The key was cold in Fire's hand.
He shouldn't have had it. He knew that. The metal felt heavier than it looked, its teeth biting into his palm as if warning him. But the others were already crouched beside the dungeon door, whispering and laughing, daring one another to be braver.
Thunder bounced on his heels, sparks popping nervously at his fingertips.
Water kept glancing over her shoulder, eyes darting toward the stairs.
Earth stood closest to the wall, pretending not to care.
Nature watched the lock, curious, quiet, always listening.
Fire slid the key in.
Click.
The door groaned open.
The air beyond was wrong—cooler, thicker, as if it resisted being breathed. Torchlight spilled down the steps, crawling across stone slick with damp. The shadows didn't retreat. They gathered.
At the bottom, a boy sat curled into himself.
Nine years old. Small. Bare feet pulled close to his chest. Black hair falling into his face like spilled ink. Pale eyes lifted slowly, unfocused at first, then widening when he saw them.
Five silhouettes. Five sources of light.
He didn't speak.
He only stared, as if he wasn't sure whether to blink.
Fire cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the silence.
"Come on," he said, forcing cheer into his voice. "We're gonna play today."
Water smiled too brightly. "No more sitting down here."
The boy's fingers tightened around his knees. He glanced behind them, at the open door, at the light waiting above. Then back at their faces. He searched for something—permission, maybe. Or danger.
He stood.
The chains clinked softly as he moved, like a memory of restraint rather than the thing itself. He followed them without question, each step cautious, as if the ground might vanish.
When they reached the surface, the sun hit him all at once.
He froze.
The world burned white. He squeezed his eyes shut, breath hitching, one hand lifting instinctively to shield his face. Light poured through his fingers anyway, warm and relentless.
Fire laughed. "You'll get used to it."
They ran.
Through grass that bent and sprang back. Between trees that whispered overhead. The forest smelled alive—sap and dirt and something sweet he didn't have a name for.
They chased one another in messy circles. Thunder tripped and cursed. Earth laughed. Water shouted rules that changed every time she lost. Nature showed him how to throw the ball—how to grip it, how to aim.
He tried.
The ball slipped from his hands. Rolled away.
"Is this… right?" he asked quietly.
Nature nodded, patient. "Like this."
He smiled.
It was small and uncertain, like a muscle unused. But it was real.
The ball bounced once. Twice. Then veered off the path and disappeared into the trees.
He went after it immediately.
Not because they asked. Because he didn't want to be the reason the game stopped.
At the forest's edge, he slowed.
Someone stood there.
A girl about his age. Sunlight clung to her like it liked her. She held the ball against her hip, head tilted, watching him with open curiosity.
"This is yours?" she asked, offering it back.
He nodded.
She smiled. "Why do you look so sad?"
The word didn't land.
He turned it over in his head, testing its shape. "Sad?"
Before she could answer, Fire saw them.
The smile vanished from Fire's face like a curtain dropped too fast.
He walked back to the others, voice low and sharp. "We shouldn't have brought him."
Thunder frowned. "What? We're just playing."
Fire's gaze stayed locked on the Darkness Twin standing in the sun, the girl beside him laughing. Something twisted in his chest—hot, ugly.
"Father was right," Fire hissed. "He's dangerous."
When the Darkness Twin returned, ball clutched carefully in both hands, the air had changed.
Fire kicked the ball away.
It rolled into the brush and didn't come back.
"We don't want you anymore," Fire said.
Water crossed her arms. "Yeah. You ruin the game."
Earth turned away, muttering, "Why don't you crawl back to your hole?"
Nature didn't meet his eyes. "Nobody wants you here."
The words landed without sound.
He stood there, empty hands open, waiting for the joke to end. For someone to laugh and say they were kidding.
"…Did I do something wrong?" he asked.
No one answered.
Fire's eyes gleamed. "Father will believe us," he said. "We'll say he escaped. That he attacked us."
Thunder hesitated, lightning flickering uncertainly around his knuckles. But Fire was already scratching his arm, dragging nails across skin until red lines bloomed. Water pinched herself hard enough to bruise. Earth slammed his shoulder into a tree.
They ran screaming.
"He attacked us!"
"He went crazy!"
"The Dark One ran away!"
Bells rang. Boots thundered. The forest swallowed the Darkness Twin whole.
He didn't move.
That night, stone swallowed him again.
The dungeon door slammed shut. Chains rattled. The King's footsteps echoed closer, heavier than the guards'.
The blow came without warning.
Fists. Rage. Spittle flying with shouted words he didn't bother to hear.
He didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
He smiled.
Slowly.
Because something inside him had finally settled into place.
Love had rules.
Kindness had conditions.
Family was a story people told when it suited them.
In the darkness, awake at last, he understood.
And he waited.