The boy stood still.
His ears rang — a sharp, piercing tone that drowned out everything else. The world around him was all motion and noise, but it reached him only in pieces — the flicker of firelight, the clash of steel, the screeches that seemed distant and muffled, as though they were happening underwater.
His chest rose and fell. The rifle hung loosely in his grip with its foreign yet grounding weight. Blood — his or someone else's — had splattered across his arm, dried into dark, sticky streaks. He didn't move nor think.
The winged corpse lay crumpled at his feet with its body that was twisted in an unnatural angle. The stone beneath it smoked faintly, as if scorched from within. Kael could smell the foul odor of it — rot and something… burnt.
He might've stayed like that forever if not for the faint hum that stirred the air.
It came from the corpse.
From within the hollow chest cavity, something began to glow — a faint, pulsing light, dark yet luminous, like a coal burning from the inside out. Kael's brow furrowed. The glow thickened, drew together, and then rose — a small orb, no bigger than a fist, drifting upward on invisible air. It hovered there for a moment, turning slowly as its surface was rippling like liquid shadow.
He took a step back. But before he could move farther, it shifted — and drifted toward him.
"What the—"
The orb entered him.
A pulse went through his chest, deep enough to steal his breath. Every nerve lit up — not in pain, but in something stranger. It wasn't cold or hot, sharp or dull — it was everywhere, like a quiet shiver that threaded through his veins. His vision blurred for a heartbeat, colors bleeding at the edges. And for a brief, terrifying moment, he felt alive in a way he never had before — his heartbeat was heavy, his limbs were light, and the world become impossibly vivid.
Then it was gone.
The glow faded, leaving only the faint aftertaste of iron in his mouth. Kael gasped, half stumbling as his senses came flooding back. The chaos was still there — the screams, the wings, the smoke.
He blinked hard, shook the fog from his head, and gripped the rifle tighter. Whatever that was, he didn't have time to think about it.
He turned toward the inner gate — the one the others had gone through — and ran.
***
Kael burst through the doorway and stumbled into what seemed like a new wing of the prison — though calling it a "wing" felt generous.
The corridor stretched wide and dim, lined with concrete pillars. Water dripped from pipes along the ceiling, pooling in uneven patches on the floor. There were no guards here. No screams. No sirens blaring through cracked speakers. Just the heavy, almost suffocating quiet of a place untouched — yet.
Kael slowed his steps. Rows of rusted doors lined either side of the hall, their narrow windows long since sealed shut with grime. Whatever this place was, it didn't look like the living quarters or courtyard — more like a service sector, maybe storage or maintenance.
"What is this place…?" he muttered under his breath, scanning the dimly lit expanse.
He swallowed hard. The chaos hadn't reached here — yet anyway — but that didn't make it safe. Worse, the old man's group was nowhere to be seen.
"All because of that stupid winged rat…" he cursed quietly.
He kept moving with rifle held tight against his chest.
Every flickering light above him cast long, distorted shadows that stretched and warped with each step he took.
Then—
A sharp crack of metal.
Before Kael could react, something slammed against his rifle, knocking it from his hands with a clang that rang through the hall. His body followed, slammed against the wall as a rough hand pressed against his chest.
"Identify yourself," a gruff voice demanded.
Kael looked up to see a broad-shouldered man towering over him — bearded, his face was dirtied and scarred, wearing the same prison uniform. His eyes narrowed beneath a furrowed brow, suspicion and hostility can be seen in his expression.
"I—"
Before Kael could finish, movement stirred in the shadows behind the man. Footsteps. A handful of figures emerged from the side corridor — all dressed the same, all carrying makeshift weapons scavenged from gods-knew-where.
This was them.
The group. The old man's people.
Apparently, he hadn't found them — they'd found him.
"I'm not— I wasn't following you," Kael said quickly, raising his hands slightly.
"I just needed shelter. Same as you."
The bearded man's glare didn't soften, but before he could respond, a younger voice spoke up from behind him.
"What do we do with him?"
Kael glanced toward the speaker — a boy not much older than him, brown-haired, leaner, with a nervous look that betrayed his unease. His question was directed toward the bearded man, though his eyes occasionally flicked toward Kael's face.
Before either could act, another voice came:
"What's going on here?"
All heads turned.
The old man stepped into view from the rear corridor, his posture as composed as ever, despite the chaos still echoing faintly from beyond the walls. His weary eyes found Kael almost immediately, and a faint hint of recognition crossed his face.
"…You're the boy from yesterday," he said simply.
The bearded man exhaled sharply through his nose, loosening his grip on Kael only slightly.
"Did you foresee this too, old man?" he said, his tone carrying a hint of mockery — or maybe fear.
The old man was silent for a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then he sighed.
"Another helping hand wouldn't hurt, would it?"
"That depends," another voice chimed in — harsh and cutting.
A tall, narrow-faced man stepped forward from the back, his hair tied behind his head and his left arm bandaged from wrist to elbow. His eyes glinted sharply as he glared at Kael.
"More hands means less treasure to divide when we're done," he said coldly.
"I don't care who he is — we don't need dead weight."
'Treasure?' Kael wondered at that. Were they on some kind of a scavenger hunt or something in this damned place?
The old man turned to him with a patient voice.
"You're not after treasure, are you, boy?"
Kael met his gaze, breathing out through his nose.
"No. I just care about getting out of this place in one piece."
A faint, satisfied smile creased the old man's lips as he turned back to the others.
"You heard him."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then the grumbling started — low at first, then rising like a simmer about to boil over.
The narrow-faced man snorted. "This is stupid. We don't know him. We don't need him."
"We barely trust each other as it is," another muttered from the back.
"He'll slow us down," the younger boy added, softer, though his eyes kept flicking toward Kael with something like guilt.
The bearded man still hadn't released Kael completely, his posture was stiff as iron.
"Old man, you're the one who dragged us into this crazy plan. Now you want to bring in strays?"
The old man let out a slow exhale — not frustrated, not resigned, but almost… amused.
"If we're lucky, we may only need one extra pair of hands. If we're unlucky…"
His gaze slid across each of them calmly.
"Well. It won't matter how many of us there are."
The hallway fell into a hush.
A few exchanged looks — uneasy, wary… but conceding. The tone in his voice gave the others the creeps. More than just experience. It's like something they all instinctively have to listened to.
Kael noticed it too.
'Is he… the leader here? Or something else?'
The way they quieted when he spoke — not obedience, not fear, but something close to... a reluctant trust.
Finally, the bearded man grunted, stepping back and releasing Kael entirely.
"Fine, he comes with us. For now."
Kael let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"Right," he muttered, then lifted both hands slightly.
"But what about this?" He rattled the chain between his wrists.
"Kind of hard to be useful like this."
The bearded man gave him a flat look.
"You can still walk, can't you?" His tone made it clear he wasn't asking.
Before Kael could retort, the man bent down, picking up the rifle he'd knocked away earlier. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it with a practiced glance.
"…No bullets," he muttered, almost irritated — or disappointed. Then he tossed it back toward Kael with a short flick of the wrist.
"Whatever. Keep it. Least you can do is swing it at something if it gets close."
Kael caught the rifle awkwardly between his chained hands. The bearded man then gave him a once-over — the chains, the trembling arms, the pale face.
"Though it's probably hard for someone in your state to actually kill anything with that thing."
Kael tightened his grip on the empty rifle.
'You have no idea…'