Harian leaned back against the damp wall, his eyes half-lidded, tone frighteningly casual for a man discussing his own execution.
"The cells closest to the door are empty now," he said, pointing lazily toward the entrance. "The guards here aren't exactly known for efficiency or imagination. They're too lazy to pick and choose who to execute each day, so they just… go in order. One cell at a time. Every day."
He gave a small shrug. "Three cells gone. Three days later, it's our turn."
His voice was steady almost detached, like he was explaining a math problem rather than everyone's impending deaths.
A long, collective gulp echoed through the chamber.
One by one, the prisoners turned their heads. They all saw it: the first three cells by the door empty, silent, their chains dangling uselessly. Then the next three, filled with terrified faces. And then theirs.
George scratched his beard, scowling. "Man, that sucks."
"Tragic," Harian said dryly.
The gentleman with the mustache chuckled softly, folding his arms. "You're quite observant, boy. If you weren't a criminal, perhaps you might've made something of yourself."
He sighed, stretching his neck before reclining back against the wall. "Alas, that ends now. Fate is what it is."
Harian blinked. This guy just casually accepted death like he's checking out of a hotel.
George frowned. "This guy thinks he can just say whatever he wants, huh? Who even are you?"
The mustached man opened one eye, regarding George as if he'd asked whether the sky was wet.
Harian's grin returned sharp and knowing. "I know who he is."
The man's eyebrow arched slightly, but he said nothing.
"Muliad of the Grey," Harian said.
The silence that followed was instant and heavy.
"WHAT!?" the old man in the corner croaked, eyes bulging.
The kid's voice cracked as he stammered, "W-who's this Muliad guy?"
The old man snorted and gave a dry laugh. "Oh, you should bow your head, boy. We're in the presence of a nobleman."
"What?" the kid blinked in confusion. "If he's a noble, then why's he in this dirty prison?"
Harian smirked without looking up. "Because Muliad here pissed off a lot of people."
Muliad's calm expression twitched for the first time. His eyes shifted toward Harian, cold and calculating. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the sound of boots slamming against the stone floor.
"Oi!" a guard barked, stomping toward the bars. "You sons of bitches are yappin' again and not listenin' to me!"
The guard's face was red with anger as he brandished a thick metal cane that sparked faintly with arcs of blue electricity.
As the guard unlocked the cell door, the hinges screeched like a dying animal. He stormed inside, eyes burning with fury.
"How dare you ignore me!" he shouted, raising his crackling cane high above his head.
But Harian did something that made even George blink in confusion.
He dropped to his knees.
"I-I'm sorry!" he blurted, clutching his hands together like a desperate priest. His voice shook, his face contorted in fake terror. "Oh mighty one, forgive this worthless fool! The thought of dying… it made me weak! I swear, I won't ignore you again! Please, have mercy before I perish in regret!"
The guard froze mid-step, completely taken aback.
"Wha—"
Harian looked up at him with wide, glistening eyes eyes that sparkled like sincerity itself. For a moment, even the flickering torchlight seemed to soften around him.
The guard hesitated. He blinked, confused. The kid's voice trembled just right, the words mighty one tickled his ego, and his anger slowly began to fade.
"Well…" he muttered, lowering his cane slightly. "Maybe I was a bit harsh-.."
Then he saw it.
Eye Drops
Tiny, clear Eye Drops beside Harian. The guard's expression twisted. "You-.." he stammered, rage returning instantly. "You son of a bitch. You were faking crying!?"
Harian's grin twitched. "Tch."
"HOW DARE YOU MOCK ME!" the guard roared, swinging his cane down.
But before it could connect, a hand shot up and caught it midair.
CRACK! The lightning fizzled harmlessly against a firm grip.
Muliad stood between them, his shackles glinting faintly. His calm, cold eyes met the guard's.
"Do you feel no shame beating a young boy?" he asked evenly.
The guard blinked in disbelief. Then, scowling, he yanked his cane back. "You've got some nerve, you washed-up noble. Your title's been stripped. You've got no right to tell me anything."
He swung the cane again, this time at Muliad. The weapon connected with a loud WHIP sparks danced across the metal.
But Muliad didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. He just stared at the guard, the faintest hint of disdain tugging at his lips.
"You… you bastard," the guard muttered, stepping back.
The guard grinned wickedly, his pride stung. "You're damn right. Every last one of you is getting a beating tonight."
And Muliad? He said nothing.
Because he couldn't. The cold weight of the shackles on his wrists reminded him, his Essence was sealed. Whatever power he once had, whatever strength that name once carried, was gone.
All he could do was stand there, silent, as the guard sneered and the air filled again with the sound of crackling electricity.
Then a voice came from behind. Cold. Deep. Authority wrapped in steel.
"What are you doing?"
The guard froze mid-swing, shoulders locking up as if the air itself had turned to stone. Slowly, he turned and his color drained from his face.
"...S-Sir!" he stammered, straightening at once.
Standing in the doorway was a man in the same prison armor but his was immaculate, trimmed with silver, his chestplate polished to a cruel shine. A heavy sword hung at his waist, the insignia of rank etched along the sheath. He was broad, battle-scarred, and his eyes were as sharp as the weapon he carried.
The officer's gaze cut through the cell like a knife.
"Sir, I-I was disciplining the prisoners," the trembling guard managed to say. "They were being rowdy for no reason."
The officer said nothing. He just stared, first at the guard, then his gaze drifted past him to Muliad… and finally, to Harian.
Harian, still kneeling, met the man's eyes. And grinned.
It wasn't fear. It wasn't defiance either. Just that same infuriating grin, as if he already knew what was coming.
The officer's brows furrowed slightly, perhaps in surprise, perhaps in irritation. Then his voice came, low and commanding:
"For unruly prisoners," he said, "your sentences will be moved up."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"You have one day," he continued. "Tomorrow, your breath will leave this world."
"WHAT!?"
The red-haired boy collapsed to the ground, trembling violently. "No, no, please! I-I only stole some ink! Am I to die for that!?"
The guard beside him snarled and struck him hard across the face.
"You idiot! It was the ink of the Lundro Family! You think you can steal from them and live!?"
The boy rolled over, coughing up blood.
Muliad moved without thinking, catching him before he hit the floor. His eyes, once calm, now burned with cold fury as he looked up at the officer standing outside the cell.
The officer's stare met his, and for a brief second, the room seemed to still. George's mouth hung open, words failing him. The old man gripped his cane so tightly it shook in his hands.
And Harian?
He was still grinning. That same knowing, devilish grin, the grin of someone who'd already seen this all before.
"Seems like your calculations were a little off," George said, forcing a laugh. "So… how should we celebrate our last day alive, huh?"
He grinned big, bright, loud. But his hands were trembling so hard his shackles rattled. Of course he was afraid. They all were.
Muliad let out a quiet hum as he leaned back against the wall. "Then perhaps," he said calmly, "we should use this night to reflect. Think about how we've lived… and find closure before our end."
The old man gave a dry chuckle. "Hah. I'll reflect by sleeping. I'm old, death was gonna come knocking sooner or later anyway." He turned, curling up on his side, his back facing the others.
George slumped down, scratching his head. "My life was shit anyway," he muttered. "Nothing to reflect about."
Harian, sitting silently until now, turned toward Muliad. "What about you?" he asked.
"What about me?"
"Why are you giving up so easily?" Harian asked, his tone sharp but curious. "You were convicted wrongly, weren't you?"
Muliad's brows furrowed. "I don't know what nonsense you're talking about, boy."
"Oh, but I do," Harian said with a faint grin. "All those people you helped… all the things you did for others. And this is what you got for it. Don't you think that's a little too easy of an ending?"
Muliad's eyes narrowed. "And what's your point?"
"My point," Harian said, his voice lowering, his smile twisting into something dark and confident, "is that we're all gonna live."
Everyone turned to him.
"This isn't our last day," he said, laughing under his breath. "This is just the start."
George blinked. "Wait… what? Y-you have a plan?"
Harian looked up at the dim light flickering from the corridor, his grin widening into something dangerous.
"Yes," he said softly, the sound almost like a promise. "We're all getting out of here."
The cell went quiet. Only the echo of his laughter filled the air low, unhinged, and full of impossible certainty.