1200-12-28
The date was November 7th, 1200. I marked it every day, carving tally marks into the crumbling stone walls of my cell. Day after day, I endured the monotony of imprisonment. Day after day, I suffered the suffocating weight of isolation.
Alone.
I was alone.
The cell became my only solace. As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. The mice scurried along the cracks in the floor became my silent companions. They darted between the shadows. The floor a mix of dried blood and water
Then there were the cats. They were sleek hunters of every size and hue, prowling the prison corridors. The battle between predator and prey unfolded daily in my confines, yet the mice seemed to hold their ground. The cats, despite their ferocity, often turned to me. They purred and rubbed against my legs, their bodies warm and soft against the chill of the stone. On the coldest nights, I woke to find them lying atop me, their weight and warmth the only shield against the freezing air.
My hands were bound to the floor with iron chains, the cold metal biting into my skin. Movement was limited, my strength sapped by hunger, and yet the rats—my unlikeliest allies—gnawed tirelessly at the rusting links. Their small teeth left marks like tiny victories, weakening the chains ever so slightly. Time itself seemed to be their ally, as the metal corroded and flaked under their relentless assault.
As the day of my sentence approached, the passage of time grew meaningless. Hours stretched like days, and days faded into an unending haze. My thoughts spiraled, consumed by a single question: Why?
The silence broke suddenly, violently.
Creak.
The groan of iron hinges echoed through the corridors. That sound had become all too familiar—a prelude to pain or mockery. Heavy footsteps followed, each one deliberate, purposeful. Kuzan.
He entered the cell alone. No guards flanked him, as if my broken state made their presence unnecessary. The door swung wide, its rusty hinges screeching like laughter at my predicament.
Kuzan stood there, his figure illuminated by the faint torchlight spilling in from the hallway. His lips twisted into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.
"You look comfortable," he said, his voice dripping with mockery.
"Of course I am, Supreme Leader," I mocked, a bitter smile tugging at my lips as Kuzan's gaze darkened.
His shoulders slumped as he sighed. "It didn't have to turn out this way."
"It did," I replied coldly.
"Your batch always was... defective," he muttered, his voice tinged with an odd mix of disdain and regret.
I narrowed my eyes. "We were kids."
"No," he said sharply. "You were tools. And now, your usefulness to me is done."
A tense silence stretched between us, broken only by the faint crackle of the torches on the walls.
"What will happen to our batch?" I asked, my voice steady despite the storm brewing in my chest.
"They committed an unthinkable sin," he said, "and for that, they must be punished."
"It's been years and you haven't found them yet," I laughed.
"Oh, we will," Kuzan retorted. "They'll be hunted wherever they ran—Ghar, Marano, Wara. There's no place they can hide."
My laughter turned sharp, biting. "You're willing to start another hundred-year war to track them down? Who won the last war, Kuzan? Tell me."
His face twisted in anger. "We won!" he yelled, the words ringing hollow in the small chamber.
"You were bailed out by Tethambia," I shot back. "You fear them, don't you? Their sacrifice allowed your so-called independence, and now look at them—vassals of Shatar."
His hand clenched around the hilt of his katana, and he drew the blade in one swift motion. The steel glinted in the flickering light as he pointed it toward me.
Kuzan stepped closer, pressing the edge of the blade against my chest.
His voice trembled "I can't let you live," he whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek.
"You do have emotions after all," I said. "Though the Board stripped them from you."
A faint smile crossed his face
"Do it," I commanded, locking eyes with him. "You will get no information from me."
"Your child... your family... they will regret this decision."
The katana bit into my chest, and a sharp, searing pain followed. Blood flowed warm and thick, soaking into my tattered shirt as it ran down my skin. The world began to blur, my vision dimming at the edges.
But my thoughts didn't linger on Kuzan, nor on the pain. They drifted to the ones I loved most.
My brothers.
Alio. Arata.
"I'm sorry," I whispered "How I wish I could see the stars one last time."