Bloodmoon Nation, Shard Lake Prison.
"Bruised enough? Just use one hand,
Cut through yesterday's curse,
Wait for daylight in the night,
Leaving only scars behind..."
Igula woke up in his velvet-lined bed, yawning lazily as he headed to the bathroom. Stripping off his pajamas and nightcap, he tested the water temperature with his toes before sinking into a pre-filled, perfectly warm bathtub. A morning soak was his way of starting the day on the right note.
To ensure he could enjoy a bath whenever he pleased, Igula paid a steep price—1 contribution point every three days—for a premium cell equipped with such luxuries. His contribution balance was tight; living in this high-end cell for five months cost 50 points, equivalent to the starting allotment for a death row inmate.
Yet he believed it was worth every point. For Igula, bathing wasn't just a pleasure—it was also a way to please his Contract familiar.
One time, after overexerting himself, Igula dozed off in the tub. In his drowsy haze, he swore he saw the Contract familiar riding a rubber duck, gleefully splashing about in the water.
When he opened his eyes, the familiar had vanished as if it had never been there. Still, Igula trusted his instincts: Contract enjoyed baths as much as he did.
Outside, this tidbit might've made for amusing small talk, nothing more. While it was well-known that familiars had personalities and preferences, most mages didn't concern themselves with such details. As long as their mana flowed, familiars had no choice but to obey orders.
But in Shard Lake Prison, where no one could generate mana, such insights were game-changing. Here, mages relied entirely on coaxing their familiars into cooperation, and a familiar's "mood" could mean the difference between life and death.
To this day, Igula wasn't sure if his near-perfect success rate with Contract had anything to do with the baths. But in prison, he didn't need to know—he just needed results. As long as his contribution points allowed, Igula wasn't about to give up his little indulgence.
After napping briefly in the tub, he dried himself off and moved to the sink, deliberately leaving his mind blank. Brushing his teeth in a mechanical, zombie-like trance, he aimed to achieve the perfect mental state: empty yet faintly expectant.
Foam splattered across the mirror as he brushed with dramatic vigor. Soon, the toothpaste foam began dripping down, forming lines and curves... that resolved into words.
Success.
His Insight familiar had activated.
Insight, a prize from the virtual realm, was an invaluable tool. It turned mundane actions into opportunities for foresight, revealing hints and warnings through subtle environmental changes. After experimenting with countless methods, Igula discovered brushing his teeth was the key to triggering it in prison.
The results were often trivial:
"Don't eat the greasy fried fish for lunch."
"Bring tissues."
"Skip the underwear today."
These tips were useful, sure, but rarely life-changing. Even ignoring them usually caused no harm.
Igula didn't mind. As a non-divination mage, getting Insight to work at all was impressive. If the familiar ever gave him a dire warning, that would be cause for real alarm—it would mean he'd stumbled upon a critical crossroads in his fate.
And today was one of those times.
Staring at the mirror, Igula's blood ran cold as the foamy letters spelled out a stark, urgent warning:
"DON'T RESPOND! DON'T RESPOND!"
It was the first time he'd ever seen punctuation in one of Insight's messages—let alone an exclamation mark.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to think rationally. Should he follow this advice?
Insight wasn't infallible. After all, concepts like "right" and "wrong" were inherently subjective. Even for monumental issues like life and death, opinions varied wildly. Some believed in living at all costs; others preferred dying on their own terms.
How could a familiar, with its limited understanding of human nuance, reliably weigh such choices?
For instance, when Insight had once advised him to skip underwear, he'd ended up in an awkward situation with a prison guard. The guard had approached Igula for romantic advice, impressed by his suave looks and faint siren bloodline. But when the conversation took an unexpected turn, Igula's... reaction had scared the guard off, costing him a potential ally.
Now, with Insight warning him not to respond, was he about to miss another golden opportunity to forge connections?
No. He decided to heed the warning this time. Better safe than sorry.
Prison life wasn't so bad for him now. Comfortable quarters, regular meals, and enough distractions to pass the time—it wasn't worth risking his stability over a hunch.
After breakfast, he would retreat to his room and stay silent all day, ignoring everyone. With his contribution points stretched thin after losing to Ash in a wager, frivolous spending—like ordering room service—wasn't an option.
With this resolve, Igula grabbed his tray at the cafeteria and picked a secluded corner. But before he could take a bite, someone slid into the seat across from him.
"Morning, Igula! Hey, those lobster balls look good—can I have one?"
It was Ash.
Igula's lips twitched. He silently watched Ash clumsily try to grab a lobster ball with chopsticks, only to send it flying.
After several failed attempts, Ash finally managed to snag one... and placed it back on Igula's plate before grabbing another for himself.
"You don't mind, right?" Ash said with a grin.
Igula's jaw tightened, but he refused to speak. Instead, he sped through his meal.
Moments later, Ash knocked over his milk. The spill soaked the table and splattered onto Igula's clothes.
"Oh no, sorry about that! Let me help you clean up."
Ash grabbed a napkin and reached for Igula, who slapped his hand away and stormed off to the restroom.
Even there, Ash appeared. "Wow, what a coincidence! Fancy meeting you here."
Igula's patience was hanging by a thread, but he clung to the memory of Insight's warning.
"Can you hold this for me while I grab a tissue?" Ash asked innocently.
Gritting his teeth, Igula took a deep breath and swallowed every word he wanted to shout.
As Igula strode back to his cell, Ash trailed behind, bombarding him with more inane questions:
"Did you watch last night's Bloodmoon Trials? I have questions!"
"Want to go to the combat club later?"
"Can you introduce me to the top fighters there?"
Igula ignored him, pretending not to hear.
Watching Igula's retreating figure, Ash grew increasingly puzzled. How is he not taking the bait?
This was Igula the Deceiver—infamous for his cunning and greed. Yet today, he was meek as a kitten.
Time for the ace in the hole.
"Clink."
The sound of a golden coin hitting the ground stopped Igula in his tracks.
"Could you pick that up for me?" Ash asked sweetly.
Without thinking, Igula retrieved the coin. "Sure thing—" He froze mid-sentence, realizing his mistake.
But he quickly regained composure. Holding up the coin, he smirked.
"Well, Ash, I don't know why you were so eager to trick me into responding, but now that you've succeeded, you're mine."
The chains of his Contract familiar shimmered into view, latching onto Ash's neck.
"In Shard Lake Prison," Igula said smugly, "no one dares request anything of me. My familiar ensures that if someone makes a deal with me, I get to name my terms, no strings attached. Congratulations, Ash—you're officially my 'best friend.'"
Ash grinned and summoned a familiar of his own—a single-winged scale.
The Balance familiar materialized in his palm, its chains extending to Igula's neck, mirroring the ones around Ash.
"Equilibrium exists in all things," Ash said with a sly smile. "Friendship is about give and take, don't you think?"