Chapter 6: The Black Hour.
In the dim light of his cell, Rin's fingers traced the fresh ink etched into his skin. The intricate patterns of the tattoos were unlike any he had seen before, each symbol meticulously crafted. They seemed to pulse with a significance he couldn't yet grasp.
His mind replayed the encounter with the old man—the unexpected assault after Rin had intervened to save him from the prison thugs.
Rin couldn't shake the feeling that the tattoos were more than mere markings. In prison culture, tattoos often conveyed deep meanings: a teardrop could signify a murder committed or a personal loss; a spider web might represent time served or feeling trapped; five dots arranged in a quincunx could symbolize the prison walls and the inmate within.
But these symbols were different. They didn't match any of the common prison tattoos he was familiar with. Each design seemed to tell a story, perhaps a map or a code. The precision suggested the old man had a specific purpose in mind.
As Rin pondered, he recalled the old man's uncanny knowledge about his desire to return to the Sky. How could he have known? The realization struck Rin: the old man possessed insights beyond the ordinary, and these tattoos were likely a key to something greater.
Determined to uncover the truth, Rin resolved to observe the old man more closely, seeking opportunities to decipher the meanings behind the tattoos and the role they would play in his quest for freedom.
The air inside the prison was thick with sweat, rot, and the muffled murmurs of lost men. Rin sat against the cold stone wall of his cell, feeling the slow, aching pulse of pain throb through his ribs. His body had taken a beating, and every breath sent sharp jolts through his lungs. Blood still clung to his lips, dried and crusted from where the old man's fists had torn into him.
"I have returned the favor. This will be helpful to you in the future."
The old man's words echoed in his mind. Rin clenched his fists, remembering the way he'd been struck down. The old man had moved with unnatural speed—faster than any fighter he had ever seen. Every strike had landed with precision, cutting off his breath, shutting down his body in a matter of seconds. It wasn't just skill; it was something else. Something beyond ordinary combat.
And Rin knew he had to understand it.
Night fell over the prison. The flickering lanterns cast long, broken shadows across the stone halls. Guards paced lazily along the walkways, their armor clinking as they muttered about how dull the shift was.
Rin pushed himself off the ground, his legs shaking beneath him. His body screamed in protest, but his mind was steady. He moved like a ghost, his eyes sunken, his breath slow and deliberate. He looked like a corpse, and that was the point.
The prison bullies preyed on the weak, and tonight, Rin wanted to be hunted.
A group of prisoners loitered near the mess hall, their hushed conversation stopping as Rin stumbled toward them. One of them, a broad-shouldered thug with a jagged scar down his cheek, sneered.
"Look at this one," he muttered. "The old man really did a number on you, huh?"
Rin didn't answer. Instead, he collapsed forward, letting the thug catch him by the collar.
"What's wrong, kid? Can't handle a little beating?" The thug grinned, turning to his friends. "Maybe we put him out of his misery—"
Rin struck.
His fingers found the soft tissue under the man's ribs, pressing hard into a nerve cluster. The thug's body stiffened, his breath hitching in his throat. Before he could react, Rin's other hand slipped behind his knee, yanking him forward. The thug crumpled, and Rin's knife—small and rusted but sharp enough—was already at his throat.
"Move, and you bleed." Rin's voice was low, barely above a whisper.
The other prisoners took a step back, eyes wide. No one expected this from someone who had barely been standing a second ago.
"You… You little bastard," the thug choked.
Rin pressed the knife in deeper. "You're going to answer some questions."
The thug hesitated, but fear won out. His voice trembled as he spoke.
"There's… There's a tunnel," he wheezed. "Beneath the lower cells. The warden blocked it off years ago, but it still leads outside. He uses it to stash his stolen goods."
A tunnel. Rin's pulse quickened. If that tunnel still had an opening, even a small one, it could be a way out.
"Go on," Rin demanded.
"The Hound—he runs everything. Drugs, weapons, bribes. The guards let him do whatever he wants, long as he keeps the peace. If you want out, you either pay him… or kill him."
Rin's grip tightened. That's why the prison felt so controlled. The real power wasn't with the guards—it was in the hands of the criminals themselves. If The Hound was an obstacle, Rin needed to find a way around him… or through him.
But then the thug said something that made Rin freeze.
"The Black Hour."
Rin narrowed his eyes. "What about it?"
"Every night, for ten minutes, the power goes out," the thug whispered. "Most think it's just a system failure. But every time it happens… people disappear. Not guards. Not the strong ones. Just prisoners. No one knows where they go. And they don't come back."
Rin felt the weight of those words settle over him. A prison filled with criminals, with men who would rather die than be taken. And yet, someone was taking them.
The thug swallowed hard. "It happens in a few hours."
Rin pulled the knife away, shoving the thug back. "Good. Then I'll see it for myself."
The prisoners watched in stunned silence as Rin walked away, his body still broken, his mind sharper than ever.
The Vanishing
Hours passed.
Rin lay on his cot, his eyes half-open, waiting. The prison had a rhythm—a sound, a movement, a pulse that never stopped. But then, as the time approached midnight, something changed.
The lanterns flickered. The buzzing of the electric wires overhead stuttered.
And then—darkness.
The prison fell silent. Not a normal silence, but something unnatural. A stillness that made Rin's skin crawl.
He sat up, listening.
Then, footsteps. Light, precise, moving through the halls with purpose. They weren't guards. They weren't prisoners.
Something was here.
Rin crept toward the bars, peering out. Shadows moved in the distance, figures slipping through the halls like whispers. Then he saw it—cells opening, one after another. Not all of them. Just a few.
Prisoners were being taken.
Rin's breath slowed as he watched. The figures moved with practiced efficiency, dragging men from their beds. He strained to see their faces, but they were masked—dressed in dark clothing, their movements too fluid, too controlled to be ordinary thugs.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
The lights flickered back on. The guards returned to their posts, none the wiser. The missing prisoners? Gone. As if they had never existed.
Rin exhaled slowly, his heart pounding. He had come here looking for a way back to the Sky. But now he realized—this prison held more than just criminals.
It held secrets.
And he was going to uncover every single one of them.