“They’ve been spotted,” the soldier continued. “We have to tell the Baron.”

  Stick frowned, straining to hear more, but the conversation ended as Nakamura nodded and turned down a side hallway.

  “What’s wrong?” PP asked, his voice low.

  Stick didn’t answer. He was already moving, his feet carrying him after Nakamura.

  “Stick,” PP hissed, following reluctantly.

  Stick pressed on, weaving through the winding hallways of the headquarters. The path grew quieter and darker as they went, the scent of wood giving way to something colder. Finally, they emerged into a section of the castle that was unlike anything they had seen before. Gold trim lined the walls, and the floor beneath them was marble, polished to a mirror-like shine. Opulent furniture filled the space—velvet cushions, carved wood, and gilded frames.

  PP grabbed Stick’s arm. “We need to go back. If we get caught—”

  “I need to know about the twins,” Stick said, brushing him off.

  At the end of the hall stood a set of double doors, their surface adorned with intricate carvings and strange, unreadable letters.

  Ρεστριψτεδ αρεα. Νο τρεσπασσινγ βευονδ τηισ ποιντ. Δεαδλυ φορψε ισ αθτηοριζεδ ανδ στιρψτλυ ενφορψεδ.

  Stick pushed them open without hesitation. The room beyond was breathtaking. This was no ordinary chamber—it was the royal chambers. Unlike the rest of the headquarters, this space radiated a sense of history and majesty. Gold and crimson dominated the room, and at the far end, a massive window overlooked the distant coast. The highlands framed the view, but beyond them, Stick could see the ocean glittering in the sunlight, dotted with the silhouettes of countless ships. Before Stick could take it all in, a sharp voice rang out behind him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Stick spun around to find himself face-to-face with Nakamura.

  “This area is strictly forbidden!” Nakamura hissed. “We have to leave now before—”

  “Intruders!” another voice boomed.

  Stick’s blood ran cold as a figure stepped into view. It was the High Council member Claudius dressed in his jester uniform, the bells at the tips of his hat jingling softly as he pointed a finger at Stick. Behind him, another figure emerged—clad in golden armor, red cape billowing behind. The crown atop the head glittered with jewels, and a commanding presence filled the room like a thunderstorm.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Get the king to safety!” Claudius shouted.

  King?

  Stick wanted to inspect the man, but before he could read anything in the gray box, two massive guards appeared, their armor darker and more imposing than anything he had seen before. They moved with terrifying speed, binding Stick, PP, and even Nakamura in chains.

  “What—wait!” Nakamura protested, but a gag silenced him as a hood was forced over his head.

  Stick tried to struggle, but the guards were too strong. The last thing he saw before the hood descended was the distant fleet, its ships stretching across the horizon like a promise of something far greater—and far more dangerous—than he had ever imagined. Then, darkness descended over him.

  —

  Stick stumbled as he was shoved forward, the iron grip of his captors making escape—or even resistance—a distant fantasy. The air was damp and heavy, the faint scent of mildew thickening with each step they descended into the stone passage. His hood left him blind, but the creak of cell doors and the faint echo of their footsteps told him enough: they were heading deep into the dungeon, bypassing the bustling headquarters entirely. This is bad.

  When they finally stopped, he felt himself shoved, a sharp ache flaring in his knees as they struck cold stone. His lungs burned as he hit the damp stone floor. The taste of iron and dust lingered in his mouth. The clang of the heavy door shutting behind him echoed through the chamber like the toll of a bell, final and unrelenting. Silence followed, broken only by his own laboured breathing. Moments later, the hood was yanked from his head and Stick squinted against the dim light. The world came into focus—or what little of it there was. The cell was small, impossibly cramped, its walls slick with moisture. A thin slit high above let in a sliver of sunlight, illuminating just enough to confirm his worst fears. To his side, PP was bound and gagged, his expression unreadable. A massive iron door, layered and reinforced, loomed over the hall, and Stick recognised it immediately. It was the same door he’d seen on his first day—the one meant to hold the worst of Carnifex’s criminals away from the rest. Only this time, he found himself on the other side.

  “What’s going on?”

  The guards didn’t answer. Their armour gleamed faintly in the muted light, unlike anything Stick had ever seen. It was darker than the silver armour of the common guards and far more intimidating, the designs etched into the metal twisting and curling like veins. Their helmets completely obscured their faces, giving them an inhuman, almost mechanical quality.

  “Answer me!” Stick’s voice was hoarse, desperate.

  “Shut up,” one of the guards snapped.

  “Where’s Nakamura?” Stick’s eyes darted around the room, scanning for the boy with the blue hair.

  On the ground, scattered around the dungeon, he noticed gaping holes lined with iron bars. Most were open, their darkness yawning like mouths eager to swallow him whole. But one hole had its gate shut, its padlock and chain gleaming ominously. His stomach turned.

  “What is this?” Stick asked, panic rising in his chest.

  The guards ignored him, roughly shoving him toward the hole.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m a free Carnifex citizen!”

  “Get in there,” one barked.

  “This is ridiculous!” Stick shouted, his frustration boiling over. “I didn’t attack the king!”

  “Shut up,” the guard repeated. “You weren’t supposed to be in there!”

  He resisted briefly, but the sight of their weapons silenced him. Long blades with glowing etchings, unlike any he’d ever encountered, hummed faintly in the stale air. PP, seeing the weapons, jumped first, landing awkwardly in the hole, his bound hands making it impossible to brace his fall. Stick hesitated for a moment before he was forced to follow, landing beside him in the too-small space. The moment he hit the ground, the iron gate above clanged shut, and the guards locked it with another heavy chain. Stick stared up, his chest heaving, as the guards turned and left the cell without a word. The heavy door slammed shut, and the dungeon fell silent.

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