Night seeps into the cold, dim cell, its icy fingers wrapping around Leor, Navi, and the others as they huddle together for warmth. Suddenly, the harsh screech of metal on metal shatters the quiet, jerking Leor awake. Still groggy, he barely has time to react before rough hands clamp onto his shackles, yanking him upright. Disoriented, he stumbles as they drag him out of the cell, the sharp chill of the night air cutting through his skin.
Before he can fully register his surroundings, Leor is thrust back into the courtyard. A soldier shoves him forward roughly, then delivers a brutal kick to the backs of his knees, sending him crashing to the frost-hardened ground. A sharp sting shoots through his joints as he fights to keep from collapsing fully.
The Officer steps from the shadows, boots crunching sharply against the gravel. He stops right in front of Leor, grabbing a fistful of his hair and jerking his head up until their eyes meet. The cold in the Officer's gaze is sharp, almost incredulous.
"How did you move the Pawn like that?" the Officer demands, his voice low but edged with disbelief. "You have no training, no experience—how is it possible you managed to move it at all?"
Leor stays silent, his breath ragged, his wide eyes locked on the Officer in fearful defiance.
The Officer narrows his eyes, his expression hardening. "You moved it better than any adult today. They could barely make it twitch—yet you controlled it like it was nothing. How? Where did you learn this?"
Leor's lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. He shakes his head weakly, trembling.
The Officer snarls. Without warning, he drives his fist into Leor's stomach. The blow forces the air from Leor's lungs, and he doubles over, gasping, his forehead nearly touching the ground.
"Answer me!" the Officer roars.
Leor tries to breathe, but his body convulses with pain. The Officer grabs his hair again and yanks his head up, forcing him to meet his glare.
"Was it some secret training? A hidden teacher? You expect me to believe this is some accident? Speak!"
When Leor still doesn't answer, the Officer strikes him across the face, the sound echoing through the courtyard. Blood wells at the corner of Leor's mouth, his eyes blurring with tears.
Finally, his voice breaks free, hoarse and shaking. "I… I don't know…"
The Officer's face darkens, his fingers tightening in Leor's hair.
"You never learned? Never trained? Then what is it? You stumble into this power, and you expect me to believe it?"
Leor coughs, blood spattering onto the ground. "I don't understand it… I'm not lying…"
The Officer studies him coldly, his breathing heavy. Then he releases Leor's hair with a shove, straightening and barking an order over his shoulder.
"Bring two Pawns here. If he won't tell us, we'll see for ourselves. But if he's lying—" His gaze cuts down to Leor, eyes sharp as blades.
The soldiers nod briskly and hurry off. A tense silence settles over the courtyard, broken only by Leor's labored breathing. Moments later, the soldiers return, guiding two Pawns into the open space. One stands at the edge of the courtyard, motionless, while the other is positioned directly in front of Leor.
The Officer steps closer, his voice cold and commanding. "Do it again. Command the Pawn like you did this morning."
Leor glances at the Officer, then at the lifeless Pawn before him. His heart pounds as the soldiers holding him release their grip, dragging him roughly to his feet. His legs tremble beneath him, blood still trickling from the corner of his mouth.
The Officer's voice cuts through the icy air like a blade. "And listen carefully, boy. If you pull that stunt again, you'll regret it."
Leor stands frozen, the echo of his own heartbeat roaring in his ears. The Pawn in front of him looms like a statue, its blank gaze fixed straight ahead. Every muscle in Leor's body screams for him to run, to hide, to disappear—but he knows there's no escape.
He closes his eyes, trying to summon the same surge of focus that had overtaken him before. Nothing happens. His breaths come in short, panicked bursts.
"Move," he thinks desperately, his mind grasping at the memory of that strange connection. His fingers twitch, but the Pawn stands perfectly still.
A soldier steps forward threateningly, but the Officer holds up a hand, stopping him. "Again," the Officer growls. "Do it properly. Or you'll wish you had never been born."
Leor swallows hard, his throat dry as dust. He shuts his eyes tighter, forcing his mind to reach out once more. Slowly—almost imperceptibly—the Pawn's hand twitches. The Officer narrows his eyes, leaning in.
Suddenly, a searing pain rips through his skull. Leor cries out, clutching his head as his vision swims. His legs buckle, and he collapses onto the ground, the headache growing more intense with each passing second.
The Officer watches him intently before barking another order. "Get him some water and bread. Now."
One of the soldiers rushes off, returning moments later with a cup of water and a small piece of bread. Kneeling, the soldier places them in front of Leor.
Leor's trembling hands reach for the cup. He gulps down the water desperately, the cool liquid running down his throat and dripping from his chin. Without hesitation, he grabs the bread, tearing into it and devouring each bite as though he hasn't eaten in days.
The Officer remains silent, allowing Leor a moment to gather himself. The courtyard is thick with silence, the heavy weight of expectation pressing down on everyone present.
Though still weary and bruised, Leor feels the sharp throbbing in his head begin to fade. He straightens up slightly, his breathing growing a bit more even despite the exhaustion weighing him down. The Officer watches him carefully, then steps forward, his voice firm and commanding as he breaks the quiet.
The Officer steps forward, his boots crunching on the gravel as he stops just a few feet from Leor. His gaze sharpens, studying Leor as though trying to peel away every secret he holds.
"You've shown us something none of the others could," the Officer says, his tone low but firm. "You're an anomaly — and I don't believe in accidents."
He pauses, letting the words sink in.
"You will learn to control it," he continues coldly. "Whether you understand it now or not, you will. And you will do it for us."
The Officer crouches down slightly, lowering his face closer to Leor's. His eyes burn with an intense, almost fanatical focus.
"If you refuse," he says quietly but with menace, "I swear, boy, your pain will be remembered by all."
He straightens again, turning to the soldiers. "Take him back. Let him rest for tonight. Tomorrow, we start properly."
The soldiers move in, grabbing Leor roughly by the arms. As they drag him away, his mind spins—fear, pain, and the unknown closing in like a storm.
The faint scrape of boots and rattling chains catch Navi's attention as he is hauled back into the cell. His captors shove him inside, and his body crumples to the ground like a broken doll before the heavy door clangs shut behind him.
Navi rushes over, kneeling beside him. "Hey," she whispers urgently, shaking his shoulder. "Where did they take you? What happened?"
He doesn't respond. His chest heaves with exhaustion, his face pale and slick with sweat. His eyes flutter open briefly, meeting hers with a glazed, distant look, then close again as his strength fades.
Navi frowns, worry deepening. "Wake up!" she urges, shaking him once more, but he's already lost in a heavy, deep sleep.
Navi carefully tries to shift him, but he's too heavy for her to move with the strength she has left. She pauses, concern etched across her face, then settles back against the cold stone wall, eyes never leaving him.
She catches the boy with sharp green eyes still awake, watching what happened. He stares at Navi and Leor for a moment before closing his eyes. Navi doesn't think much of it and turns her gaze back to Leor, closing her eyes as exhaustion pulls at her.
The cell falls into heavy silence, filled with unspoken worry.
Leor drifts into a restless sleep, and suddenly he's somewhere that feels hauntingly familiar yet utterly wrong. The warmth of home is gone, replaced by a biting, oppressive cold. He moves cautiously, his voice trembling as he calls out, "Grandma? Grandpa?"
His words echo in the emptiness, unanswered.
A faint cracking noise shatters the silence. Leor freezes, heart pounding. Drawn toward the sound, he rushes to the door, bare feet slipping across the wooden floor. He pushes it open—and the nightmare unfolds before him.
His grandmother lies motionless on bloodstained grass, her eyes empty and staring into nothingness. Her once-kind face is pale and lifeless. Leor wants to look away, but can't.
"Grandma!" he cries, voice breaking, but she doesn't move.
The cracking noise comes again, louder now. Leor turns sharply, searching for its source. In the distance, a soldier hangs impaled on the gnarled branches of a massive tree, blood dripping to the ground beneath.
His gaze falls to a mangled corpse at his feet—a soldier, broken and shattered beyond recognition. Bone shards jut grotesquely from torn flesh. Then his eyes drop to his own hands—stained with fresh blood, trembling uncontrollably.
"No… no, no, no," he stammers, stumbling backward in horror.
He turns to flee—but freezes in place, terror rooting him as he meets his own reflection standing in the doorway.
But this Leor is wrong—his eyes glow a malevolent red, his expression cold and void. The figure tilts his head, lips moving silently before words pierce the air, soft but relentless:
"You did this."
Leor shakes his head violently. "No! I didn't!"
But the voice grows louder, echoing inside his mind, relentless and accusing: "You did this. You did this. You did this."
He screams, clutching his head, desperate to silence the torment. His double sneers cruelly as the voice becomes deafening.
Then, in a final, shattering moment, Leor's vision blurs. He watches helplessly as his own hands rise to his throat—and with a guttural cry of anguish, he tears violently at his own neck.
The world shatters.
Leor suddenly jolts awake, gasping as icy water splashes across his face. A soldier looms above him, shouting, "Get up! Wake up!"
Shivering and soaked, Leor blinks rapidly, his heart hammering in his chest. The nightmare still clings to him—sharp, raw—and his trembling hands instinctively reach to his neck. He's back in the cold, unforgiving reality of the cell, but the terror of the dream lingers, leaving him shaken and breathless.