Tomorrow wasn't just any day for Zephyr.It was the day he would be handed a Doctor of Philosophy certificate in chemical physics — a feat most would call extraordinary at his age. To Zephyr, though, it was just another slip of paper to join the dozens already crowding the living room walls.
"Dad's going to have a hard time finding space for this one," Zephyr thought with a smirk.
But tomorrow was special for another reason — one that mattered far more to him. It was his eighteenth birthday. The day he was, at long last, considered an adult.
There were new freedoms waiting for him, things that might make his painful existence feel a little less grey: drinking legally, driving his father's Lamborghini, and — well — smoking weed? "Maybe not that last one. Dad would blow a fuse, and Mum would probably cry a river."
One way or another, his life was about to change.
Zephyr closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to slip into a meditative state — the only thing that ever helped him fall asleep when his mind wouldn't stop buzzing.
...
"ouch"
Zephyr woke to a pounding in his head, like someone was hammering nails into his skull. Pain rippled through his body, sharp and unrelenting, making every muscle scream as he tried to shift even an inch.
Too much drinking last night, he thought, grimacing. But since when does a hangover feel like I've been run over by a cart?
The ache clawed at him, fierce and stubborn. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shove his mind elsewhere—a trick he'd used for years to deal with the mysterious sickness that had haunted him since he was a kid. A headache no doctor could figure out, no medicine could cure. But this time, it felt worse, sharper.
Is it getting bad? The question snuck in, cold and heavy. Am I dying young? Still a virgin, too. Perfect.
Then, like a gift, a strange warmth washed over him. It was soft at first, like sunlight breaking through a stormy sky, then deeper, sinking into his skin and flowing through him. The pain didn't vanish, but it softened, melting under that gentle heat. For a moment, he felt light, free.
A quiet "ahh" slipped out before he could stop it.
The warmth didn't last. It faded, leaving behind a throbbing headache. Still, it was something he could handle.
What the hell was that? he wondered, cracking his eyes open.
The world was fuzzy at first, but as it sharpened, he saw a faint torch flickering beyond a row of iron bars. Bars?
His heart skipped. He was in a cell. The floor was cold and hard, littered with scratchy straw. The air hit him next—thick with the stink of wet stone, sweat, and something rotten.
Where am I? Panic stirred in his chest. Am I still drunk?
"You're awake," a soft voice cut through the gloom.
Zephyr jerked his head toward it. His gaze falling upon the shadowed corner of the cell. The torchlight did not reach that far, and he had not noticed before...he was not alone.
"Who are you?" he rasped, his throat scratchy and dry. "Why am I here?"
The figure moved slightly. "You don't remember me?" Her voice carried a hint of sadness. "Did they knock your head too hard? Ah ... Poor you."
Zephyr frowned, digging through the haze in his mind. His last clear memory was his eighteenth birthday. A big night. He'd just earned his doctorate—youngest in the country to do it. Not because he was some prodigy, but because he'd had no choice. That damn headache had pushed him to it. Keeping his brain busy with studies and puzzles was the only thing that dulled the pain back then. His rich parents had dragged him to every healer they could find, but nothing worked. Knowledge became his escape.
And that night, he'd found something new: alcohol. One sip, and the pain eased like magic. So, he'd kept drinking, chasing that relief until the world went dark.
Now, stuck in this reeking cell, he fought to stay calm. "You know why I'm here?" he asked. "What is this place?"
The woman let out a dry laugh, sharp and bitter. "This is Goham Prison. And you? You got caught stealing."
"Stealing?" Zephyr's forehead creased. "Goham? Never heard of it. When can I get out?"
She was silent for a beat before speaking slowly, as if choosing her words with care.
"You truly do not remember ... Goham is a village in the northwest of the Eternal Empire. As for getting out" She gave a short, bitter laugh. "Count Geofri enjoys executions on the weekends."
"Eternal Empire? Execution?"
Zephyr's blood ran cold.
His voice rose. "You're saying they're going to kill me? For stealing what?"
It had to be something big— priceless jewels, royal treasure, anything worth a death sentence, right?
He braced himself as the woman leaned closer, her face still lost in shadow. But for the first time, Zephyr caught a glimpse of her — just the glint of her eyes in the torchlight.
"A piece of bread," she said, her tone flat but edged with dark amusement.