Padrin's voice returned—flat, lifeless, the sound of someone who had already died once.
"I thought I lost everything when she fell. But I was wrong."
A pause.
"Even my own family rejected me."
The days passed slowly in the cell.
There was no sun. No sky. Only the soft, relentless drip of water somewhere overhead, and the cold sting of damp stone beneath him.
Padrin had lost weight. His skin had grown pale and tight across his face, cheeks hollowing out. The once-proud posture he'd carried as a son of an influential merchant was gone. He sat in the far corner of the cell, knees drawn to his chest, head leaned back against the moss-slick wall.
His eyes weren't dead, but they were empty.
A shuffle of boots approached from the corridor. Not the steady clunk of the guard on patrol—this was faster, more deliberate.
Then, a familiar voice barked, "Hey, kid."
Padrin didn't look up at first.
"You've got visitors."
His head lifted slowly.
The iron bars creaked open.
And there, standing beyond them, dressed in finely tailored traveling cloaks and boots not dulled by rain or time, were his parents.
Calmon and Isolde.
His heart lurched. His breath hitched, and tears welled in his eyes without warning.
He stood—wobbled, even—and took a single step forward, chains on his ankles rattling loudly.
"Mom… Dad…"
His voice cracked, weak from disuse and thick with a desperate, trembling hope.
Their expressions didn't mirror his. No warmth. No pity. Only disgust.
His father's brow was furrowed, jaw clenched, arms folded stiffly. His mother stood just behind him, lips drawn tight, her gaze sharp and cold.
Calmon's voice cut through the space like a blade. "How could you do it?"
Padrin blinked, stunned. "…What?" he whispered.
"How could you do it?" his father repeated, louder this time. "How could you kill him? Do you even understand what you've done to us?"
Padrin's lips trembled. "W-What…? Did you hear what happened? Garrik let her die… he—he let Celeste fall!"
His voice shook now. His hands clenched at his sides.
"I know… I know what I did wasn't right, but please… understand. She—she was the only…"
Isolde stepped forward. Her voice, usually soft and elegant, was sharp and venomous now.
"Because of you," she snapped, "we can forget about our dream of ever becoming nobles."
Padrin stared at her, eyes wide in disbelief. "…What?"
"All our work," Calmon said, stepping in again. "All our investments. Every political relationship we cultivated. Years, Padrin. Decades. Gone. Just like that."
"B-But… she died—" he stammered. "He could've saved her. You know what she meant to me. You treated her like your daughter. And he chose to let her fall."
"She could always be replaced," Calmon said, voice cold as stone. "There are always more girls. More matches. More chances."
Padrin's breath hitched again. "…Replaced?" he echoed, like he hadn't heard it right.
Then it sunk in.
"Replaced?" His voice rose, breaking with disbelief. "She was a person! She meant something! You… You don't see that?"
He took another step forward, the chains pulling taut, keeping him from crossing the full length of the cell.
"You don't see value in her life? All you care about is the title? Is that it?"
Isolde's lip curled. "What we care about is the family name. The future. And now? It's tarnished. Because of you."
Padrin's mouth opened—but nothing came out. His hands trembled.
"You're not even sad," he said quietly. "You're not even angry she died."
Calmon's expression darkened, but not with grief.
"With you as our son?" he said, voice seething. "We're more ashamed of what you did than what happened to her."
"W-What are you saying…?" Padrin whispered.
He stepped forward again, desperate, but the chains held him back. "Stop…"
"We're ashamed, Padrin," Isolde said. "We don't want to have anything to do with you anymore."
The words hit harder than any blow he'd taken in training.
He stared at them, mouth ajar, shaking his head slowly. "Stop…" His voice cracked. "Please…"
They turned to leave.
Calmon didn't say a word. He walked with stiff shoulders, without hesitation. Isolde followed, her chin raised.
"Don't leave me like this!" Padrin screamed, lunging forward—
The chains yanked him back.
The sound of steel against steel echoed through the cell.
His knees hit the floor.
He gripped the iron bars, fingers white from strain.
"Mom!! Dad!!" he shouted again. "You can't just walk away! Not like this! Not after one mistake!"
Their footsteps didn't pause.
"Mom…!"
No answer.
"Please!!"
And then... they were gone.
The cell door slammed shut.
The guard locked it without a word.
Padrin dropped to the floor completely, his arms sliding through the bars, his forehead resting on cold iron.
His shoulders shook with sobs, muffled by the stone, the iron, and the silence they left behind.
Padrin's voice, low and hollow, began to shift—just slightly. There was still pain in it, but also a thread of something else. Something that hadn't been there in years.
"But eventually… I found hope."
The cell had changed him.
Padrin wasn't the boy who had enjoyed life next to his lover. That version of him had withered with the passing days and nights. His skin clung to his bones now. His eyes had dulled to grey shadows. He no longer sat against the walls—he leaned into them like he couldn't hold himself up. The chains at his ankles had carved light red ruts in his skin, barely scabbed over from movement.
There was no screaming anymore. No crying. Just silence.
He didn't ask what time it was. Or how long he'd been here. He didn't care. He simply waited.
For the moment the guard would come with the final key. The last walk. The end.
But on that day… the footsteps didn't come with a key.
They came with a voice.
"Kid," a voice grunted.
The words floated through the rusted bars like fog. Soft. Tired. "You've got a visitor."
Padrin didn't move at first.
Then slowly, sluggishly, he lifted his head. His hair hung in uneven strands over his face. His lips were chapped. His eyes sunken.
"A visitor…?" he murmured.
He blinked slowly as the figure approached.
It was a man—plain clothes, weathered coat, scar on his cheek. He looked older now. Not from age. But from time.
Padrin blinked again, and then recognition sparked faintly.
"You…" he whispered. "You were there. With Garrik…"
The man nodded. "Yeah. Thought you might remember me. I was the one trying to stop that bastard from spitting on her memory before you skewered him."
Padrin gave a soundless breath—something like a chuckle, but too empty to carry weight.
The man stepped closer to the bars, arms crossed.
"Damn, kid," he muttered. "You look like hell."
Padrin smiled, but there was no joy in it. "I'm just waiting."
"For what?"
"The execution. Or starvation. Whichever shows up first."
The man didn't answer right away.
Instead, he glanced behind him, then reached into a small pouch at his waist and pulled out a folded parchment.
"Then I guess this'll mess up your schedule."
Padrin's brow furrowed weakly. "…What is it?"
"Your release papers," the man said, lifting it for him to see. "You're being bought out."
Padrin flinched like the words physically struck him. "Bought…?"
"Someone paid for you to walk free. Not just that. They've got a spot ready for you in a high-tier guild. They'll train you, clothe you, get you back into shape. You'll even have your own sword again."
Padrin stared at him, silent.
Then, slowly, his voice rose, laced with venom. "And that's… the good news?"
The man didn't blink.
Padrin pushed himself up with shaking hands and staggered closer to the bars. His knees trembled under his weight.
"I lost everything. My future, my family. The only girl who ever mattered to me—died."
He spat the word like poison.
"My own parents spat in my face and walked away. And now you want to tell me someone bought me out? For what? Charity?"
The man shook his head. "No."
Padrin's eyes narrowed. "Then why?"
The man leaned against the bars, lowering his voice.
"Because someone might've seen her."
Everything stopped. The words hung there.
Padrin's chest didn't rise. His breath caught, like even his lungs were frozen.
The man continued. "A couple months back, a caravan passed through a quiet valley road near the border. They were ambushed by a group of outlaws. Got lucky though—no one died. They reported it, and a few people tried to draw their descriptions. Most of them were vague."
He locked eyes with Padrin.
"But one of them… described a girl. Short brown hair. Amber eyes. Left side scar on her cheek. Quick. Precise. Carried herself like she'd been trained."
Padrin was already on his feet—what remained of them. His fingers clutched the bars like they could rip apart.
"Where is she!?" he shouted. "Why didn't you bring her here?!"
The man raised a hand. "Listen, kid. I wanted to. But there's more."
He stepped back, voice more serious.
"That caravan wasn't just any group. One of the people traveling in it was a minor noble. Knew Celeste's family. Knew her face. He wasn't certain—but it was enough to make her family believe she might be alive."
Padrin's body shook with something that hadn't touched him in a lomg time. Hope. Real, tangible hope.
"They wanted to find her," the man said. "But no guild would take the job. Too risky. No details. And besides, she's with a known outlaw group now. That means one thing…"
He looked at Padrin hard.
"If you find her… she might not be the same."
Padrin's mouth opened.
The man pressed on.
"She might fight you. She might try to kill you. She might not even remember who you are. You'll be hunting someone who's wanted. And if you hesitate, even for a second, you could die."
Padrin stood there, ragged and trembling, but his eyes—his eyes burned. "She's alive…?"
The man didn't smile. But his voice softened. "Could be."
"And her parents…"
"They want her back. But they can't risk their reputation by paying for the murderer of a noble," the man said. "So they donated the money to the guild. Anonymously. That guild will pull you out. Train you. Give you a name again."
"And what do they want in return?"
"To find her. Confirm it's her. Bring her back if you can."
The man's voice lowered.
"But if she's too far gone… if she fights… you need to be prepared to do what no one else would. That's why they picked you."
He paused. "That's why no one else would do it."
Padrin closed his eyes.
His arms trembled. His knees nearly buckled.
But his voice was steady. "Whatever it takes."
He opened his eyes again.
For the first time in years… they burned.
"I'll find her."
The man nodded.
"Then come on, kid. Let's get you out of this hole."