Felix had never failed so spectacularly. He had never been caught and thrown into a dungeon. There was one instance he could recall where he had been spotted after a kill and a pair of guards had rushed him, but nothing had come of it. Nothing more than an earful from his master.
He had some semblance of an idea of what a dungeon was like, but there was nothing quite the same as experiencing it firsthand.
The guard with the large scar across the bridge of his nose shoved Felix through the open door of the cell. His shoulder collided painfully with the rough stone flooring, and he winced as he righted himself. Scarface pulled the squeaky door shut; the click of the locks followed, sealing his fate.
Felix sighed. Master is probably rolling over in his grave right now. Cringing at the layer of dirt coating his palm, he pushed himself to his feet and made his way to the door of the cell.
Niveus Castle's dungeon was built like a maze. There weren't many cells, as most of the passageways were dark, damp, and empty. The jangling of keys echoed loudly through the stillness as Scarface rejoined the second guard who had brought him here—a tall man with broad shoulders and a rumbling voice. They spoke to each other in their own tongue, laughing at something. In the hands of Broad Shoulders, there was Felix's cloak—and every knife he had on his person. His heart sank a little.
Despite what Cinere had ordered, they searched him anyway. Unlike in Furvus, the guards of Niveus didn't stop at one boot knife.
No, he reminded himself, snapping back from the door. A frown twisted his face. Not Cinere. Aiko.
Anger melded with his frustration. How could he not see it? How could he miss what was right in front of him? His ears burned with embarrassment; he was grateful for the shadows hanging over the room if only to cover the redness in his face. Before he knew it, his fist crashed against the door. Pain laced through his knuckles and he pulled away with a hiss, cradling it against his chest.
Failure was painful; it was sharper than the throb in his knuckles. It choked him like water in his lungs.
And yet, some part of him was relieved. It was small, only a faint flicker stirring deep within him. If he was locked away here, he would never have to kill again, nor would he have to face Dinah and the unspoken consequences of his failure. In that sense, was it not freedom?
He took a look around him. Dirt-covered stone walls surrounded him on three sides. On the front side, metal bars stretched from the floor to the ceiling, crossed by another strip of steel for extra strength. It reminded him of a cage, sending a shiver down his spine. Despite his hatred of this, it played out in his favor. Through the bars, he had a perfect view of the long, dark hallway that stretched out ahead. At the end of the hall, only one of the two guards remained. Felix guessed it was Scarface who had been left behind, judging by the jingling of keys at his waist when he moved.
Felix stepped back until he hit the wall behind him. Sliding to the floor, he raked his fingers through his hair. He might as well resign himself to his fate—even if it was dingy, dirty, poorly lit, and smelled of mold.
With no window to the outside world, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed before the echo of footsteps came down the hall. A voice, soft and feminine, opened a brief conversation with Scarface in the Nivean tongue. At the sound of it, Felix's heart leapt to his throat. He shoved himself to his feet and raced to the bars at the front of the cell.
There, at the other end of the hall, stood Aiko. Dust clung to her clothes from the Core, and her long curls had become tangled and wild. She still only wore one cuff, reminding him that the other one was clamped around his wrist. Its weight seemed to pull him closer. His throat tightened, even as her name sat on the tip of his tongue.
Though his knuckles ached from slamming into the wall, he gripped the metal bars so tightly that he could have sworn the cold pressed against his bones. She was a tool, nothing more. She was a target, a chip meant to bargain his freedom.
So then why did he yearn for her to look at him just one more time? Despite it all, the only thing he could draw up at the moment was the soft warmth of her hand cradled in his. The elation he felt when he pulled her into a makeshift dance in the stairwell. The honesty in her expression when she revealed the truth to him.
A tool is made to be used, not loved, his master used to say over and over. As Felix grew older, his master's tone became more urgent, more stern. Do not forget this, boy, or you will find yourself at the mercy of another.
When she finally turned toward him, there was no grace in the movement. It was an unceremonious whirl, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she came to a stop. Hesitation must have crossed her mind. She stared blankly at him for a handful of painful, long, drawn-out seconds before she finally marched down to his cell. The familiar rhythmic dance of her steps had changed, shifting into something broken yet stern. It was as if all aspects of her perfect mask had finally chipped away and left her core exposed.
Her hands slammed against the bars, fingers curling around them so tightly that her knuckles paled. There was no malice in her expression; her lips trembled slightly and a haze covered her dark eyes.
"I'm tired," she began. "Let's get straight to the point, shall we?"
Staring at her through the metal bars that separated them, he almost regretted it. She appeared small, one hand leaning against the bars as if she were debating letting him go free. It would be foolish of her if she did, but the thought was there in her eyes.
For some reason, he rested his hand against hers, searching for that warmth and comfort he had had when he cradled her hand in his before.
This time, she flinched and quickly pulled away like the touch had burned her. "Don't," she hissed. "That isn't fair."
"You should have known treating this like a game would end this way," he murmured. With the truth staring at him in the face, it was painfully obvious. From the very beginning, she had only ever been playing with him—some part of him always knew that, but never to this degree. She knew he came to see Aiko, and she was Aiko. He had always been her pawn. It was never the other way around. Steeling himself, he lifted his chin and hardened his glare.
"You're the one who got lost in it all," he added.
She was small and fragile, glaring at him without any sort of force behind the look. There was no blank left in place to protect her. Perhaps this could work in his favor.
If he could only wrestle his heart into submission, there would still be a chance to take advantage of her weakness. All he had to do was twist her a little bit and she would set him free. From her actions before—protecting him from the immanency of death from both Mae and the guards—it seemed as though she was on the fence herself.
Aiko laughed, and the hurt turned to a glint of madness. Tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them away. "I'm the one who's lost?" Grinning, she gripped the bars in both hands and drew up against them once more. Torchlight cast long shadows across her face, seemingly painting the image of someone else across her features. "Tell me, Kou, which one of us hesitated when the knife was in his hand, hm?"
The flame burned brighter, and her intoxicating perfection wavered. I am the Bright Soul, she claimed, her chin held high and her words lined with spite. He knew nothing about this Bright Soul nor what its connection to the Core would spell for him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should feel afraid of this new Aiko—the Aiko who did not hide behind Cinere, the Aiko who taunted him when he taunted her, the Aiko who was drenched in an aura of madness.
The Aiko who was barely standing on her own.
Yet, for some reason, his heart had grown cold. Apathy settled heavily over him, pressing down on his shoulders like a thick blanket. He could feel his expression going slack. It released all hints of any previous emotions. His blank settled firmly in place once more.
She was nothing but a tool, and he was nothing but a pawn. Even if he couldn't kill her, perhaps she could be of use in other ways.
"Actually," he said calmly as he withdrew his hand from the bars. "My name is Felix."
Aiko furrowed her brow, searching his face for some hint of a lie. He knew she would find none; it was the truth, after all. Upon realizing this herself, she straightened and pulled away, folding her arms over her chest. "Felix who?"
"Just Felix," he answered. His master had never given him any other name, and he had never needed one. Everywhere he went in Furvus, his reputation preceded him. No one ever asked for anything more than simply Felix, and why should they? It never mattered when he was a weapon.
She scrutinized him. "Is it true that you came from Furvus?"
"Yes."
"Who sent you?"
"A wealthy individual from the neighboring country of Furvus. Someone who wants to see you dead."
Aiko's glare sharpened, piercing straight through his very soul. "Don't play coy," she snapped. Venom laced her words, stringing them together in a haunting melody that he had never heard from her before. Perhaps her blank had always prevented it, or maybe he had never done anything to anger her this way.
When he didn't so much as flinch, she scoffed and looked away. "You truly are empty," she muttered, resting her hand against her face. "You can do nothing but obey when you are told to do something."
"Unfortunately, I cannot answer all of your questions at this time." The barest hint of a smile quirked his lips as he leaned in close. "A good storyteller knows how to build suspense, right?"
Truthfully, he didn't wish to give up his only bargaining chip. If he told her all she wished to know now, there was no guarantee that she would continue to let him live. She had gambled for his life once back in the Core room, boldly stating that she needed him for something. Without knowing exactly what it was, his best bet was to keep all his cards close in hand.
If he withheld enough, he could buy himself time.
Aiko's lips twitched. She pulled away with a sigh, letting her hands fall back to her sides. "I wish it didn't have to be this way, you know. Only there is no one to blame but you. After all, you're the one that hesitated." For a moment, her gaze met his before it flicked away again. Her shoulders stiffened and she opened her mouth as if she had more to say, but no words ever came. Finally, she turned away.
"I will return another day then."
She didn't wait for him to speak before taking her leave. In her absence, the flames that lit the hall seemed to darken, as if they too were mourning the loss of her company.
As soon as he could no longer see her, Felix backed away from the bars and sank against the far wall. Dirt clung to his palms, and the stench of mold overcrowded his senses, but it was somehow welcoming.
If he was here, Aiko was safe. He would never have to kill again, and her blood would not have to be spilled for Dinah's greed.
His cage brought a welcoming sense of freedom.
This chapter kind of serves as a brief interlude while things are transitioning into the climax of the arc. Also I may or may not have written this while slugging my way through a bit of writer's block, so I apologize if it's kinda... messy.
Anyway. With all that said, I look forward to next week's chapter! See y'all then :D