The gaolhouse is a miserable, stone-hewn structure, its thick walls damp with condensation and the scent of mold thick in the air. Chains dangle from the walls, rusted from years of disuse.

  I’ve never seen one before and wish I wasn’t seeing it now. How rotten can my luck be? Imprisoned twice in just a few weeks? And unfortunately, I don’t think I’m going to be able to break out of this one.

  I’m tossed into a cell without ceremony, my body colliding with the freezing stone floor. The cold is unbearable, seeping through my cloak and clothes. A thin layer of straw provides little relief, it smells, though.... maybe that's just me. The barred door slams shut behind me, the heavy iron lock clicking into place.

  Across the corridor, the glowing lanterns reveals other cells, shadowed figures huddled in the corners, wrapped in ragged cloaks, shivering. The gaoler's footsteps echo as he moves down the hall, leaving us. I suspect he was abed when the guards delivered me, given his grumpy demeanor.

  I glance around my dimly lit cell, taking stock of my fellow prisoners. Two men share the cramped space with me. One, a large and well-muscled figure, sleeps soundly in the opposite corner, his steady breathing undisturbed despite the cold. Even without a cloak, he seems unaffected by the chill.

  The other lies motionless on the stone floor, eyes are only half open, his mouth agape.

  He's dead.

  "A right shame, that one." A voice echoes from across the corridor, from a cell opposite mine. "Starved, I reckon. Or maybe the sickness took him." I press myself harder against the wall at his words, trying to put some space between me and the corpse. "What was his crime?" I ask, peering through the iron bars of my cell.

  "Dunno. He didn't either. They just threw him down here, left him to wait for his trial. But since he had no family to bring him food.... well, looks like he didn't make it." I stare at the wretched corpse, a twisted nose, oily hair, and so skinny you could see the bone. I relax slightly, it's not a pleasant sight, but it looks like it was probably hunger that got him, rather than and disease. Then again.... who knows what staying in a room with this corpse will do to me.

  "They don't give us food?" I ask to my fellow prisoner. He snorts, letting out a laugh, "Course not. Why would they waste food on scum like us? If you're lucky and have family, maybe they'll let them deliver some bread, though you probably won't see even half of it." The man sighs, resting his head against the iron bars. I see him for the first time, he's a little older than me, perhaps just shy of his thirtieth year. He's a mess, wrapped in a ripped-up cloak, with an unkempt beard and long messy hair. He doesn't seem starving, not at a glance anyway. But he does seem tired.

  "Doubt I'll last much longer. Me cell-mates died a week past, might have to eat 'em if things go on like this. Not that it'll do me much good." I shift my body toward him. "What'd they throw you down here for?" He drops his gaze, sorrow plain on his face.

  "I'm a thief. Broke into the apothecary, tried to steal a potion. Me mom... she's sick. We couldn't afford it." His fingers clutch the bars, knuckles white. "Nearly had it too, but... that alchemist, a great beast of a woman... she caught me, didn't need more than one hand to lift me by the throat. Beat me near to death, then drag me to the guards. Truth be told, I'm shocked I'm still breathin'. But me mum... she's probably already...."

  He trails off, his head sinking low as he tries to steady himself. Losing a mother... I can sympathize. And then there's the woman he spoke of too, the owner of the apothecary....

  He shakes himself off, lifting his head. "Name’s William, William the Hunter. Who’re you? What’d you do to land in this pit?"

  His question stirs a tinge of irritation in me. "I'm Seven. The guard captain mistook me for a brigand and tossed me down here."

  The smug whoreson wasn’t nice about it either.

  William nods, understanding. "They've been chuckin' men in here all week on account of brigandry. Mayor’s son is behind it, always was a right bastard." He pauses, scratching his jaw. "Good news for you though, might not rot like the rest of us. The mayor’s dead set on sortin’ the brigands, so you’ll get your trial soon enough. Though what comes after...." He trails off. A chill creeps up my spine.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  "I don’t belong here. I've done nothing wrong… well, not really."

  "Ah well, frettin’ won’t change nothin'. What’s meant to be will be..."

  So he says, but the sorrow on his face tells a different story.

  "Shut yer mouths!!" The gaoler stomps his way down the stairs, a short club dangling from his grip. "If I hear so much as another word from either of you, I'll crack yer skulls open and leave you bleeding on this damn floor."

  William shrugs with an easy smile. "Sorry 'bout that, did we wake ya from a sweet dream, Gaoler? Must be nice, sleepin’ all snug while we rot down here."

  The gaoler’s eyes darken, his expression twisting with fury. "Watch yer tongue, filth, or I’ll rip it out and feed it to the rats."

  I remain silent, but the thought lingers. I could provoke him. Make him come closer. When he steps inside the cell, I could knock him out, take his keys and slip away into the night. It would be risky, he's got a weapon... but I'm bigger. And it'd be better than sitting here, waiting for whatever unjust ruling that awaits me.

  It'd be a shame to leave town before getting what I came for, but I'm hardly going to die for it. I can reach Zaenith another way.

  I smirk, stepping forward just enough to catch the gaoler’s eye. "Fuck you're ugly. Did your mother breed with a horse? Or did one just step on your face as a child?"

  His face twists in rage, his grip tightening on the weapon. "What did you say you little shite? I'll break your jaw and feed you your own teeth!"

  I take a step back, keeping just out of reach. "Try it whoreson, I'm not afraid. Are you?"

  His boots shift, and for a second, I think he might take the bait. But then he pauses, looking me over.

  "Nah," he says, flashing a yellow-toothed grin. "I got time. You’ll be starvin’ and sick soon enough. Let’s see how smart that mouth of yours is when you're too weak to lift your head." He turns, stomping back up the stairs.

  I sneer after him. "Go on then, run away you cockless dog! A coward like you isn't worth my time anyway!!"

  He doesn’t turn, or even glance back. He just slams the dungeon door behind him, irritatingly silent.

  I sigh in disappointment and William snickers. "You've got guts, I'll give ya that. Not the smartest thing to do though."

  I shrug, slumping against the iron bars. "I was hoping he'd be dumb enough to step inside."

  William nods. "Aye, Hamza thought the same." He gestures toward the muscular man sleeping in the corner of the cell. "Would've been easy work. But the bastard’s shrewder than he looks."

  I sigh again, sliding down to the floor, resting against the wall. "Too bad."

  William yawns and huddles up against the stone wall. "Anyway. Good chatting with ya Seven, but I gotta admit, I am tired. I'll see ya in the morning."

  I nod and do the same, pulling my cloak and curling in on myself to preserve what little warmth I have. Night in this place will be long, and I doubt rest will come easily.

  Especially knowing that the hangman's noose is probably in my near future.

  “No, Seven, you're not a monster. Even without it, you're as human as I am.”

  Rose’s soft hand rests on my head, she ruffles my hair with a gentle smile. I scowl, brushing her off, irritated... desperate. "You don’t understand, I need it. I’m empty without it! I have to have it back!"

  Her expression softens with sympathy, but there’s something else too. Worry. Fear.

  "And when I reclaim it, I need you to put it back," I demand, looking deep into her eyes.

  She hesitates. "That might be… beyond my skills. Zaenith… her research goes far beyond what I study. The knowledge required… you’d have to learn it from her yourself."

  My stomach sinks. The last thing I want.

  Rose sighs, then smiles, warmth returning to her eyes. "Don’t worry about all this, Seven. Whatever you have inside you... you're still my boy.”

  So Rose says, but I’m not convinced. I’m still missing something. And unless I get it back... I don't know what will happen to me. I already feel different from normal people.

  “Stay here Seven, take over my apothecary. Find a wife, build a life worth living." She smiles, before pinching my cheek angrily. "And by Lumina's grace, stop looting. You can't take things from people just because they're dead!"

  I scoff, "It's not like they need it. If they're dead."

  Rose frowns at me, annoyed, but I can’t stop a small smile from spreading across my face. I stand, a grown man once more, looking down on the woman who raised me.

  "I miss you, Rose."

  Her voice is softer now, her eyes paler, though she smiles. "See? Not so empty after all...."

  The warmth fades. The world shifts. And the dream comes to an end.

  I stir, the sensation of hay and cold stone beneath my face grounding me back in reality. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a dream that wasn’t plagued with demons or war of some kind. It's a nice change.

  "Guh-" A sharp pain in my ribs snaps me wide awake, pulling me from my thoughts.

  "Brigand." The muscular man in my cell looms over me, cracking his knuckles. "I HATE brigands." His large hand grabs my tattered tunic and lifts me to my feet. His other, curls into a fist and comes rushing towards my face.

  "Fuck!"