The dungeon walls seemed to close in tighter with every passing day. Aiden sat on the cold stone floor, his back against the damp wall, staring at the narrow beam of sunlight that filtered through a crack high above. He had learned to track time by it, measuring the hours by the way it shifted and faded. It was his only connection to the outside world—and his power.
He clenched his fist, summoning every ounce of focus. A tiny spark flickered at his fingertips, weak and feeble. It sputtered out almost instantly, leaving him with only the weight of his frustration.
"Not yet," he muttered to himself. "But soon."
The sound of footsteps broke the silence, faint but distinct against the stone floor. Aiden tensed, his ears straining to identify the gait. It wasn't the heavy tread of a guard but something lighter, quicker. Moments later, Cara appeared, carrying her usual wooden tray.
"Dinner," she said softly, sliding the tray through the bars.
Aiden glanced at the meager portion of bread and watery broth but made no move to take it. "You're late."
Cara raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you kept a schedule down here."
He shrugged, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Not much else to do."
She sat cross-legged outside the cell, resting her chin in her hands. "Busy day in the kitchen. The guards are on edge about something—extra patrols, tighter shifts. They wouldn't say why."
"Something must have them scared," Aiden said, tearing off a piece of bread.
"Maybe," Cara replied. Her green eyes studied him for a moment, curiosity flickering across her face. "You've been different lately. Restless."
Aiden avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the stale bread in his hands. "Maybe I'm tired of rotting in this place."
Cara leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Are you planning something?"
For a moment, Aiden didn't answer. He had told himself to trust no one, not even Cara. But after weeks of her quiet kindness, of the small acts that reminded him he was still human, he found himself wavering.
"I can't stay here forever," he said finally.
Her expression didn't change, but something sharpened in her eyes. "If you escape," she said carefully, "you'll need help. Someone who knows the layout of the castle, the routines of the guards."
"Are you offering?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't belong here any more than you do," Cara replied. "If you're leaving, take me with you."
---
That night, Aiden lay awake, turning Cara's words over in his mind. She had said them so matter-of-factly, as if escaping the kingdom's dungeon was as simple as walking out the front gate.
But her offer made sense. Cara's knowledge of the castle could be invaluable, and she had already proven she was willing to take risks for him. The thought of having an ally—even a reluctant one—was enough to ignite a flicker of hope.
For the next few days, they began to speak in hushed tones, their conversations laced with careful questions and half-formed plans. Cara described the guards' rotations, the layout of the corridors, and the timing of their shifts. Aiden absorbed every detail, mentally piecing together a map of his prison.
He also practiced his powers in secret. During the brief moments when sunlight filtered into the cell, he summoned sparks, coaxing them into small flames that flickered against his palm. Each success reminded him of what he was capable of—and what the kingdom had taken from him.
One evening, as Cara slipped him his usual tray, she paused. "I brought you something else."
She pulled a small, rusted nail from her pocket and held it out through the bars.
"What's this for?" Aiden asked, taking it cautiously.
"It's for the lock on your shackles," Cara whispered. "I've seen the guards use keys like it. If you're careful, you might be able to pick it."
Aiden stared at her, surprise flickering across his face. "You're serious about this."
Cara met his gaze, her expression unwavering. "We both deserve to be free."
For the first time in years, Aiden felt the faint stirrings of hope.
---
Late that night, when the dungeon was silent, Aiden worked on the lock. The nail was crude and his hands were unsteady, but he persisted, ignoring the ache in his wrists and the cold bite of the metal.
After what felt like hours, the shackle clicked open.
Aiden froze, hardly daring to believe it. He flexed his wrist, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of freedom. He quickly moved to the other shackle, repeating the process until both cuffs lay on the ground beside him.
The next morning, when Cara returned, he showed her the discarded chains.
"You did it," she whispered, her voice tinged with awe.
"Thanks to you," Aiden replied. He reached through the bars, gripping her hand briefly. "We're getting out of here. Together."
Cara nodded, her eyes gleaming with determination. "Then we need a plan."