock to tick nine. In the silence and in the dark, I was thinking, imagining how Armeria's story would come an to end. But then Yun Regnard talks, like all he's ever done for the past two days with everyone else ignoring him, and yet his desperation made me listen.
"You think I won't be able to escape, huh?" He asks, so innocent yet so prying, and I hum in response, implying that indeed, I didn't think he could leave.
"This is why you'll rot in here forever," he replies, and it's mocking, the way I could almost imagine him smirking without even seeing his face. Along with that, I could imagine a face who's features contort in disappointment. Maybe even anguish. "People like you are too afraid of the unknown."
It's easy to let everything fall apart and get angry over such an odd statement. What was the unknown? Was it objective? Subjective? What the hell was he even talking about?
People like me — he had uttered — but him and I are one and the same. We live in the same cell, sleep within the same four walls, only in different cells. His blood and mine — all the same. What makes him so different from me - from us, all imprisoned in this tower?
I wanted to know.
I wanted to know so that I find myself a reason not to punch him.
"Let me ask you a question, Regnard — how old are you?"
He pauses for a few seconds before answering me, "Why?"
"You can't answer a question with another question."
"Can," he mumbles, "but I'm fourteen."
"Ah," I nodded to myself. The simmering anger dies down. I was about his age when I was captured. A year younger, but all the same. He knows he wants freedom, but he doesn't know how hard it is to achieve. "And how long do you think would you stay here, imprisoned?"
"I'll escape as soon as I get out of this stupid fucking cell, so not long."
"D'you know," I start, staring particularly at the wall beside me with markings of how many are dead, "that someone tries to escape once every two days?"
He doesn't respond.
"They either chicken out at the end, or really go through with it."
"They're free now, the ones who're brave enough," he retorts.
He doesn't know what he's saying.
A strangled laugh comes out of my mouth.
"In a way, I suppose."
The tear that leaked out of my eye almost felt warm.