Stick stared at the iron bars, his chest heaving.

  “What the fuck are they thinking?” he hissed.

  Stick stood awkwardly in the cramped space, his back pressed against the damp stone wall. The pit was barely wide enough for the two of them, and he was all too aware of PP’s looming presence just inches away. PP remained silent. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face was enough for Stick to understand. Just an hour ago, he had rejected the Carnifex offer with as much dignity as he could muster. And now, here he was—shoved into a pit like an animal, his freedom ripped away yet again.

  “Here, let me help you,” Stick muttered, gesturing to PP’s gag.

  He clumsily climbed onto the big man, balancing awkwardly as he reached to untie it. When he finally yanked it loose, the Prized Possession spat directly in his face.

  “Hey!” Stick recoiled, wiping the spit off his cheek, but a clinking sound on the ground snapped his attention away.

  “I nearly swallowed it,” PP muttered gruffly, lowering his head.

  Stick squatted and ran his fingers over the dirt. It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. The key!

  Stick wiped the saliva with his clothes. Fumbling, he stuck the key into the lock of his shackles and twisted, but the mechanism didn’t budge. He tried again, straining until his wrist ached, but it still wouldn’t turn.

  “Come on,” he growled, pulling the key out to inspect it. “[Shackle Key (Prized Possession)]?”

  That’s right! He wore his restraints before!

  His eyes shifted to PP, who stood watching him. Stick hesitated for only a moment before holding out the key. PP’s expression darkened. He pressed against the wall, his shoulders stiffening, as if Stick had offered him a knife instead of a chance at freedom. Something in Stick snapped.

  “Stupid game!” he shouted, flinging the key against the wall.

  The sharp clink echoed through the pit, then faded into the silence. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, a low, gravelly voice drifted from the next cell.

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  “So…” it drawled. “Not even children are safe now?”

  Stick’s head snapped.

  “Who’s there?” he demanded.

  The voice chuckled, the sound low and dry. “I could ask you the same.”

  Stick’s eyes darted through his cell, trying to find out where the voice of the unseen man was coming from.

  “I’m not a child, you know,” Stick said defensively.

  Stick saw a small hole between their cells where the voice was coming from, but in the darkness of the pit, he couldn’t make out anything. He could only hear that the voice had a rough edge, like it hadn’t been used in months.

  “You sure sound like one,” the voice said, its tone dry and mocking.

  Stick clenched his fists, his knuckles brushing against the damp floor. The stone was slick, and the coldness seemed to seep into his bones. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. From the ground, he picked up the key he had thrown earlier and slipped it into his Inventory.

  “My name is Stick,” His voice wavered but steadied. “I was lined up to be an Officer with the guild. Who are you?”

  The words felt hollow, like he was trying to convince himself they meant something. The voice on the other side paused for so long that Stick began to doubt he’d get an answer.

  Finally, it came again, low and slightly amused. “Well, Stick… you must’ve really fucked up to end up in here.”

  Stick stiffened. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “If you didn’t do anything, then why are you here?” The voice didn’t press, but its tone made it clear: it didn’t believe him.

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “Well, you went to the royal chambers, didn’t you? I suppose they’re off-limits for everyone now.”

  Stick’s stomach dropped. “How do you—?”

  “There’s not a lot going on here,” the voice interrupted. “And you can hear pretty much everything.”

  Stick swallowed. “I see. So… what about the royal chambers?”

  “You saw the king, didn’t you?”

  Stick frowned. “So?”

  “Then you know how the world works.”

  “I don’t think I follow. Is he some sort of god I’m not allowed to see?”

  The man’s laugh echoed through the dungeon, harsh and mocking. “A god? No, far from it.”

  Stick’s frustration flared. “Will you just tell me what’s going on?”

  The voice paused, as if deliberating, then retorted, “What are you? Some NPC?”

  The question caught Stick off guard. “No, I…”

  He glanced at PP, whose silence was unnerving. Stick hesitated, fearing he’d struck a nerve.

  “Who are you?” he asked again, trying to steer the conversation.

  There was another long pause before the voice spoke again, a biting edge in its tone. “I grow tired of this.”

  The silence that followed felt endless, broken only by the faint dripping of water and the distant murmurs of guards. Stick pressed his back against the cold, uneven stone wall, the chill biting through his clothes. His thoughts churned in the quiet. Had he made the right choice in declining Carnifex? The weight of his decision gnawed at him. This cell feels more like a tomb than a prison.

  A sudden, agonized scream cut through the quiet. Stick’s head shot up, and he exchanged a glance with PP. The scream was faint, coming from somewhere behind the huge doors.

  The voice from the next cell stirred. “Sounds like there’s a new prisoner.”

  Stick’s stomach turned at the thought of Shadis.

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