Cold stone pressed against Ren's cheek.
That was the first thing he felt.
The second was pain—deep, dull, threaded through his ribs like a reminder that his body hadn't escaped untouched. He tried to move and failed. The world spun instead, light smearing into shadow.
"…Tch."
His voice came out rough. Dry.
Ren blinked slowly, forcing his vision to focus.
He wasn't in a cell—but it wasn't freedom either. The room was wide, carved directly into rock, lit by flickering lanterns that gave everything a yellowed, sickly glow. Symbols—old ones—were etched into the walls, half-erased, as if even they wanted to forget their meaning.
Chains lay nearby.
Not on him.
That fact alone made his stomach tighten.
"So you're awake."
The voice came from the shadows.
Ren turned his head just enough to see a figure leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Tall. Relaxed. Too relaxed. A man who looked like he had all the time in the world.
"You lasted longer than I expected," the man continued. "Most scream first."
Ren swallowed, throat burning. "Sorry," he muttered. "Guess I'm disappointing."
The man laughed softly.
"Oh no," he said. "You're interesting."
Ren didn't ask where he was.
Didn't ask why.
He already knew the answer to both.
Instead, he stared at the lantern light and thought—not of escape, not of revenge—but of home. Of noisy hallways. Of stupid jokes. Tobi was standing too stiff when he was thinking too hard.
Don't rush, Ren told himself. Staying calm matters.
The man pushed off the wall and crouched in front of him. "You're different from the others," he said. "No fear in your eyes."
Ren finally looked at him.
There was fear.
But there was also something else.
Resolve didn't always roar.
Sometimes it just refused to leave.
"I'm afraid," Ren said honestly. "I just don't think screaming will help."
The man stared at him for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
---
Far away, the academy slept uneasily.
Tobi stood alone in the inner training yard, long after midnight. The ground was damp from earlier rain, moonlight reflecting faintly off the stone tiles.
Yanshi approached without sound.
"You came on your own," Yanshi said.
Tobi didn't turn. "I couldn't sleep."
"That will get worse," Yanshi replied calmly.
A pause.
Then Tobi spoke, voice low. "If I had been stronger… he wouldn't have disappeared."
Yanshi stepped beside him, gaze fixed forward. "Strength does not stop loss," he said. "It only decides what you do after."
Tobi clenched his fists.
"I don't want power," he said. "I want control."
That made Yanshi look at him.
For the first time since the battle, there was something like approval in his eyes.
"Then we start slowly," Yanshi said. "Painfully slowly."
He reached down and picked up a wooden sword—old, worn, unremarkable—and placed it on the ground between them.
"No techniques," Yanshi continued. "No blades. No darkness. No light."
Tobi stared at it.
"Just breathing," Yanshi said. "And standing without running from yourself."
Tobi swallowed.
He stepped forward.
Somewhere deep within him, something ancient stirred—not awake, not asleep—but listening.
And somewhere far away, in a room carved of stone, Ren lifted his head and smiled faintly to himself.
I knew you wouldn't stop, he thought.
The night held its breath.