Inside the dim glow of the cell, the four sat in a loose circle—well, three sat. Izora floated cross-legged just above the ground, her fiery aura faint but ever-present.
"Slowly," Izora said, voice calm but focused.
Zen leaned forward and carefully placed a small, flat stone atop another, his hand steady, expression unreadable. The little tower wobbled… then held.
"Now it's my turn," Caeser announced.
He picked up a slightly larger, awkwardly shaped rock and plopped it onto another stone with a satisfied 'phu'. The whole stack leaned dangerously—but didn't collapse. He sat back smugly, arms crossed, throwing a triumphant glance at Izora.
The irritation on her face was unmistakable.
She narrowed her eyes, snatched a tiny stone, and hovered closer to the stack. Just as she extended her hand—
A sudden, sharp howl echoed through the cell.
Startled, Izora twitched mid-air. Her hand tipped. The stones clattered to the floor in a scattered mess.
"You're asking for it," izora said as she turned from her corner, towards Ceaser.
Caeser burst into laughter, clearly proud of his perfectly timed fake howl.
Izora shot toward him with a trail of sparks flying behind her. The two erupted into a chaotic fight.
"We can play again," Emith said with timidity. But they kept fighting, as if they hadn't heard him.
"Why do you like stone balancing?" Zen asked.
Emith turned, surprised by the question. He looked at Zen.
"There's a legend in the Spirit Realm," he began. "They say earth spirits were first born when a great being played stone balancing, stacking the earth itself, piece by piece. We don't really believe it. We're born from Earth Mother. But still…" He gave a soft chuckle. "Even though we call it a myth, whenever earth spirits gather, we play the game. Always. It's tradition."
His expression softened as he continued, voice warm and full of longing.
"There's a festival in my homeland. Once every thousand years. It's not like this," he gestured to the tiny stones before them. "There, we balance mountains. Mountains upon mountains. Whole cliffs, rising into the sky. I always loved watching it as a child."
Zen noticed Emith's longing for home.
"Where's your homeland?" he asked softly.
For a second, Emith's smile lingered… but then, a shadow passed over his face. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Terrakeal. The Land blessed by Earth Mother."
Zen wanted to ask what happened. Why he was here. How someone from such a place could end up in The Maw. But he hesitated.
Emith saw the question in his eyes anyway.
"You want to know how I was captured," he said.
Zen didn't respond, but gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Emith sighed, a sound like shifting gravel. "We Earth Spirits have a habit. We sleep. Long, deep sleeps. We wake only for the festivals. While we sleep, we absorb the earth's essence—slowly becoming one with it."
His gaze drifted to the cold stone floor.
"One day, I found a new vein of essence. Rare. Beautiful. It ran deep, near the edge of our land. I was excited, careless. I slept there."
His voice trembled.
"When I woke for the next festival… it was all gone. My land. My tribe. My people. Everything. The earth was barren. Deserted. At first, I thought we were attacked, but I didn't find any signs of battle. It was like they had simply left, moved somewhere else, without a trace."
A heavy silence settled between them.
"I was certain they were out there somewhere, so I set out, hoping to find them, but... I was captured by THEM."
Just as the words left his mouth, a scoffing voice cut through the stillness.
"You were abandoned," Caeser sneered from across the room. "Who'd want a useless lump like you in their tribe?"
The words struck with brutal force.
Zen turned sharply, his gaze locking on Emith. The earth spirit's head dropped and tiny stones tears began to fall from his eyes.
And then a ball of fire exploded through the air, slamming into Caeser's face with a deafening crack.
Izora hovered in front of him, her fiery form crackling with rage. "You absolute jerk," she spat, her hands sparking with more flames.
Caeser, his face blackened and smudged with soot, wiped it off in a mock attempt to clean himself. He grinned, his expression even more ridiculous now, looking like a walking chimney. "What? I'm just telling the truth," he said, still sporting his wide grin despite his soot-covered face.
Zen wasn't sure how to comfort him, but he tried.
"I don't believe they left you," Zen said softly. "Not truly. Sometimes… the people we care about get separated from us. By distance, by time, by things we don't understand. But that doesn't mean they stopped caring."
He paused, staring ahead at nothing.
"There are bonds that don't break just because you can't see them. The kind you feel here—" he tapped his chest. "Deep. Quiet. Waiting."
Emith looked at him, eyes wide, glistening with fragments of hope.
"I think your tribe's out there somewhere," Zen continued. "Maybe they're searching for you too. Maybe they couldn't come back. Or maybe they left something behind for you to find."
Zen's voice softened.
"But I believe... if you keep walking, keep hoping—they'll be waiting. Because real family doesn't forget. Not truly. They wait. Even if it takes forever."
A long breath escaped Emith, like earth settling after a quake.
"You really think so?" he asked, his voice almost childlike.
Zen gave a slow nod.
"I do."
A small, quiet smile tugged at the corner of Emith's mouth.
"Thanks… for believing in me. I'll keep looking. No matter how long it takes. I'll find them. Someday, for sure."
A small smile tugged at Emith's lips.
Izora and Ceaser were fighting again, their clash echoing off the cold stone walls like thunder without sky. Words, fists, spirit—everything flying wild. Chaos with no end.
Zen stood near the corner with Emith. He looked worried, his eyes flicking back and forth between them.
"They'll get hurt," Emith whispered.
He tried calling out to them once. Twice. But neither listened.
No one ever listened.
Zen stayed silent.
His thoughts were louder than all of it.
The body he now possessed wasn't his real one.
This one was stronger, faster… built for something else. But every time he moved, it still felt strange. Like wearing someone else's skin. Like a weapon that didn't quite fit his hand.
He had adapted during his time here. Slowly. Painfully. Day by day, he made it listen. He learned how it moved, how it reacted. But deep down, it never stopped feeling wrong.
And the spirit energy inside?
That was worse.
It pulsed in him like a second heart. Wild. Burning. Alive. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't control it.
He didn't even know how to begin.
He never wielded mana either.
So how was he supposed to wield something like that?
He needed help.
That was the simple, ugly truth.
But nothing in this place felt real.
The guards didn't watch them. Not really. Even when Ceaser practiced his great sword… Even when Izora's split in two and started moving on its own… they just walked by. Eyes forward. Like statues pretending to breathe.
Zen noticed.
He always noticed.
If he was right, the guards and inmates were working together. There was something going on. Something deeper. Something planned.
Even after the draining… even after being stripped of power… they still listened to the guards. Still played along.
Why?
Were the guards corrupted? Or was it something else?
Zen didn't know. Not yet.
Then there was Elli.
The others listened to her like children to a mother. They looked up to her. Respected her. Obeyed without question. She is the leader here.
She treated Zen kindly. Always. Spoke softly. Shared her spirit energy when his body trembled.
He knew she was the reason the others had treated him with less caution when he arrived.
She had been the first to reach out to him.
He felt… peace when she was near. As if her presence wrapped around him like warmth. Her voice soothed. Her touch calmed.
But his instincts never went quiet when she is near him.
Something about her was wrong.
Not loud. Just… subtle. A whisper under the surface.
She was the leader. That made her dangerous. It meant she had to be involved with the guards. No one held that kind of sway in a place like this unless they were complicit.
So, Zen smiled back at her too. Let her touch his forehead. Let her speak sweet words. He kept his breathing steady. Kept his posture open.
And he watched. He listened. He kept his voice soft and his eyes open.
He played along.
Even when their kindness felt too smooth. Too easy.
He nodded when they talked. Smiled when they offered food. Laughed when they joked.
But his guard was never down.
Not really.