Osric stood there by the barred window, watching the moonlight filtering through the iron bars. The cool breeze was tugging on the edges of his cloak, and he felt nothing of it all. His body was silent, but his mind reeled in confusion, frustration, and a sense of being helpless. He didn't stir for such a long time, and the silence of that jail cell pressed down upon him like a weight far too heavy to bear.
'Tomorrow.' The word rang in his mind, yet it didn't feel real. It was like a far-off nightmare that he couldn't shake off. 'Tommorow Taren will die.' The thought crushed him. He had protected him, played with him like brothers, been his friend, his companion. Now, he would lose him.
His chest tightened. The days since Taren's capture had dragged on like an endless night. He could still feel the weight of Taren's last look in the courtroom—those wide, confused eyes, as if he had been abandoned by the world. And Osric couldn't shake the thought that it was his fault. He had failed him.
It had been too heavy, too silent. And then it felt stifling. Osric bent to rub his forehead against the cold stone wall, his hand pressing into the rough surface to hold on.
He closed his eyes. 'What do I do?' The question ran through his head. Always, he was the strong one. He knew how to act. Now. now, he felt like a ghost, walking through a world he did not understand. Taren was in the cell just a few meters away, and Osric couldn't reach him.
'I couldn't protect him, I.. '
The tears came before he even knew it. His breath hitched in his chest, and his vision blurred. He wiped his face quickly, as if ashamed.
'No...not now.'
But the tears wouldn't stop. He couldn't keep them inside. The emptiness of this moment, of being left here without Taren in this lonely, silent place, gnawed at him. So many years passed as a protector, a warrior, but now he felt so helpless.
"Promised you," he spoke hoarsely to the empty room, his voice cracking apart. "We promised that we would get through this together..."
His shoulders shook with quiet sobs, and his hands trembled as they fell to his sides.
"What good is a promise if you can't keep it?"
He wiped his eyes again, trying to regain some semblance of composure. He couldn't break down, 'not now, not when there is still a chance.' There has to be a way, he thought, his voice soft but determined. He glanced at the door of his cell as if hoping it might open, offering him a way out. But the reality was clear: there was no easy escape. There was only him.
'Tomorrow. Taren will die. Unless I did something...anything.'
He wiped away the last of his tears and took a deep, steadying breath. 'I'll find a way,' he promised himself silently. 'I will not lose you, Taren. I will not let them take you from me. We aren't friends, we aren't companions, We....are brothers, you are my little brother.'
And with that, he made his decision. Whatever the cost, he would find a way to save Taren. Not alone, though, was he going to fight the battle, not as long as Osric breathed, anyway.
Osric went outside, his boots crunching against the gravel as he moved quickly through the shadows. The cool night air nipped at his skin, but he didn't feel it. His body seemed to move on instinct; his mind was locked into one thought: I have to get out. I have to do something.
He didn't look back at the prison—didn't allow himself the luxury of a final glance. He forced himself to stay focused, pushing the weight of his emotions to the back of his mind, burying them deep where he couldn't reach them. Later, he told himself. I'll think about it later.
His jaw was set, furrowed brow concentrating the effort. He moved by purpose, every step considered, his breath even, controlled. The raw ache in his chest threatened to break through, but he shoved it down and kept his focus on the matter before him. His hands flexed at his sides, the gloves fitting tight around his fingers, but the tension did not leave. It never does.
He could hear the soft sound of the wind and distant sounds of the city settling down for the night. Yet there was no solace in the silence. No peace. Not for him. Not tonight.
***
Shadows grew longer across the narrow street as night deepened. A man stood crouched beside a house, his figure blending with the darkness. The only thing visible were the sharp outlines of his weapons—knives sheathed at his sides, a bow slung across his back. His hands were gloved, every movement careful, calculated.
His face was hidden behind a black mask, with only his eyes showing, cold, focused, and unblinking. He was perfectly motionless, observing the prison from the darkness, waiting, listening.
The man was patient, every muscle tense with anticipation, every sound amplified in the stillness of the night. The moonlight reflected off the metal of his blades, his breath steady as he waited for the right moment.
He was no stranger to this kind of waiting—no stranger to the quiet before the storm. His mind was sharp, his senses honed. He was there for a reason, and that reason was about to come to life.
The man's eyes flickered with cold precision as he crouched low, his breath steady, his focus razor-sharp. The air around him felt thick as if the night itself held its breath. The prison loomed before him, a looming shadow under the dark sky.
Without a word, he reached toward his belt, letting his fingers brush the cold metal of his knives. The blades were light in his hands, perfectly balanced. He adjusted his grip with fluid, controlled movements.
In one swift motion, he pulled back his arm, muscles coiling like a spring. His eyes tracked the guards posted along the prison walls, scanning for the perfect opening. His heart drummed in his chest, but his hands were steady. He took a breath, released it, and threw.
The knives hissed through the air with a deadly slowness as they sliced through the silence of the night. Time itself seemed to slow as they flew toward their targets and then, thud—both guards were struck, jerking from the force of the blows. They collapsed wordlessly, their bodies slumping to the ground, limp and still.
The man stood there, frozen in momentary shock, his breathing now quickening. His chest closed up, and his eyes nervously ran over the bodies. His hands did jerk a little, not at the action but at something else—a flicker of doubt, a sudden realization.
He muttered an insult under his breath, another rare break in his mask of composure. His pulse pounded in his ears, and for the first time in a long while, a flash of fear pricked at the back of his mind.
'What if someone else heard?'
His eyes narrowed as he looked around once more, adrenaline rush just about over now, in its wake, leaving him cold, empty. The security was down, though his gut now knotted with unease to resolve him.
He pulled the cloak over him, letting himself merge once again into the shadows. The rapid, nervous strides consumed most of his steps; still, his body remained stiffened, poised to lash out again if the situation warranted it, but his steps now carried a sharp edge, a desperation he had lacked before.