Thanks for your enlightening comments! Enjoy!

Author's name: Let's set the scene with some opening ceremony-style music.

https://youtu.be/BEHX72PKmkk

Amber

Below the massive hordes of party-goers in the streets shouting, "MAKE WAY FOR HOUSE MAGNOLIA!", a middle-aged woman sat slumped against the wall in a tight prison cell.

Alone and miserable.

She fancied herself enough distance away from the awful commoner racket but did not realize that the precious silence she now found relish in was not to last.

For suddenly, a shrill cry drowned out her thoughts. Soon enough, the sound of haste footsteps muffled the cry, leaving only the rumbling quakes from above the ceiling in their wake.

Someone had a mighty gigantic footstep around here.

"NO! I did nothing wrong! Let me go!", a prisoner pleaded.

"What should we do with this one, eh boss?", a raspy voice inquired as Amber squirmed to get a better look at the cell across from her.

"Cut his hand off, maybe?", a scraggly guard replied back while Amber struggled not to gasp in horror at the mere thought of someone dislocating a limb from her body.

By this time, she had managed to position herself right by the door, yet under the main bar so as to not bring attention to herself.

She already had enough attention from one nosy guard, as it is.

And one is more than enough, she muttered quietly under her breath.

Peering over the peeping hole, she finally got a good look at the situation and saw that their business clearly was with some other prisoner, not her.

Surely, that meant she needn't be worried, right?

"Have you not heard the latest decree? Taking off unnecessary limbs is punishable by death!", a younger guard answered.

Suddenly, a dark shadow passed through her viewing area, leaving Amber speechless.

He was back.

"My, my. What have we got here...three dimwits and a foolish journalist," a deep voice resonated from the corridor, drawing out his words from his mouth as if he had all the time in the world.

"Sire! We're so glad you got here...just in time, I might add! Right boys?", the raven-haired young guard hastily replied.

"Yes siree, sir! Shipshop and everything!", the tall scraggly ginger shouted back.

"It's shipshape, you imbecile," the raspy-voiced, albino guard said, correcting the mistake of the tall, scraggly ginger.

Rolling his eyes, the deep-voiced, violet-skinned man retorted, "Does it matter?"

The younger guard replied first, confessing, "No sire."

"Very well, Jonas. We may have the makings of a good officer in you yet," he remarked.

"As for the rest of you...", he stared at the albino and the ginger, "I hope that you two also gave something of...noble worth to this endeavor. We will have no soldiers not pulling their weight around here!"

The tall ginger pointed to the so-called journalist and said, "We have him in chains sire, as you ordered. What should we do now?"

The violet man smirked before facing the prisoner head on and remarking, "Tell me Mr. Winters. How does someone, like your illustrious self, end up here on a feast day... such as today all tied up in chains and crying to your mommy?"

"The truth will always come out, even if you try to hide it, Councilman Mbela!"

Mbela massaged his chin as he asked, "Is that so?"

Leaning in, he breathed on the poor journalist and added, "Then you won't mind if we ask a few questions, because as you said..."

"The truth must come out!", the ginger jeered.

"Yes precisely, Daen. It seems you are learning...", Mbela admitted.

"Oh please. Give the man a fish and he'll...", the albino started.

"Silence!", he declared, closing a fist up to the sky as the guards looked on in awe while water shot up from his hand towards the ceiling, dousing the hallway with the transparent elemental liquid.

Clicking his tongue, he continued, "Well, Mr. Winters? Do you have anything to say or should I call you by your alias, Potter?"

For once in his life, the journalist had no response prepared and remained silent.

"Speechless, are you? How quaint." he stated, circling around the reporter like a tiger on the prowl.

Then, he stopped walking, leaned into the prisoner and murmured, "It seems that using the identity of a long-forgotten fictional character from a forbidden book did not prevent us from finding you."

Mr. Winters croaked, "A harmless children's book that your people..."

"My people? Oh, you mean the Council?" Clicking his tongue yet again, he divulged, "My ancestors had plenty of good reason to see to their...censorship."

Potter, as the rebels knew him, hissed, "Censorship? Just CENSORSHIP? Your...Council regularly makes puppets out of our 'fairly elected royalty' and then massacres their families at the end of each century! What kind of government minus a communist one goes out of their way to seduce the minds of the public and trick us into thinking we're an absolute monarchy, when in reality, at best, we're a constitutional monarchy with a parliament that continuously seeks to destroy the royalty and call it...attempts at keeping the peace!"

He then spit at Councilman Mbela only for Jones to restrain him properly once again.

At this point, Daen paled as the albino guard's face turned crimson; however, Mbela simply looked on, seemingly disinterested.

"You might as well be the Bolsheviks who tried to slaughter Tsar Nicholas' family...", he hollered before being cut off.

At this point, Amber had even resorted to using a small ledge in the stone wall to see what was going on as her tippy toes had all but exhausted themselves out, which was no small feat as she used to dance for hours on end during festivals, such as the one being held this very day.

"Tell me this, was it worth it?", he taunted as he held Mr. Winters' throat in his hands.

Mr. Winters whimpered, his mouth incapable of a reply back.

"Dispose of him," Mbela commanded.

"But sire?!", the albino argued.

"Did I stutter, Flavio? This man will not tell us where the rebels are no matter what....so he's of no use to us now," Mbela asserted.

"No, sir," Daen agreed.

With a huff, their master left them to their devices and exited the dungeon.

"Why must he always snuff out our fun?", Flavio whispered.

"Shut up, man!", Daen pleaded. "What if he hears you?"

Flavio turned, and snarled at him, obviously unconcerned for his safety.

Jonas retorted, "Daen is right, Flavio. Hold your tongue lest it get you killed someday."

"But what of the prisoner? Death just seems...so merciful compared to what he has done," Flavio said.

"Well, I don't recall sire ever telling us to take care of him...quickly."

"For once, Commander Jonas, I agree," Flavio responded as he slowly elevated his arms above him, fire bursting forth from the tips of his fingertips.

Winters' shrieks haunted her for days.

Author's note: Welp, the competition starts next chapter. Yay? Who thought the revelation that all is not as it seems was enlightening?