The dungeon air tastes of mold and iron – cold, damp, and heavy enough to press down on your chest. Torches flicker in iron brackets along gray stone walls, casting dancing shadows that make the cells look even smaller than they are.
Maitara huddles in the corner of her cell, her shoulders shaking as silent tears trace paths through the dust on her cheeks. She runs her fingers over the cold bars, then presses her palm flat against them – purple sparks fizzle and die the moment they touch the metal. "It's no use..." she whispers. "Magic doesn't work here at all."
Across from her, Akmenos slams his fist against the wall of his cell – the impact echoes loud enough to make the torches sway, but the stone doesn't even scratch. He tries again, harder this time, until his knuckles are raw and red. "Impact-proof and magic-proof?" he snarls, kicking the bars. "Who builds a prison like this?"
Geth grips the hilt of his left sword, pulling it halfway from its sheath before letting it slide back with a metallic clink. He tests the bars with his blade – the steel scrapes against iron, leaving only faint silver marks. "Even my swords are useless here," he says quietly, his scaled face tight with frustration. "Damn it! How could this happened?"
In the farthest cell, Hythesion sits on the stone floor, his back against the wall, staring at nothing. His fingers trace the Silverlake pin tucked into his scarf – the metal feels cold against his skin, heavier than it should be. He doesn't move, doesn't speak – just lets the weight of everything press down on him like the dungeon ceiling itself.
The heavy iron door at the end of the corridor groans open. Guards drag Ethan inside, his hands bound in anti-magic shackles that glow with faint purple light. He struggles against them, his voice sharp with anger. "I'm telling you – I'm a Council Knight! The Celestial Council will know about this!"
The guards laugh – rough, harsh sounds that bounce off the walls. "Sure you are, bard boy," one says, shoving him toward the empty cell next to Hythesion. "Next you'll be saying you're the King himself!" They lock the door with a loud clang and walk out, their boots echoing until the door slams shut behind them.
Akmenos grins, leaning against his bars. "Thought Council Knights were supposed to be big deals. Looks like you're just as stuck as the rest of us – hahaha!"
"Shut up," Ethan snaps, pacing his cell. "If I could just get these shackles off..."
Maitara looks toward Hythesion's cell, her voice small but clear. "Sir Hyth... what are we going to do?"
Hythesion lifts his head slowly, his eyes distant and hollow. He stares at her for a long moment, then looks away – no answer.
The dungeon door opens again. A man glides down the corridor, his purple cape sweeping the stone floor, his clothes stitched with gold thread that catches the torchlight. Rich velvet, polished boots, and rings that glitter like tiny stars – he exudes wealth and arrogance from every pore.
"Well well well..." he chuckles, running a finger along the cell bars. "Fresh new meat for the dungeon. How rare for Neverwinter!"
His eyes scan the cells, then stop – fixed on the Silverlake pin at Hythesion's throat. His grin widens, sharp and cold as a blade. "Oh! A member of the Silverlake Mercenaries! What a delightful surprise – I always thought your group was made of stronger stuff than this. To see one of you rotting in a cell..." He laughs, a sound like breaking glass.
He moves closer to Hythesion's cell, leaning in until his face is just inches from the bars. His voice drops to a low, dangerous purr, but the grin never leaves his face. "I hear you're carrying something... precious. An artifact, isn't it?"
Hythesion's head snaps up – his eyes, once hollow, now burn with cold fire. He stares straight into the man's face, his jaw tight enough to crack stone.
"Where is it?" the man whispers, his eyes gleaming with greed. "Can I see it? Just a little peek..."
Before Hythesion can move, a clear female voice cuts through the silence like ice. "Sir Larry. Never thought I'd find the King's Royal Adviser lurking in a dungeon."
Captain Glynllie strides into the room – her steel armor polished to a mirror shine, her dark hair pulled back so tight it looks like it could snap. She moves with the same effortless grace Hythesion remembers, but there's a hardness in her eyes now that wasn't there before.
Sir Larry straightens up, his grin shifting to a smooth, practiced smile. "Captain! So good to see you. Neverwinter rarely takes prisoners – the whole kingdom respects our laws, after all. I was just... curious about our new guests." He laughs, but it sounds forced now.
"I believe your presence is needed elsewhere, my lord," Glynllie says, her voice steady but sharp. "The King relies on you. It's rude to leave his side for... personal curiosity."
"Quite right, quite right!" Sir Larry waves a hand dismissively. He glances back at Hythesion, his eyes flicking down to the pin one more time before he smirks. "I'll be back. We have... unfinished business to discuss." He turns and walks out, guards falling into step behind him.
Glynllie watches him go, then turns to Hythesion's cell. She kneels slowly, her armor scraping against the stone, until her eyes are level with his. For a moment, neither of them speaks – the only sound is the crackle of torches and the drip of water somewhere in the darkness.
"How are you doing?" she asks, her voice softer now – almost the way she used to speak to him, back when the world felt simpler.
Hythesion just stares at her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Then he looks away, fixing his gaze on the stone floor.
"Look..." she says, reaching toward the bars before pulling her hand back. "Whatever happened in the past – I'm sorry. I didn't have a choice."
Every eye in the dungeon is on them now. Even Ethan has stopped pacing, listening intently.
Hythesion doesn't move, but his voice cuts through the silence like a knife. "Don't have a choice? You know better than that, Glyn. You gave me your word."
She freezes, still on her knees. Shock crosses her face, followed by pain. "Look at me, Hyth. I'm the General Captain of Neverwinter's Army now. I'm happy. When I was with Silverlake... I could never—"
"Could never what?" Hythesion cuts her off, finally looking up to meet her eyes. The hurt in his gaze makes her flinch. "Be happy? So all those things you said – that no matter what life we had, as long as we were together, it would be enough – was that just a lie?"
Tears well in Glynllie's eyes, tracing paths down her cheeks. She wipes at them roughly with the back of her hand, her voice cracking. "No – that's not what I meant at all—"
"You could have told me," Hythesion says, his voice quiet but heavy with years of pain. "If you wanted this life, if you wanted to leave Silverlake... you just had to say so. But you didn't. You left without a word. No note, no goodbye – you just vanished."
"I left because I wasn't happy being a mercenary," she whispers, fresh tears streaming down her face. "But I watched you – you were so good at it. You were the best strategist Silverlake ever had. You loved it."
Hythesion goes still. For a long moment, the only sound is their breathing. Then he says, so quietly she almost doesn't hear it: "Being the strategist wasn't what made me happy in Silverlake. It was you."
Glynllie breaks – tears drop from her eyes like a river, her shoulders shaking with the force of it. The dungeon stays silent, every prisoner letting the moment hang heavy in the air.
Finally, Hythesion clears his throat. "Just... just let us go. We'll leave Neverwinter. I'll make sure you'll never see me again." Hythesion looked away as he speaks.
Glynllie lowers her hands, her face red and streaked with tears. She looks at him like she wants to say more, but stops herself. "So you're just going to leave? Just like that?"
"Why not?" Hythesion asks, his voice flat again. "Didn't you do that in the first place?"
She stands slowly, wiping the last of her tears away and straightening her armor. The hardness returns to her eyes – the mask of a captain, hiding the woman underneath. "I can't let you go. You're charged with conspiring with thieves and causing havoc near St. Bernard's Church. You'll have to stand before the King's court for trial."
Hythesion pushes himself to his feet, slamming his palm against the bars. "Conspiring with thieves? We don't even know those people! They attacked us!"
"Save it for the trial, if you wish to leave, just tell the King about the truth, it'll help your case." she says, her voice cold now. She starts walking toward the door, then pauses without turning around. "For what it's worth... it was really good to see you, Hyth."
The door slams shut behind her, and the dungeon is plunged into heavy silence once more. Hythesion sinks back to the floor, his head in his hands.
"What just happened..." Akmenos mutters, staring at the door. "Hythesion – who was that woman?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Hythesion says, his voice muffled by his hands.
"Alright, alright," Akmenos says gently. "But if you ever want someone to listen – I'm right here, man."
"Shut up, Akmenos!" Geth snaps, slamming his fist against his bars. "We're still in jail! Now's not the time for heart-to-hearts!"
"Hey, the captain lady chick said we just need to tell the truth at the trial!" Akmenos shoots back. "Then they'll let us go – probably!"
"Probably?!" Ethan scoffs, crossing his arms. "You think the King's court will just take our word over evidence of a fight at the church?"
"Oh like you have any better ideas, cheap musician!" Akmenos growls.
"How –dare you!" Ethan steps up to his bars, his face flushed with anger. "Cheap? My flute was forged for a royal family! It cost more than your whole life is worth!"
Geth mocked Ethan, "Myeh, Myeh, Myeh, oh shut up, you fake."
"Fake!!? Oh you've done it! Come here you–" Ethan angrily tries to reached out his hand to fight Geth.
The three of them keep shouting, their voices bouncing off the stone walls, but Hythesion doesn't hear them. He's lost in his own thoughts – the sting of Glynllie's words, the weight of the pendant, the feeling of being trapped all over again.
Then Maitara calls his name – soft, but clear enough to cut through the arguing. "Sir Hyth..."
He looks up. She's standing at the front of her cell, her eyes wide with worry.
"Tell me you saw it too," she says quietly. "That mark on Lord Larry's arm."
Hythesion nods slowly. "I saw it, but I don't know what it means. Why?"
Maitara rolls up her sleeve, revealing a dark pattern etched into her skin – twisting lines that look like they were carved from shadow itself. "We have the same one. It's ruin text – the mark of the Chaos Lord."
Hythesion pushes himself to his feet, moving to the front of his cell. "What the-"
"He bears the mark of Gannurim," she says, her voice shaking. "Just like me."
"Is he a warlock too?" Hythesion asks.
Maitara shakes her head. "I can't sense Gannurim in him. Matter of fact I can't sense any magic in him at all."
Hythesion stares at her arm, then closes his eyes, thinking hard. He remembered about Sir Larry asking about an artifact – but Glynllie and her guards had never mentioned it. How could he have known?
He opens his eyes, his expression hardening with resolve. "We have to get out of here – now."