Ashura shivered.
He drew in a deep, shaky breath to steady himself against the tremors. Was it merely the biting cold of the night, or was there something more? A faint whisper of warning seemed to hang in the air, but Ashura dismissed it as nothing more than a trick of his imagination.
As he paced the somber halls, a cold, clammy sensation crept over his skin, intensifying as he approached his isolated guard post outside the dungeon. The dull walls pressed in around him, throwing back a sharp echo of every footstep, breath, and mutter. It felt as if unseen eyes watched his every move, setting his nerves on edge.
“It’s probably just the environment,” Ashura muttered, more to reassure himself than anything else. He let out a heavy sigh, his breath blooming into a faint mist. A damp, heavy smell clung to the air.
“Anyone would feel on edge guarding this area, with that prisoner, no less.”
That was what they had told him, uttering the words with a graveness that had made him uneasy, as if they’d just handed over a murky task no one else would touch.
There was always something about
that
prisoner, an unspoken threat, that added to the tension.
He only wished they had given him some details about the captive other than the strict order that he be heavily guarded at all times. He knew nothing could go wrong under such tight security, but it would be reassuring to know who, or what, he was guarding. He didn’t even know the prisoner’s name.
He paused, a deep frown forming.
Or what they looked like…
With another sigh, he kept walking. Maybe it was safer if he didn’t know; maybe that’s why he wasn’t given much information.
“I’m sure the prisoner is locked up tighter than a drum,”
he muttered, cracking his knuckles as he tried to grasp a fleeting sense of relief. It lasted but a second before the dull ache of uncertainty returned.
Oh, whatever. It’s not like he’s got much else to do in there besides stew in his own thoughts.
Ashura’s gaze flickered between the vague outline of the cell and the dark interior. He hated to admit it, but his pulse had quickened by a few beats. Swallowing hard, he edged closer to the cell, his hand hovering near the door. He gritted his teeth, his fingers stretched and shaking slightly. He had tried talking a few times before, especially when he first began his shift. It had started with a small greeting.
“Hey.”
“…”
“What do you do in there aside from… I don’t know, sleep?”
“…”
“Isn’t the darkness unsettling? Can you still see?”
Heck, don’t you crave light?
“…”
All Ashura received in response was a deafening silence. At times he thought it was an empty cell, but the faint, raspy breathing assured him that the prisoner was still inside. Eventually, he had given up on the idea of conversation, which was why he ended up pacing. It was a bore, moving back and forth; it was even worse just staying still and ‘being there’.
He stopped by the cell once more, attempting something he thought he’d never do. He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Did you ever have a family?”
A sudden gust of air slammed against Ashura. He felt the weight of it tearing across his skin like dull blades cutting through flesh. The sensation intensified.
Ashura dropped to his knees, sweat breaking out across his skin. His muscles groaned, weighed down by invisible boulders. Lights flashed behind his eyes, and voices echoed in his mind. It felt as if he were waking from a terrible nightmare.
Then, he exhaled deeply, a pleasant rush of warmth creeping over his body. He took a few steadying breaths, staring at the throbbing veins on the back of his hands.
Time should pass soon so I can return to my family. I must be missing them too much—that has to be it.
He got up and straightened his posture. Shaking his head, he resumed pacing, his steps measured and deliberate, a forced distraction to occupy his mind.
As he strode past the cell yet again, a shadow loomed, its whisper luring him closer.
“Ashura…”
He turned toward the cell immediately. His heart clenched; he still couldn’t get a glimpse of the prisoner beyond a shifting silhouette trapped in seemingly endless darkness.
“Why are you… still here, Ashura? You shouldn’t be here…”
He crossed his arms and set his mouth in a hard line, establishing a stern, unwavering presence, determined not to be fooled. “Oh, so you finally decide to answer me.”
“Ashura…”
“Save your breath,” Ashura grunted, his gaze fixed on the shadow. He braced for a reply, but as expected, none came. “You’re quite something. After all these years, you finally decide to talk, and it’s this nonsense,” he grumbled.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, he assumed the prisoner had returned to whatever silence occupied him before. But just as he turned to resume pacing, a low chuckle echoed from the shadows, sending a sharp jolt of adrenaline straight to Ashura’s chest.
“Return to your family… otherwise, you might miss your chance.”