Dawn arrived, dragging an icy wind that slipped through the bars as if the dungeon needed more reasons to be miserable. From his cot, Krau heard the rusty creak of the hatch opening. Another culinary delivery from the house of punishment.
"Breakfast, brat," the guard grunted, shoving a piece of bread that could double as a weapon and a cup of broth that steamed with resignation.
"Is this food or a warning disguised as dough?" Krau asked, lifting the bread as if expecting it to snarl at him.
"A bit of both. And if you eat it without thinking, you might unearth ancestral memories. Or your great-grandfather."
Krau let out a short laugh, more out of habit than joy. He shrugged. After a night without dreams or peace, all he had left was sarcasm. If he couldn't win his freedom, at least he could amuse himself.
"You know what bothers me?" he said, leaning against the freezing wall. "I didn't even get to lift the sword with style. They caught me before I could strike a heroic pose. That's no way to build a legend."
"I already remember you. And honestly, I'd rather not," the guard replied without looking up.
Silence returned, dense and warm like a blanket of discomfort. Krau stared at the cobwebs on the ceiling. He could swear the spiders were plotting something. Maybe a revolt.
"What if I escape?" he asked suddenly. "Are there secret passages? Forgotten tunnels? A loose stone that opens a magic portal?"
"The only crack here is in your judgment. And if you keep talking, the man whom even echoes dare not disturb will come for you."
Krau sat up as if he had been stabbed with a lance.
"No! I'm rehabilitated. Completely transformed. New day, new attitude. I was even thinking of apologizing. Maybe. Perhaps."
The guard snorted, about to reply, but the approaching footsteps changed his expression. They were fast, determined, yet clumsy, as if the person was racing against their own chaos.
A woman appeared at the end of the corridor, dressed in a wrinkled temple robe, her messy hair barely held together by a struggling bun. She carried a wobbling stack of scrolls, and behind her, a nervous young apprentice clutched a box with both hands as if it were an unstable relic.
"This is the prisoner?" the woman asked without looking at anyone, already reading a scroll.
"That's him. 'Prisoner' as in 'loud,' 'troublesome,' and 'slightly delusional,'" the guard replied, crossing his arms.
"Perfect. I'm Alessa, temple chronicler. I'm here to interrogate him."
"Interrogate me? Brilliant! I've always wanted to star in an interrogation. Will there be dim lighting and wobbly chairs?"
Alessa ignored him.
"The reason is simple. You touched a sacred sword and didn't disintegrate. That's not normal."
"Neither is tripping over a cat, crashing into a monk, and bouncing off an altar, yet here we are."
Alessa sighed. The apprentice carefully placed the box against the wall.
"The Orvan Sword is supposed to react violently to the unworthy. And you… just lifted it. That raises questions."
"And fascinating answers! I'm full of mystery!"
"You're full of something, that's for sure," muttered the guard.
Krau moved closer to the bars, intrigued.
"So… what do you want? Examine me? Study my aura? Search for divine signs on my backside?"
"I just need a precise description: How did you feel when you touched the sword? Vibration, heat, voices, visions, epiphanies?"
Krau thought for a moment.
"I don't know… It was like… a whisper I didn't understand. Like someone saw me and wasn't sure whether to embrace or crush me. And then… just silence. But… it wasn't empty. It felt like the sword was waiting for something. From me."
Alessa watched him closely, this time not hiding her interest. She jotted something down on a scroll.
"It's sensitive material!" she announced to the apprentice.
The boy nodded, though he clearly had no idea what she meant.
"And if I cooperate? Do I get released?" Krau asked, hopeful.
"No," said the guard.
"Maybe," said Alessa.
They exchanged looks. The guard frowned. She didn't blink.
"Maybe?"
"Someone important wants to know more. If you have something special, we can't treat you like a mere thief."
Krau raised his arms theatrically.
"At last, someone understands! I'm not a criminal! I'm a mystery in progress!"
The guard shook his head and reached for the key.
"Consider this a warning, chronicler. This kid causes more headaches than reports. If anything goes wrong, I saw nothing."
The door opened with a long, rusty creak. Krau stepped out with his arms raised, like a prisoner celebrating his probation.
"To academic freedom! Take me to your experiments and spreadsheets!"
"Just walk. And don't talk," said Alessa, turning on her heel.
The apprentice cast him a look of pity.
As they walked down the corridor, Krau couldn't shake the feeling that, though he had left the cell, he hadn't escaped imprisonment. He had only traded one set of bars for another.
And as he followed Alessa, an idea clung stubbornly to his mind:
"If I manage to escape… maybe I'll get another chance to start over."