CHAPTER 13 – "INTO THE DEPTHS"
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The Royal Jail stood like a scar carved into the mountain.
Kael had seen prisons before—wooden cages in village squares, iron cells beneath city halls—but nothing like this. The entrance was a gate of black iron sunk directly into stone, flanked by watchtowers that jutted from the cliff face like broken teeth. Torchlight flickered against the rock, casting long shadows that seemed to crawl.
He stood beside Theron at the base of the approach road, both of them dressed in guard uniforms they'd stolen from a storage depot two hours earlier. The fabric was stiff, the insignia unfamiliar. Kael's sword was hidden beneath a long cloak, its weight pressing against his spine like a second heartbeat.
"Remember," Theron said quietly, adjusting the sealed document pouch at his side. "You don't speak unless spoken to. And even then, keep it short."
"I know."
"Do you?" Theron's eyes were sharp behind his glasses. "Because if you slip—if you say one word that doesn't fit—we're dead before we reach the first checkpoint."
Kael exhaled slowly. "I won't slip."
Theron studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Let's go."
They walked toward the gates.
---
The guards at the entrance were exactly what Theron had predicted: tired, irritable, caught in the overlap between shifts. Four of them stood near the gate, two leaning against the wall, one yawning openly. The fourth—a woman with a scar across her jaw—looked more alert, but even she had the dull-eyed look of someone counting the minutes until she could leave.
Theron approached without hesitation, his posture straight, his expression cold.
"Internal transfer," he said flatly, pulling the document pouch from his belt. "Seal verified upstairs."
The scarred guard glanced at the pouch, then at Theron. "Transfer? For who?"
"Alkeos." Theron's tone was clipped, impatient. "Interrogation scheduled. We're late because your intake office couldn't process paperwork properly."
The guard frowned. "I wasn't told about any interrogation."
"You weren't told because it's not your clearance level." Theron didn't raise his voice, but the sharpness in it made the guard stiffen. "Check the seal if you want. Or delay us further and explain to the warden why protocol wasn't followed."
Kael stayed perfectly still, his face blank. He could feel the weight of the other guards' eyes on him, but he didn't look at them. He kept his gaze forward, his jaw set.
The scarred guard hesitated, her hand hovering near the pouch. "And him?" She nodded toward Kael. "Who's he?"
"Interrogator," Theron said smoothly. "He asks the questions. I handle logistics."
The guard's eyes narrowed. "Interrogator? He looks young."
Kael's pulse quickened, but he forced himself to stay calm. He met the guard's gaze and said one word:
"Yes."
The guard blinked. "Yes what?"
"Yes, I'm young." Kael's voice was flat, almost bored. "Is that a problem?"
Theron shot him the faintest glance—half warning, half approval—then turned back to the guard. "The warden doesn't hire based on age. He hires based on results. If you'd like to question his judgment, I can arrange a meeting."
The scarred guard's jaw tightened. She looked at the pouch again, then at the other guards. One of them shrugged. Another yawned.
"Shift's ending in ten minutes," one of the leaning guards muttered. "Just let them through."
The scarred guard exhaled sharply, then stepped aside. "Fine. But if this comes back on me—"
"It won't," Theron said. He took the pouch back and walked past her without waiting for a response.
Kael followed.
---
The gate groaned open, revealing a passage carved directly into the mountain. The air inside was cold and damp, the kind of cold that sank into bone and didn't leave. Torches lined the walls at irregular intervals, their light barely enough to see by.
Kael's hand brushed the hilt of his sword beneath the cloak. The moment they crossed the threshold, he felt it—a pressure in the air, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on his chest like an invisible weight.
"Eidric suppression," kael murmured, his voice low. "It's stronger than I expected."
Theron nodded. He could feel it too. The sword's presence in his mind was muted, distant, like trying to hear a voice through deep water. He didn't like it.
The passage sloped downward, the stone floor slick with moisture. Ahead, Kael could see another checkpoint—a desk manned by two guards, a heavy iron door beyond them.
Theron didn't slow down. He walked straight toward the desk, his posture rigid, his expression unchanging.
"Internal transfer," he said again, dropping the pouch onto the desk. "Alkeos. Interrogation. Verified upstairs."
The guard at the desk—a balding man with ink-stained fingers—picked up the pouch and frowned at it. "This seal's damaged."
"It was mishandled during transport," Theron said, his tone flat. "You're welcome to file a complaint with intake. After we're done."
The guard glanced at his partner, then back at Theron. "I need to verify this."
"Then verify it." Theron leaned against the desk, his arms crossed. "But if you delay us, you're the one who explains to the warden why a scheduled interrogation didn't happen on time."
The guard hesitated. Kael could see the calculation in his eyes—the weighing of risks, the fear of making the wrong choice.
Finally, the guard set the pouch down and waved them through. "Go ahead."
Theron picked up the pouch and walked past without a word. Kael followed, his heart pounding in his chest.
---
The corridor beyond the checkpoint was narrower, the ceiling lower. The torchlight grew sparse, and the shadows seemed to press in from all sides. Kael could hear water dripping somewhere in the distance, a slow, steady rhythm that echoed through the stone.
"That was close," Kael muttered.
"It's not over yet," Theron said. "Stay focused."
They descended deeper. The air grew colder, the oppressive weight of the suppression field stronger with every step. Kael's fingers twitched near the hilt of his sword, but he resisted the urge to draw it. Not yet. Not unless they had no other choice.
Another checkpoint loomed ahead—this one manned by a single guard, a young man who looked barely older than Kael himself. He straightened as they approached, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
"Hold," he said. "State your business."
"Internal transfer," Theron said for the third time. "Alkeos. Interrogation."
The young guard frowned. "I wasn't notified."
"You weren't notified because it's above your clearance." Theron's voice was sharp now, edged with impatience. "Open the door."
The guard hesitated, his hand tightening on his blade. "I need to confirm—"
"You need to follow orders," Theron interrupted. "Or do you want to explain to your superior why you obstructed official business?"
Kael could see the guard wavering. He stepped forward slightly, just enough to draw the guard's attention.
"Is there a problem?" Kael asked, his voice low.
The guard looked at him, then at Theron, then back at the door. Finally, he stepped aside.
"No problem," he muttered.
Theron didn't thank him. He simply walked past, and Kael followed.
---
The passage beyond the final checkpoint opened into a wide corridor lined with cells. The air here was stale, heavy with the smell of damp stone and something else—something faintly metallic, like old blood. Kael could hear voices in the distance, muffled and indistinct.
"We're in," Theron said quietly.
Kael nodded, his hand finally resting on the hilt of his sword. The weight of it was reassuring, even through the suppression.
They moved deeper into the Royal Jail, the darkness swallowing them whole.
And somewhere below, in the depths of the mountain, someone was waiting.
---
END OF CHAPTER 13