"This is the port where the transport ship docks. Every 1st, 11th, and 21st of the month, a ship arrives at Shattered Lake Prison to deliver supplies and new death row inmates. It's a medium-sized freighter, usually accompanied by a team of Bloodmad Hunters guarding the prisoners. The average strength of these hunters is around one to two wings, and unless they're escorting an exceptionally important prisoner, a three-winged Hunter Captain typically won't show up..."
Ash glanced nervously at a prison guard nearby, who was leisurely puffing on a smoking pipe. "Uh... Should we maybe discuss this somewhere less obvious?"
Igula shot him a sidelong glance. "No one cares about you. This is my business."
"Your... business?"
"Didn't Igula invite you to escape the first time you two met?" Ronna stood at the edge of the dock, just outside the painted yellow line, gazing at the serene lake. The clear blue sky mirrored perfectly on the surface, with occasional flashes of silver darting through the water—a beautiful, natural vista. That is, if you didn't know those silver streaks were finger sharks capable of crunching bones like potato chips.
"He did, but I thought that was just some scam to hook new inmates."
"I appreciate your self-awareness," Igula replied with a smirk. "But don't insult my professionalism. I never lie. If you checked the library's Directory of Societies, you'd find my club listed on page two, line thirteen: The Prison Break Study Group."
Young Ash couldn't hide his confusion. "How does the prison even allow that? Wait, there are clubs here? And why would you even start something like that?"
"A skilled hunter often disguises themselves as prey," Igula replied coolly. "Remember when we first met? I acted overly enthusiastic, like a naive fool desperate to recruit accomplices."
"Most new death row inmates, even the cautious ones, can't help but be tempted by the information I share. And I don't just talk; I take them on scouting trips, show them the ropes."
"Eventually, they see me as a harmless escape-obsessed idiot. They lower their guard... until it's too late, and they've stepped into the trap."
"I am the bait, and the study group is my hook."
Ash quipped, "You sound like one of those fake-innocent girls who lures creepy older guys before flipping the script."
"I'm starting to question how the chips in our heads regulate language," Igula retorted. "That level of commentary should qualify as spreading obscene content." He shrugged. "But regardless, you don't need to worry about the guards. I've done these scouting trips over a dozen times before."
Ash blinked. "So... this is all a ploy? You act like you're planning to escape all the time, so when you finally make a real attempt, no one will take you seriously?"
Igula's expression briefly registered surprise before he smiled. "Ash, I didn't realize you thought so highly of me. That's surprisingly flattering."
"Ugh."
After their investigation of the port, the group made their way back into the prison. It's worth noting that while they had reached the very edge of Shattered Lake Prison, they had never truly left the facility.
Shattered Lake Prison spanned the entirety of a small island, with towering ceilings that obscured any view of the outside world. Occasionally, glass skylights allowed sunlight to filter through, but for most inmates, the ceiling was all they'd ever see. Even the observation decks by the lake were covered by sunshields.
Not a single inch of this island was considered "outside" the prison.
Ash couldn't help but wonder if the all-encompassing ceiling played a role in how the neck chips exerted such complete control over the inmates.
Igula stopped in front of a nondescript corridor and gestured dramatically. "What I'm about to show you is the result of my most thorough investigation. I've never shared it with anyone before. You are the first to witness this discovery."
Ash felt a flicker of gratitude—until Ronna deadpanned, "Do you say that to everyone you scam? Next, you'll tell us we have to swear an oath to keep your secrets."
Igula's brow furrowed. "How do you know about that? Everyone who's sworn the oath is bound by a Contract Spirit. It should be impossible for them to leak anything."
"Let's just say I've got excellent hearing," Ronna replied flatly.
"Noted. I'll be more discreet when doing 'dirty work' in the future—if I even remain in this prison, that is."
Ash glanced at Ronna's silent companion, Ronald. The man was unusually quiet today, trailing behind Ronna like a shadow.
The aftermath of last night's "talk" was evident. Ronald and Ronna had fought again—a clash as brutal as tearing apart a roast chicken. While Ronald had once seemed like a reluctant servant, today he was little more than an extension of Ronna's will.
He had almost nothing left of himself. Piece by piece, everything that was "Ronald" had been consumed and replaced with something that belonged to Ronna.
As Igula had once remarked, Ronald's love—his supposed weapon against Ronna—had become his undoing.
Love is terrifying. You can wield it, but it wields you in return. You stare into it, and it stares back. You think you're its master, but soon enough, you're its slave.
Ash shook off the grim thought. Ronald's survival instincts had kept him desperate to escape, even as Ronna's rituals drained him dry. According to Igula's research, Ronna's "companions" typically lasted a month at most. That gave Ronald enough time to survive until the next Bloodmoon Trial—and that was all Ash needed.
Whether Ronald could resist Ronna after their escape was a gamble Ash wasn't interested in taking.
"But I never lie," Igula said with a sly grin. "This next location truly is the key to our prison break. I'd even say it's as important as Ash's cleansing miracle. We're here."
Ash's excitement grew. Something as crucial as my 'Cut Myself' miracle? Could it be a secret passage? A hidden armory? Or maybe...
He looked up eagerly—only to see a glowing green sign.
"Men's Restroom."