The smell of rotting flesh and unchecked food that had been left out for too long filled my nose as I marched down a long, dimly lit corridor that had cobblestone bricks for its walls and a wooden ceiling that occasionally let water slip through its cracks.

I stubbed my toe on a stray rock and stumbled, receiving a forceful shove from the guard, who seemed to quite enjoy the spectacle, prodding me with his baton as if I were some animal. A few more steps and the guard suddenly stopped in front of a wooden door, a worn sign that read "Warden" was nailed into it.

"Miss," the guard said, "You can remain here while I dispose of this criminal."

She gave him a curt nod and the guard smiled, flashing his yellowed teeth, and the scent of mint drifted from his mouth and into my nose.

"Ahchoo!" The smell had been severely strong, almost as if it were to cover the guard's bad breath, and tickled my nose until I couldn't resist a sneeze.

"Quiet!" The guard whipped his head and tightened his grip on the rope, before dragging me down the corridor, the light diminishing the further we went down. The cobblestone walls seemed to cry, droplets of water seeping through the cracks accumulated after years of service, and the lightbulbs that clung on for dear life from the ceiling flickered more and more wildly as if warning us not to continue.

The guard just threw his head back and cackled at the sight of my worried expression, slapping me on the back with such force that I nearly coughed up some of the rice I had earlier.

"Don't worry, kid," his face came dangerously close to mine, and I could make out the individual hairs on his face that formed an unruly beard, one that had been unchecked and allowed to grow freely. "If you think about it, prison isn't all that bad. You get free meals every day and a place to stay. Of course, I didn't know anything about quality."

He let out another cackle that resonated eerily throughout the corridor, its echoes prodding at my ears mockingly. After what seemed to be a labyrinth of corridors, the guard finally slowed his pace, swinging open a tattered door, pointed a crooked finger to the left, and then swung it over to the right. The single lightbulb that hung from the middle of the corridor barely extended to the cells, but I could easily make out the sunken faces of the prisoners, their moans coupled with their emaciated bodies.

"Well, we're here." he flashed another tooth grin, his teeth a more intense shade of yellow under the lightbulb, and strolled towards an empty cell, twirling the keys around his index finger. "Enjoy your stay."

With another shove, my face planted firmly into the ground, my nose miraculously unscathed as I sat up, beside a bit of grime that had found its new home there.

I looked around again, inspecting the prisoners' faces, some of which I hardly recognized from the riot. Their once-decent looks had been scarred permanently by a variety of bruises and scars that were painted on them almost as if they were human art.

The one across from me held a large gash on his cheek, no doubt from a lethal air knife technique, and blood gushed from it like a rushing waterfall despite his efforts to cover it with his sleeve. His features remained prominent, his face the work of an expert sculptor, and as the last of the blood trickled and landed on the pool surrounding him, he cast a longing look at the ceiling before all light left him and his body.

Some of the prisoners let out a gasp, shocked at their comrade's untimely death, but fell silent when he lolled to the side and crumpled against the ground with a sickening thud.

Ken! I glanced to my right and spotted the familiar red hat amidst the cover of darkness, shining like a beacon of hope that seemed to wash away all my worries. Pressing my face against the cool metal bars that separated us, he sat cross-legged, eyes closed, and appeared to be... meditating. I almost burst out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter at the fact that he could be so calm in such a disgusting environment, but stopped myself, instead attempting to get his attention more subtly.

Turning my hand to its side, I twisted and turned just to get a few more inches to Ken, who was sitting quite inconveniently at the farthest corner from me. Then again, how would he have known to expect my arrival? And neither did I until I punched Matilda.

"Ken," I whispered, my voice almost getting lost in the darkness. "Ken, it's me, Wallace."

For a moment I thought he hadn't heard me, his breathing still even and his eyes shut, but upon hearing my name, his eyelids gently lifted up and he spun around, his expression a combination of surprise and relief.

"Wallace," Ken was at a loss for words as he struggled to put his thoughts into a coherent sentence. "W-what are you doing here?"

"We're here to break you out!" I said, then covered my mouth as if it would stop anyone from eavesdropping.

His eyes spoke of skepticism and for a moment he just gave me a blank stare, thinking I had made the funniest joke ever. "Yeah, right, you're going to break me out of prison when that's exactly where you are! And what do you mean by 'we're'?"

"Oh, this was all Matilda's plan," I said. "She didn't explain much to me, but apparently she has it all under control."

"Matilda? What's she doing this for?"

"Well, I convinced her to help break you out on the terms that she could come with us."

"What? Is she looking to avenge her mother?" Droplets of venom seemed to drip out of Ken's mouth as he regarded me strangely. "How do you know that she hasn't ditched us already, huh? It seems like the perfect opportunity for someone like her."

I almost recoiled at the thought of Matilda abandoning Ken and me—she had come with the plan in the first place—but reality soon sunk in as I realized Ken might have been right. As the seconds ticked by, reminding me of the state I was in, and the hope of Matilda appearing diminishing like a flame hungrily eating at a shrinking candle, my heart thumped against my chest rapidly and the sense of panic in the air was palpable.

"My sister was never one to fulfill her promises." Ken's grim voice rang through the corridor like a knell, announcing that death was looming over us.

It seemed that after Ken had accepted his fate, all the prisoners' expressions had grown more somber as one curled up into a corner and bawled his eyes out, the trail of tears a solemn reminder of the horrible predicament we were stuck in.

But I couldn't lose faith—I hadn't done so last time and it had worked out fine, albeit it was a rough few moments getting to that point. Maybe if I tried creating a flame? I hardly knew if I could recreate it, but anything was worth trying. Closing my eyes, I extended my arms so that my palms faced up and concentrated on the heat that coursed through my body, thumping with a steady pulse.

The mana pool, I thought as I groped for the squishy substance in my mind. There it was, hiding behind a cloud of murkiness, as I dove head first into it. Upon contact, something miraculous happened: sparks seemed to bounce off my skin as intense fiery energy streamed through my arms, threatening to rip them apart, and held at the mercy of my hands.

I peeked from underneath my eyelids, a modest flame flickering in the darkness that battled with the light. And then I thrust forward, concentrating all of what I had to offer against the bars of the cell. A fizz, then wisps of smoke, and then everything faded to the grim atmosphere of before.

Ken's voice broke through the confusion and disappointment that hung over me like a rainy cloud. "Tried that. The cells are coated with a layer of water vapor infused into the bars, diminishing the effects of any affinity use."

The prisoners who had been watching me closely, their hopes beginning to rise, sunk down against the cell, defeated. Magic, a miraculous cure for many of the world's problems, had yet to find its place in prison breaking.

And as my last hope hung on an invisible thread that threatened to rip at any moment, and seeing the prisoners' had already lost their light, death sounded more and more merciful.

"I-I'm sorry," Ken muttered, hanging his head as if awaiting his death. "For endangering myself and you in the process."

I offered a weak smile as if that would be enough to brighten the darkened atmosphere. "We're still alive at the moment, so that's something to celebrate."

"I see you've inherited my sense of humor," He chuckled, a rough sound that still attempted to lift the grave reality off our shoulders. "Perhaps Matilda will come..."

"Perhaps they will come if they still shed tears of pity with their magic," One prisoner muttered and nods went around, eagerly eating up what little hope could wrung out from the dry despair.

"Who?" I turned to Ken but the man across from my cell answered.

"I'm guessing you're not from the riots, huh?" He said, and I nodded. "Most of us here are part of the aquageists—spirits of water as the higher-ups call themselves."

The man sighed, slumping against the cold stone behind him and let his untrimmed hair fall loosely over his shoulders. "It was a mistake joining them."

A boy no more than a few years older than me bobbed his head in agreement, his eyes burning in an exhausted but persistent anger.

His mouth twitched sporadically as he talked. Brief moments under the dim lighting revealed bloody gums and a set crooked teeth that were strangely spotless besides the flakes of blood. "You can say that again. I'd thought we were gonna be treated well—better, at least, than on the streets—but here we are. No chance to fight, just to sit around like the stupid people they think we are."

"They're cowards!" He slammed his fists against the bars only to be stunned briefly. His voice quieted, but the spiteful inflection remained. "They say that they're fighting against the capital's 'acclaimed' spark power and corruption, but they're no different than the capital."

"Now that's a bold claim. Don't forget we signed up for this suicide mission ourselves. You weren't expecting to get out of this alive, were you?" The man said and the boy's cheeks went red, embarssement at first, then anger.

"Do you want to be dead? To escape from this hellish world? At least I'm not a coward like you, giving up so easily."

Whatever calm had stilled the man before vanished and he almost lunged at the boy, forgetting about the bars seperating them. "I'm the coward?! Look at you—"

"Shush," An old man rasped, squinting so that his thick, snowy eyebrows shoved against each other. "I hear something."

The faint tapping of footsteps against the ground jolted me as others began to look up, their eyes anxiously awaiting their demise. Were the guards coming to finish us off? Or was it the aquageists? I could only wait, shivering in a cold blanket of fear, as the footsteps grew louder, faster, and more accentuated.

The door dislodged with a grunt, its hinges screaming in agony as a figure staggered into the corridor, out of breath. The light flickered, briefly illuminating the face of the figure, but it was enough to make me let out a sigh of relief. The wavy black hair, and the lurking eyes that darted around suspiciously—it was Matilda.

"Wallace!" She lit up and seemed to radiate light as she hurried toward my cell, the ring of keys in her hand glinting in the darkness.

I looked over at Ken, who held an incomprehensible expression on his face, a combination of irritation and indifference, but a hint of relief shone through his eyes. "Matilda. Glad for you to join us finally."

She flushed, but most of her face was concealed in the darkness, as she regarded Ken with a similar indifference. "Don't be too smug, this is one of your better moments."

"Just get us out of here, alright?" Ken sighed, rolling his eyes.

Hastily stabbing the key into the padlock, my cell door burst open like a blooming flower and I hurried out of there, taking in a deep breath of free air as soon as my foot crossed through.

After jiggling with Ken's padlock for a moment, the door freed itself and Ken snorted, dusting off his hat on his shirt. "You did that purpose didn't you?"

Matilda attempted a nonchalant shrug, but couldn't resist cracking a sly grin as Ken shook his head, smiling as well.

"C'mon, don't get too excited right now." Matilda chided. "You can celebrate once we get out of here."

Shoving the keys inside her jacket, she began walking towards the door when a chorus of wails and moans caught her attention—and mine as well. At the sight of this seemingly miraculous spectacle, the light had returned to the prisoners as they clung to the cell bars, rattling them in an attempt to free themselves.

"You!" The elderly man's voice scraped against his throat as he clawed at Matilda through the cell bars. "Let me out and I'll show you the way."

"Show us the way?" She chuckled, thinking he was just cracking a joke before his death. "We can get out of here perfectly fine ourselves."

"What about the guards coming for you right now?" The old man's eye twinkled knowingly, coaxing her to come closer. "I've been here for years and know the place inside out. Let me out and I'll show you the way."

This time, Matilda seemed less sure, her hands hovering over her pocket as she wrestled whether to do so or not. The distant padding of feet grew louder and with time not on our side, she shoved the key into the padlock, twisting it forcefully, and with a gentle push, the old man stepped out.

Wisps of hair stood diligently on his head, having seen all that life had to offer, and his eyes flashed with cunning and intelligence. His face wrinkled as he attempted a smile, and he almost glided to the doorway, his feet hardly scratching the ground.

"Come on now," he said, letting each word sit for a while in the air. "We must make haste."

As we headed out, another round of wails and moans erupted from within the cells as others, seeing that one of their own had been granted a chance and that their chance was slipping away, desperately rattled the cell bars again, an unanswered cry for help.

"Come on, now!" The boy tugged at the metal bars in vain. "I don't want to spend the last moments of my life in here."

I stopped in my tracks, my feet frozen by an empathy that yearned to be shed on those poor souls who cried their hearts out for something that was only short of a miracle. But Matilda only gave them and me a glare, and stalked after the old man, Ken following shortly after.

I took a step forward and I could feel their hearts lurch, their cries intensify. I was their light in the darkness, the thread they clung onto, the reason they ached to live. And then I slammed the door behind them, sealing all the unbearable cries inside and with that, their fates.