Ewald, the ever-mysterious figure, wore an expression that seemed almost unrecognizable on his usually emotionless face. It was a blend of anguish and fragility. A whirlwind of feelings barely kept in check, as if a single word could break the frail barrier holding back a torrent of memories. His silence conveyed a depth that surpassed any spoken words, portraying a man battling with his inner demons. In that moment, he appeared as a striking embodiment of the heavy toll that supressed pain can take, a spirit struggling with the echoes of what once was.
The question had undone him. It delved into the depths of his carefully guarded past pulling it forth into the unforgiving light. In a Wool-bond, every child carried such a past—memories so heavy they bent even the strongest of spirits. Ewald was no exception.
His long legs were awkwardly folded against his chest as he sat on the cold floor, hands dangling between his knees. To Haze, the position seemed as uncomfortable as their entire situation. Yet, Ewald's stillness—so intentional, so intense—made Haze wonder if he was even aware of the discomfort.
It felt like Ewald's thoughts had drifted to a place far away, disconnected from the heavy atmosphere surrounding them. The silence stretched between them, tensed with unvoiced sentiments and suppressed feelings, amplifying the weight of their shared experience.
Finally, Ewald reclined, his head resting against the unyielding wall. His movements carried the weight of unseen shackles, heavier than the ones binding him. His eyes rose to the damp ceiling, unseeing yet searching for something... an answer.
[This can't just be the effect of a question] Haze thought, watching him. The silence between them was overwhelming and confusing to him. But yet, he felt compelled to wait.
Haze, exhausted from hours in the cramped cell, was too drained for idle conversation. Yet, his curiosity persisted, fueled by a growing sense that Ewald's calm and composed exterior hid a wealth of untold secrets. Despite his fatigue, Haze felt an overwhelming urge to uncover the truth beneath Ewald's reserved demeanor.
After an interminable silence, Ewald's sharp exhalation shattered the air. His voice, a low measured cadence, repeated the question, "Join Ghent's group?" with a tone that was both contemplative and calculating. Each word was savoured, weighed, and measured, as though he was tasting the words before committing to them. A hint of amusement played in his eyes, a subtle glint that could only mean he found the idea almost absurd, all while he continued to look upwards.
"You think it's really that simple?" he asked, a bit of dry amusement flickering across his face. "Like all it takes is a choice?"
Haze turned slightly to face him, studying the boy's profile. Ewald's head remained tipped back against the wall, his eyes still fixed somewhere above. His voice, though calm, carried a weight that hung in the damp air.
Haze hesitated, unsure if he should respond or let Ewald continue. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of challenging him—of asking, What are choices to you? But he thought better of it.
Instead, he let out a faint, noncommittal sound. "Hmph."
Ewald chuckled dryly, though the humor didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sometimes the choices you think you have... they're not really yours to make." His voice dropped, becoming more subdued. "But they're yours to suffer."
Haze couldn't see Ewald's face clearly, but he felt the impact of the words deep within him. There was an undeniable truth in them, one that resonated deeply. Though he couldn't fully grasp Ewald's meaning, he understood the weight of it.
In that moment, respect bloomed quietly within Haze. He didn't know much about Ewald—didn't have a bond with him beyond their shared ordeal. But he knew this was someone who carried burdens few could comprehend.
Haze adjusted his position, raising one knee and resting his arm on it. He leaned back against the wall, mimicking Ewald's posture, and stared into the void of their cell. "In the grand scheme of things, we're all just pawns fighting for freedom," he said quietly.
Ewald tilted his head slightly, his gaze dropping from the ceiling to meet Haze's. His eyes flickered with something—agreement, maybe, or understanding.
"I hate being controlled," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I…" He trailed off, his jaw tightening as though biting back the rest of his thought, the weight of years of being taught to suppress emotions pressing down on him. They had learned that feelings only made them weak, that none of it was needed in a world like theirs. A sigh escaped him, weary and resigned. "Damn this place. No track of time, no sense of anything. Can you tell what time it is?"
Haze opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the sound of chains clinking. One of the others—Jingo—had shifted in his sleep, the noise echoing faintly in the stillness.
"Probably late," Haze said after a moment, his voice low. "Early hours of the morning, maybe. You can tell they're out cold." gesturing at Jingo and Mark.
"How's your back?" Ewald asked suddenly. His tone was casual, but there was a hint of genuine concern. "He got you pretty good back there. I've been hit with that before, but it wasn't Ghent's attack. Hurt like hell for days."
Haze leaned his head back, wincing slightly at the memory. "Yeah, it got me good," he admitted. "But there won't be a next time."
He thought about probing Ewald for more details about the attack—who had been behind it, what it signified—but ultimately held back. Answers would come eventually, he figured. They always did.
Ewald chuckled softly again, though it was evident he wasn't truly amused. He let the conversation fade, and silence enveloped the room once more.
The distant dripping of water echoed, its steady rhythm haunting the air. The cold, damp atmosphere biting at their senses, heavy with the burden of everything unsaid.
Haze closed his eyes, exhaustion finally setting in. [Tomorrow], he thought, the word carrying both dread and hope. [I'm excited to see what tomorrow offers me.]
Across the cell, Ewald rested his head on his hands, his posture resembling someone on the verge of sleep. The two boys sat in their shared silence, each lost in their own thoughts but tethered by an unspoken understanding.
And for now, that was enough.