Jacob stepped out of the cell with a staggered limp, each movement uncertain, his legs trembling beneath him, yet he pressed forward because there were still things that had to be done, things that could not wait for strength to return.

The first priority was clear: he had to find the ones who had laced the food with their faith, the faceless functionaries who maintained the prison through ritual poisoning, for once they realized he had escaped, if his family did not arrive quickly enough, Jessica and Arthur could be killed, and even if they did arrive in time, Whisper might still use the two of them as leverage.

He told himself the plan in slow, steady order, because if he did not hold it firm in his thoughts then exhaustion might scatter it. He would track down the handlers of the food, he would kill them before they had the chance to act, and then, only then, would he release Jessica and Arthur and find some corner in which to hide until the rescuers arrived.

'Yggdrasil, have you contacted them?' The question was almost bitter on his tongue, for everything now rested on that unseen ally, and after the battle with the woman there could no longer be excuses.

'Yes,' came the reply without hesitation, 'I did it the moment you won. Expect them in around thirty minutes.'

Thirty minutes. Jacob repeated it to himself, as though repetition might make the time last longer. Thirty minutes to finish everything.

'What about the people who handle the food,' Jacob pressed, 'what kind of strength do they have?' He needed to know whether his battered body had any chance at all.

'They need to be equal to the ones consuming it,' Yggdrasil said simply.

Jacob exhaled, the faintest measure of relief threading through the ache of his chest. Rank ten. Both of them should only be rank ten.

But when he looked down at himself, he wondered if even that was too much. His mana was gone, drawn to the last flicker, his body hollowed out by strain, and the hole torn beneath his ribs still wept faintly, sealed more by the cauterizing heat of the rune than by any true healing. He was alive, barely, but he was not strong.

'It doesn't matter,' he thought, shaking his head once to push the hesitation aside. 'I need to get there first.'

The corridor stretched ahead, a dim, oppressive passage of stone and shadow, and Jacob forced his steps forward. Each one carried the weight of his injuries, each one threatened to buckle him, but he did not falter until a dull, heavy thud sounded somewhere up ahead. He froze instantly, holding himself as still as the walls around him, the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears almost louder than the noise itself.

He did not move, not even to breathe too loudly, and the silence stretched until finally a voice drifted through the corridor.

"Do you think he's gone?"

"Probably."

"But damn… I never thought he'd actually kill that bitch."

"At rank ten she could barely put up a fight. She couldn't use her blood properly, it just tied her down."

The voices carried strangely through the stone, half-muted, half-clear, as though the corridor itself conspired to draw them out, and Jacob stood listening until at last he traced the sound to a narrow seam in the wall. There, tucked into the corner of a side cell, was a small iron door that seemed almost forgotten, unguarded and unlocked, and with a faint certainty forming in his chest about who might be within, he crossed the distance and pulled the handle without hesitation.

The door gave way with a reluctant groan, revealing two men huddled together in the cramped dark, their armour dull and unpolished, their shoulders pressed so close they looked more like frightened boys than soldiers. They both lifted their heads as light fell on them, eyes wide, breaths shallow, and for a moment none of them spoke.

"Si… sir," one finally stammered, voice breaking as though the word itself was too heavy, "we never agreed with kidnapping you, not a child, never… we even tried to bring you food when we could."

Jacob studied them in silence, his memory stirring. Yes, he remembered their faces, though back then he had thought them knights, or at least proper guards. But now, with his eyes sharpened by what he had endured, he saw the truth, there was no aura clinging to their forms, no strength hidden beneath their armour, nothing at all but the trembling of ordinary men. A quiet laugh escaped him, tired but edged with scorn; they were not even rank ten, they were nothing.

"You remember us, don't you?" the second one said quickly, fumbling with the clasp of his helmet until it came loose, and his twin did the same. The resemblance between them was undeniable, square, broad faces, the same shade of brown hair, the same anxious lines cut deep around their mouths. Average men, average soldiers, and nothing more.

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Yet the fear in their eyes was anything but average, and Jacob found himself shifting uncomfortably under their desperate gaze before he cleared his throat and spoke. "I know what was in the food you brought me."

The words fell like a stone, and the twins collapsed at once, dropping to their knees, their foreheads nearly pressed to the floor as they pleaded. "We're sorry, truly sorry, we were forced to, it wasn't our choice, please believe us."

Jacob shook his head slowly, his thoughts as weary as his body. He could not imagine how people like this were ever chosen to serve in anything that called itself an army. "I don't care about your excuses. Where are the ones who put their faith into it? Take me to them."

One of the brothers shivered, then lifted his head just enough to meet Jacob's gaze. "We can lead you there, yes, but please… please don't kill us. We have families, we only wanted to live."

Jacob's lips curved in a humorless scoff as he turned and stepped out of the cramped cell, the twins scrambling after him like shadows desperate not to be left behind. He moved through the corridor until he found what he was looking for, old chains lying discarded near a corner, and without a word he looped one end around his wrist and shoved the other into the hands of one of the men. The soldier blinked at him, confused, until Jacob said flatly, "Pretend you're transporting a prisoner."

The twin rubbed his hands together nervously, forcing a grin that looked more like a stain than a smile. "Ah, the young sir is clever indeed, to think of something so—"

"Keep running your mouth," Jacob cut across him, his voice carrying no rise in volume but enough iron to silence the rest, "and see what happens."

Jacob said nothing more and let the silence sit heavily between them as the chain was passed into his hand, his grip tightening just enough to make the role of prisoner convincing. Together they began to move through the endless stretch of corridors, each one lined with cells that seemed to grow darker and fouler with every step they took.

At first he forced himself to glance into them, thinking perhaps he might see something useful, but the sight that met his eyes almost broke his composure. In nearly every cell were scenes of such unrestrained cruelty that his stomach turned; the air reeked of iron and rot, and he felt bile rising more than once.

Guards went about their work without hesitation, indulging themselves in whatever horrors they could imagine, while blood spilled over the stones as if it were no different from water. In that moment Jacob understood why his own cell had been called the good one.

Some of the chambers contained devices so clearly designed for pain that even the sight of them made his body recoil, twisted tools and machines whose very purpose was to stretch out the line between life and death. At last he closed his eyes and kept them closed, forcing his mind to turn away from the endless chorus of screams that filled the corridors, each one more ragged than the last.

'These are the people who call themselves worshippers of the gods,' he thought bitterly, and with each step his contempt for Whisper and those above deepened. If this was what their faith permitted, if this was the reflection of their so-called divinity, then perhaps it was no mystery why they were barred from setting foot in Eterna.

The twins came to a halt without warning, and the chain in Jacob's hand shivered faintly. He opened his eyes again and looked forward, his breath catching as he froze in place.

A man was coming down the passage toward them, dragging two women along the stone floor as though they were sacks of grain. Their bodies were broken and torn, leaving a wet trail behind them, their blood soaking his clothes until he seemed drowned in it, and his eyes burned with a wild, fevered gleam that only half belonged to reason.

The nearer he came, the worse the trembling grew. The chain in Jacob's grip rattled so violently now that it could not be ignored, the guard on the other end shaking so hard his armour gave off a faint clatter. Jacob himself felt sweat gather at the base of his neck, his body caught between nausea and dread, and he had to swallow down the rising urge to gag.

"What is happening here?" the man asked at last, his voice so dry and rasping it seemed carved out of stone, and the sound of it alone sent a cold weight through Jacob's chest. His head dropped instinctively, eyes fixed on the floor, unwilling to lift them even for a glance; some instinct deeper than thought told him not to look.

"W… w… Warden, s… sir," one of the twins began, but the words shook too much, and the man halted, raising a single blood-stained finger.

"If you stutter again," he said, almost lazily, "I will cut off your balls."

The guard flinched, his breath caught, and then he straightened himself at once, forcing the words out quickly, clearly, with every syllable trembling at the edges. "Warden, we have been ordered to move this prisoner to the priests. He refuses to eat the food, so they will implant the faith directly."

The man's lips curled into a slow smile as he stepped nearer, his voice drawn out and almost amused. "Oh… they've beaten him thoroughly, yet he still refuses. What a will." His tongue slipped across his lips as though savoring some hidden taste, and he bent his spine until his face crept close to Jacob's own, the stale heat of his breath washing over him. "That will," he murmured, eyes narrowing with hunger, "I want to break it myself."

The twins stiffened, their hands trembling at their sides, while Jacob lowered his head still further, hiding his expression in the shadow of his hair.

"Do not worry," the warden continued, his voice carrying the ease of someone entirely certain of his power, "I know I am not meant to lay a finger on the new arrivals. Though once the cardinal finds what he seeks…" He paused, letting the thought linger as he straightened, "…I trust I may be allowed the girl. Carry on."

Jacob did not breathe until the man brushed past, dragging his burdens behind him, their broken bodies sliding limp against the floor. Only then did Jacob dare glance sideways, his gaze catching on one of the women.

For a single heartbeat their eyes met, and he felt something coil hard in his chest. She said nothing, made no sound, only lowered her gaze again as though even hope was too heavy to bear. But those eyes, hollow, vacant, stripped of everything but the shell of existence would not leave him, lingering in his mind long after she turned away.

The guards moved once more, tugging Jacob along in silence, their footsteps unsteady until they came at last to a small wooden door. Once through, both men collapsed against the wall, gasping like men who had barely escaped drowning. "We survived," one whispered between breaths, and the other echoed him with the same desperate relief, "We survived."

Jacob did not join them. He remained standing, his shoulders tight, his eyes fixed on the wall as though he could still see through it, back into the endless corridor of cells and suffering. The cries still reached him faintly, the memory of what he had seen sharpening rather than fading, and he clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. This place, every stone, every door, every scream woven into it, he wanted to see it all swallowed by fire.

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