"I'm telling you, it wasn't theft! It was an improvised investigation with cultural and spiritual objectives!" Krau protested, shaking the bars with the theatrical desperation of someone who had lost more than just his freedom.
"Uh-huh..." murmured the guard without lifting his gaze from his empanada. "And that's why you ran off with a sacred sword, shouting 'Goodbye!' like you were in a stage play?"
"It was the only open door! And Lucius understands nothing about adventure. Everything in his world revolves around incense, heavy fabrics, and calling anyone who breathes too loudly a heretic."
"And you don't understand what a crime is, kid. This is a dungeon. Not an inn with breakfast."
Krau let out a dramatic sigh and collapsed onto the stone cot. He hadn't even been locked up for an hour, but his internal complaints had already reached chapter five. He stared at the cobwebs on the ceiling as if searching for stars in a sky of stone. If one squinted, they seemed to form a constellation that spelled out bad decisions.
"Is there any bread? Water? A neighboring cell with someone who sings sad ballads? Something to liven up the atmosphere..."
"What I have is back pain and a twelve-hour shift. Does that work for you?"
"I'll pass."
The guard let out a brief chuckle and then returned to silence. He was the kind of man hardened by tedium, one who knew all forms of boredom and had made friends with some of them.
"What's your name?" he asked, without looking up.
"Krau. And you?"
"I'm not allowed to speak with criminals."
"But we've been talking for ten minutes!"
"That was a mistake. A momentary lapse."
They laughed again. The atmosphere lightened for a moment. But only for a moment.
Footsteps. Firm. Measured. Carrying the weight of someone who didn't need to announce his presence to be felt. The guard straightened as if the empanada had vanished into thin air.
"Oh no. Don't tell me it's him..."
The echo of the steps grew nearer, sharper than the edge of a blade. Krau felt a pang of anticipation. Not fear. Not exactly. Something more bitter.
The figure appeared at the end of the hallway.
Shining armor. Hair tied back with precision. A face sculpted from stone. And eyes that didn't seek battle—but neither did they seek peace.
"Darion..." Krau murmured involuntarily.
The guard squared up like a child in church.
"The boy is secured. He hasn't caused major trouble. Just a few too many words..."
Darion didn't respond. He walked to the bars and stopped in front of Krau. The silence between them wasn't accidental. It was old. Heavy. Like an unfinished conversation they had never dared to conclude.
"Krau."
"I didn't know you'd come."
"No one else cares to clean up your messes. Not even me, but... here we are."
The tone was flat. But beneath the surface, frustration boiled. Not rage. Something worse. Exhaustion.
"It was an accident with noble aspirations. A heroic exploration of identity."
"Theft. Profanation. Heresy."
"Harsh words for a spontaneous adventure."
Darion narrowed his eyes.
"Do you know how much it took to calm the Temple Council? The number of apologies, explanations, and promises I had to make for you?"
Krau lowered his gaze.
"I didn't ask you to do it."
"And yet, I always do."
Silence. Dense. Painful.
"I just wanted to do something for myself. Something that wasn't written before I could decide whether I wanted to do it."
Darion stepped back, crossing his arms.
"You're not the only one who had to live with an imposed role. But there's a difference: I accepted it. I took it on. And I turned it into something that served others."
"You call it duty. I call it resignation."
"You call it freedom and act like there are no consequences!"
Krau gripped the bars, tension accumulating in his arms as if Balur's mark burned with every word.
"No one understands what it's like to have this mark! I didn't want this. I didn't ask for this. But everyone expects me to be something. A saint, a warrior, a miracle. Anything but myself!"
Darion exhaled slowly.
"You're a child with a bomb in his chest. And you don't know when it's going to explode."
The words fell like a verdict. The guard looked away, visibly uncomfortable.
"I'll be back tomorrow," Darion finally said. "Think about what you've done. But more than that, think about what you're willing to lose if you keep going down this path."
His footsteps receded, leaving behind a silence colder than his stare.
Krau sat down again. This time without theatrics. Just with his head bowed and throat tight. And despite everything, he barely smiled.
"I hope this day doesn't end soon..."
The guard gave him a sidelong glance.
"Why? To avoid seeing him again?"
Krau shook his head.
"No. Because if the next day starts... things will probably get worse."