The prison seemed calm again—almost too calm. Within just one day, the guards had repaired the damage from the battle. Teams of high-level mages had been deployed, erecting reinforced barriers and sealing every visible crack with precision. The walls, the tunnels, even the air itself seemed to hum with renewed energy.
To the other prisoners, the chaos of the previous day was nothing more than a distant memory, erased by the harsh order imposed by the guards. But for Takeshi, things were different.
Sitting in the shadowed corner of his cell, he observed. His unique eyes, attuned to the unseen, captured details that no one else could perceive. The mana flows, chaotic and dense after the battle, had been meticulously rewoven by the mages to restore the prison's stability. Yet, something felt slightly… off.
"They worked quickly," he murmured to himself, his gaze tracing the subtle currents of energy. "But not perfectly."
He closed his eyes briefly, focusing his heightened senses on the most vulnerable areas. Most of the repaired sections were seamless; the mana flowed smoothly across them. The new barriers pulsed with steady, unyielding energy. But elsewhere—near the mines—he felt something different.
An anomaly.
He opened his eyes again, the faint glow in his pupils almost imperceptible in the dim light. In his mind, he visualized a single fissure. It was small, almost insignificant, but it was there. The mana flows in that area wavered slightly, hesitating as though something disrupted their path.
"They missed it," he thought, a flicker of excitement running through him.
He straightened his back, staring at the wall of his cell. This discovery was critical. The guards, confident in their repairs, would likely overlook this weak point.
But he couldn't rush.
Takeshi knew that one misstep would ruin his chances. He needed more information. He spent the rest of the day observing the mana flows and tracking the guards' movements near the mines. He noted their patrols, the presence of mages, and the patterns of the barriers they'd erected.
In the days that followed, Takeshi blended into the routine of the other prisoners. In the mines, he worked without complaint, letting the guards monitor him without suspicion. But every break, every stolen glance, he focused on the fissure.
It confirmed what he had suspected all along. The crack was invisible to the naked eye and undetectable by ordinary mana senses. It was a tiny point of weakness in the barrier, something only he could perceive.
"That's it," he thought, a faint smile touching his lips. "That's my way out."
He rubbed a hand over his face, masking his calculations behind an expression of exhaustion. The fissure was too small to exploit yet, but if the surrounding mana remained unstable, there was a chance it could grow.
"Patience," he whispered to himself. "I need to be sure before I act."
That night, lying on the cold floor of his cell, Takeshi closed his eyes. Even in rest, his senses remained sharp, attuned to the slightest fluctuation in the mana flows around him.
He knew when the time came, he would have only one chance.
***
Takeshi stood in the depths of the mine, his tool gripped firmly in his hands, striking the rock with a steady rhythm. Sweat rolled down his brow, mixing with the dust in the air. Yet, it wasn't physical exhaustion that weighed on him. His mind was racing, calculating, analyzing.
The guards were weakened, the fortress had suffered significant damage, but that state wouldn't last. They had already repaired most of the visible damage, sealing cracks and erecting barriers with meticulous efficiency. Still, Takeshi's unique eyes had spotted something others couldn't—a weakness, a barely perceptible fracture near the mines.
But a simple crack wasn't enough. He needed an opportunity to exploit it. The prison still operated like a well-oiled machine, despite the lingering tension.
"If I want that fracture to become my way out," he thought, "I have to unbalance this machine."
Takeshi couldn't act openly. His power had to remain hidden. No one could suspect he still had access to his perceptive abilities. He didn't need to rally others with words. A revolt didn't start with speeches; it started with seeds.
He observed.
The mine was a crucible of oppression. Prisoners, beaten down by months or years of forced labor, toiled under the relentless gaze of the guards. But Takeshi knew how quickly such a system could break. He didn't need to inspire anyone; he only needed to push the right pressure points.
His first move was subtle. As he worked, he noted every detail—the tired steps of the guards, their irritated glances, the way they snapped at the slightest mistake. Among the prisoners, he could see the quiet frustration in their movements, the barely contained anger in their eyes.
"Their discipline is starting to crack," Takeshi thought. "That's where I'll strike."
He adjusted his grip on the pickaxe and struck a rock, but not randomly. He aimed for a slightly loose stone, making it dislodge with a distinctive noise. A guard glanced over briefly, then moved on. Perfect.
Later, Takeshi picked up a discarded tool and quietly placed it near another prisoner's work area. The action was small, unnoticed by anyone else. But when a guard noticed the misplaced tool, his voice cut through the mine like a blade.
— "Who left this here?"
The prisoners around him froze.
— "It wasn't me!" one of them stammered.
— "Shut up!" barked the guard, his hand moving toward his weapon.
Takeshi continued working, feigning indifference, but he observed everything. The atmosphere was shifting.
"Suspicion," he thought. "It's a powerful weapon. If the prisoners start blaming each other, or the guards lose their patience, this tension will reach a breaking point."
The next day, Takeshi escalated his efforts. He subtly caused a minor rockfall in one section of the mine, just loud enough to attract attention. In another area, he shifted a pile of tools to create confusion.
Each incident led to guards shouting, prisoners protesting, and the overall tension rising.
— "I'm sick of your excuses!" yelled one guard, his voice trembling with frustration.
— "You think we're going to take this forever?" snapped a prisoner in return, his tone sharp and dangerous.
Takeshi observed from the shadows, his expression neutral. But inside, he felt the momentum building.
"They won't hold out much longer. It's only a matter of time before everything erupts."
At dinner that night, the tension in the communal hall was palpable. Prisoners exchanged furtive glances, some whispering in hushed tones. A few threw defiant looks at the guards, who seemed more on edge than usual.
Takeshi ate silently, keeping his head down, but his sharp eyes noted everything. The fractures in the prison's order were widening.
"A revolt isn't born from words," he thought. "It's born from frustration, from fear giving way to anger. I don't need to lead it—I just need to let it happen."
Back in his cell, Takeshi leaned against the wall, his thoughts returning to the crack he had discovered near the mine. It was still small, still imperceptible to anyone without his abilities. But with the guards distracted and tensions rising, he knew he could make it his escape route.
He glanced at the faintly pulsing seal on his wrist, a constant reminder of his limitations.
"None of this will matter if I can't find a way to remove this."
Lying on the cold floor, Takeshi closed his eyes. His plan was taking shape, but every move had to be calculated. He knew the days ahead would determine everything.
!