The air in the dungeon was damp and metallic, tainted by the distant scent of rust and rot. Water dripped rhythmically from stone ceilings, each droplet echoing through the empty corridors like a ticking clock. The light from the lone torch flickered weakly, casting long shadows over the crumbling brick walls. Somewhere in this forgotten hollow, Aayu sat cross-legged on the floor, his hands bound by thin metallic cuffs that shimmered faintly with suppression runes.
He wasn't alone.
Celene huddled across from him, her once-pristine noble attire now tattered and stained. A bruise bloomed along her cheek, a silent testament to the harshness of their captors. Her eyes, though swollen, burned with a fierce resilience. But it was the silence between them that said the most.
"Are you alright?" Aayu finally broke the silence, his voice hushed but calm.
She looked up at him. "I've been better. You?"
He offered a faint smile. "Well, I'm still alive."
Celene let out a short breath, almost a laugh. The sound was brittle but sincere. In that shared moment, the roles of noble and commoner disappeared—they were just two captives trying to survive.
---
Elsewhere, far above the subterranean cell, Duke Thalorin stood over a massive table scattered with maps and documents. The candlelight highlighted the grim determination etched into his features. Gone was the opulent attire of the court; he wore the polished armor of a war leader, a sword strapped at his hip.
"They struck without warning," one of his aides whispered. "Inside our own lands. This is a declaration."
"No," Thalorin muttered. "This is a message. And I intend to reply."
He stared down at the map, where a red circle marked the site of the abduction. Surrounding it were dozens of potential hideouts. Too many.
But then his eyes narrowed.
"Send word to the Shadow Cloaks. I want eyes in every ruin, every cavern, every slum. No stone unturned. And contact the Adventurer Association. Triple the bounty."
---
Back in the dungeon, Aayu's fingers twitched subtly. The cuffs may suppress mana, but they didn't block his system. The whisper of the interface appeared before him, its glow unseen by anyone else.
[Store Points: 720] [Available Purchase: Lockpicking - 300 SP | Skill: Sensory Echo - 500 SP | Trait: Iron Will - 800 SP]
He hovered over Lockpicking.
Celene noticed the glimmer in his eyes. "What are you thinking?"
"Thinking about freedom," he whispered. "And choices."
She leaned closer. "We need a plan. If you can free yourself... then what?"
"Then I study them. Find out who they are. Who they work for. And when the time is right, we take our chance."
A distant door creaked open. The sound of boots approached.
They froze.
A man stepped into the torchlight. He wore a black cloak with a crimson insignia: a stylized tower over a shattered crown.
The symbol of the Architects.
"Still alive? Good. We'll need both of you for the Offering," the man said, his voice sharp with authority.
He turned and left.
Celene's voice trembled. "Offering?"
Aayu's jaw tightened. His mind raced.
---
In a hidden chamber miles away, seven figures sat in a crescent formation around a burning brazier. Each wore a different mask—gold, bone, obsidian, emerald, blood-red, porcelain, and a mask veiled entirely in shadow.
They were the Thrones of the Architects.
"The Duke's daughter and the boy with the hidden system... they're both in custody," spoke the one with the emerald mask—Throne of Nobility.
"Good," said the Shadowed Mask, the Grand Architect. "Everything proceeds according to the Design."
"But he is dangerous," added the Porcelain Mask, Throne of Knowledge. "The boy learns quickly. Too quickly."
"Then ensure he learns nothing further," the Grand Architect said. "If he escapes before the Rite, eliminate him."
Back in the cell, Aayu closed his eyes, steeling his heart.
He purchased Lockpicking.
Chains were made to be broken.
And he had work to do.