Haze stood rooted to the spot, his fists tightening imperceptibly at his sides. He knew he should feel relief, the absence of pain in his back should have been a blessing—but it wasn't. Gratitude felt wrong, twisted and distorted under the weight of this man's smirking cruelty.
His eyes burned with suppressed defiance, but the words he longed to express [I didn't need your help] faltered on his tongue. Every instinct urged him to resist the stifling presence pressing down on him, yet his body refused to obey. The weight wasn't only caused by the man's presence; it hung in the air itself, constricting around Haze's chest like an iron band, extinguishing the sparks of rebellion he had been nurturing.
The man observed him intently, his blindfolded eyes somehow sharper than if they had been uncovered. His grin widened, each curve of his lips infused with amusement. He could sense Haze's resistance, taste the bitterness of his silence. "Good," the man finally said, his voice tinged with a sense of triumph. He tilted his head slightly, as if relishing the moment before issuing the command.
"Come with me."
Haze's jaw clenched at the command. The idea of complying grated against his very essence, but defiance was not an option. Not here, not now. He needed a reason—an excuse to stall, if only for a moment.
His eyes darted around, searching for something, anything, to anchor his hesitation. Then he spotted it: the chains binding his wrists and ankles. Lifting his hands slightly, the metal links clinking with the motion, Haze gestured toward them.
The man, who had already begun to turn, paused mid-step. His blindfolded gaze, though impossible to read, seemed to weigh Haze's expression carefully. There was no discernible movement, no grand gesture. And yet, a sharp metallic crack suddenly shattered the heavy silence.
Haze flinched at the sound, instinctively looking down. The chains that had bound him seconds ago lay severed on the floor, glinting faintly in the dim light. He froze, his outstretched hands still in the air.
[When?] The question echoed in his mind as his eyes flicked from the broken chains to the man. Haze hadn't seen it—hadn't even sensed it—but the proof was irrefutable. Only the cold iron shackles remained fastened around his wrists and ankles.
He raised his head slowly, almost cautiously, as if the motion might shatter whatever strange reality he'd just stumbled into. A faint breeze brushed against his face, both gentle and chilling at the same time. His gaze landed on the man's left hand, resting at his side, fingers relaxed.
[Don't tell me… Could it really...?] Haze's thoughts collided with one another, half-formed and fraying at the edges.
The others had been watching. They had seen Haze lift his hands, yet somehow, none of them had noticed the exact moment the chains were severed.
The sound of metal striking the floor seemed to ripple through the room. Ghent, who had been sitting with his head bowed in anxious submission, turned sharply at the noise, his expression flickering with confusion.
Ewald's brows knitted together, his keen gaze sweeping across the scene as if he were trying to piece together what was missing. Jingo, who had been nervously toying with his hands just moments ago, stopped abruptly, his fingers now rigid and unmoving. Even Mark, who was usually the least worried among them, appeared noticeably disturbed, his posture adjusting as if he were trying to find his balance.
No one spoke a word, but the atmosphere between them, tense and heavy, was real.
Haze's mind churned. He replayed the last few moments, trying to pinpoint the moment the man had acted. There was nothing. No movement. No sound beyond the chains themselves. The precision, the sheer speed—whatever had just transpired was beyond his comprehension.
The man paid no mind to their astonished silence. Instead, he continued on his path, his steps smooth and purposeful.
The others turned almost instinctively, their movements unnervingly synchronized as their gazes trailed after him. The weight of his presence drew them in like a powerful current, an influence they found impossible to resist.
Haze's wonder had transformed into something more profound, more sobering. He glanced once more at the chains on the ground, the broken links glinting like discarded symbols of lost control. Then, without uttering a word, he fell into step behind the man.
The others watched him leave, their faces displaying various shades of disbelief and unease.
[He could kill me before I even get a chance to act] Haze realized the thought settling in his mind like a stone dropped into deep water. Any flicker of resistance he might have held onto dimmed. He followed, not out of submission, but out of recognition: a force like this was not one to challenge lightly.
With each step, he felt a growing weight as he moved toward the unknown, the sound of his chains—now merely loose shackles—softly clinking with every motion.
×××
"Oh, I see. He is coming," a voice murmured, smooth and composed, laced with a curious blend of amusement and menace.
"As expected," the voice continued, a soft chuckle threading through the words, "the right amount of pressure unravels even the tightest knot."
The laughter deepened, a sound both eerie and intoxicating, rippling like a wave of anticipation.
"Come to me, child," the voice called, soft yet authoritative, with a hint of malice lurking beneath its feigned warmth. There was something unnatural about it, like a pull that sliced through the air and wrapped around the soul. "I'm eager to see how high you can climb... or how far you will fall."
As Haze neared the room from which the voice emanated, a frigid shiver coursed down his spine. It wasn't the sound that disturbed him—he hadn't heard a single whisper or creak. Yet, the sensation was inescapable. With each step he took, the air thickened, pressing against him like an invisible weight.
He tightened his fists, the metal of the loose shackles scraping against his skin with every movement of his arms. His thoughts raced, flitting between one dark possibility and the next. Yet, in spite of the unease brewing up inside of him, he chose to stay calm.
Haze wasn't sure what lay ahead, but he knew one thing for certain—there was no turning back. Whatever was waiting for him in that room, he would face it head-on. Fear might freeze his blood, but his mind, battered and weary, was ready for the worst.