The world was soundless, like it was holding its breath.
He awoke again — this time in darkness. The air was damp, the ceiling low. There was stone beneath him, not sand. The musty scent of mold and metal filled his nostrils.
Chains rattled nearby.
He tried to move, but his limbs were sluggish — like they belonged to someone else. There was no pain, not yet. Just... emptiness.
"You're awake."
It was the same voice — the cold one. Female. Crisp like a sword drawn from its sheath.
He turned his head slowly.
She was sitting by the far wall, sharpening a long, curved blade. Her armor, though worn and cracked, carried an insignia he couldn't read. There was something regal about her posture. Controlled. Dangerous.
She didn't look at him. She didn't need to.
> "No name. No ID mark. No soul seal. You're either a very lucky lostling…" she paused, the whetstone sliding across the blade with a sharp hiss, "...or a very dangerous one."
He didn't respond. He couldn't.
Not because he didn't want to. But because **something inside him wouldn't let him**.
"He still hasn't spoken?"
A new voice — softer, kinder. It belonged to a girl with soot-dark ski with a purple blind , beautiful with little jade crystals on it fold tied over her eye. She wore no armor, just a loose tunic with straps across her chest — some kind of trainee. His face was too open to be a liar.
The girl nodded without looking up.
"No name. No memory. The Warden will decide if he breathes."
She crouched beside the nameless one.
"I'm Kisa," he whispered. "Don't worry, she's all bark and some bite."
"All bite," the girl corrected coolly.
"Right," Kisa smiled. "She's called Ephi. Don't stare too long. She hates that."
The nameless one blinked.
Kisa leaned closer.
"Can you talk?" she asked gently. "Anything. Just nod?"
A pause.
A flicker of resistance.
Then... a nod.
Barely.
Kisa smiled again, this time wider. "That's good. That's something."
Footsteps echoed down the corridor — heavy, slow, commanding. The kind of steps that warned the floor to move or be broken.
"Stand up," Ephi said. Her voice had lost its teasing edge.
The door swung open, and a figure stepped into the light.
He was a giant of a man — bald, cloaked in layers of deep red and iron. His right arm was made entirely of metal, etched with runes that glowed faintly. His eyes burned like coals, and around his neck hung a chain of bones — not human.
The Warden.
"So," he said, voice deep enough to shake the walls. "This is the stray."
He looked down at the nameless boy — eyes narrowing. Not with pity. Not even curiosity.
But calculation.
"You came from the sea," the Warden muttered. "You shouldn't exist."
She knelt. Pressed a gauntleted hand to the boy's chest. A faint pulse of red light passed between them — like a heartbeat.
The Warden's expression changed.
For the first time