Sitting in a loose circle, the group looked who almost like a makeshift military unit.
Their eyes, though dulled from hardship, held something faint but growing hope.
Azael watched them for a moment, a chuckle slipping from his lips at how serious they all looked. It was the first time such an expression had appeared on them.
"Now," Azael began, his tone calm but firm, "tell me everything you know. One by one. Let's start with you, Tarek, and Milo."
Both men nodded silently, then Tarek took the lead.
"It was two days before we met you," he began, voice low, "we were ambushed. A group with Mystic powers overwhelmed us and dragged us along."
"Dragged us through some sort of magical door," Milo added. "I think it was a portal. I don't know, it was like—one step through and we were here. We had no sense of time or distance."
"After that," Tarek continued, "we ended up in this prison. That's when we met Emma. Heard her story from another prisoner. And then… well, you know the rest."
Azael hummed thoughtfully, his fingers lightly tapping his knee.
"A transportation portal, huh…" he muttered. That explained a lot. It also meant there were probably still others being brought in the same way. And more importantly, if one portal existed, there might be more. It would be the safest path out, as well. Stealthy, quick, and near impossible to trace.
Turning his gaze, Azael nodded toward the next pair. "What about you, Nill and Wood?"
Nill's jaw clenched slightly, but he began without hesitation. "My mom and dad were killed by them. I still don't know why. Then they took me. I've been working here for about a year now. I know quite a bit about the place."
"And I've been here for a while, too," Wood chimed in. "One day, I found this little guy just sitting alone, looking like he had nothing left. Figured I'd keep him around. He's like my little brother now."
Azael smiled faintly at that, then sat forward slightly.
"Alright, tell me the layout of this place. The four main paths—everything you know."
Wood nodded and began to explain. "The first path leads to the prison block. Hundreds of cells. That's where we're kept. Luckily, we're in the outer sections, not the deep end where security's tight."
"The second path," he continued, "leads to the common zone. Food storage, guards' quarters, laundry, all the basic stuff. It's always busy there. I've counted over a thousand guards in this prison. It's massive."
"The third path leads to the crystal mines," he said, lowering his voice. "I haven't been there much. Just know that's where the raw crystals are collected and stored."
He paused and gestured toward Emma.
"And the fourth?" Azael asked, already guessing.
"She'd know best."
Emma nodded softly, then spoke, her voice clearer than before. "The fourth path leads to the control center. The supervisor's base. He's the only one who stays there. No guards, just him."
"No guards?" Azael raised an eyebrow. "That's rare. Has he ever left the place suddenly? Or acted strangely?"
Emma's gaze dropped slightly. "He disappears sometimes. After… after he's done with me." Her voice faltered, but she pushed forward. "And once, I saw him talking to someone through a glowing orb on his desk."
Azael absorbed every word, processing the puzzle piece by piece. After a brief pause, he spoke again, tone sharp and conclusive.
"So let me get this straight. There's no normal way to escape this place. That makes sense—this has to be underground. Illegal. Hidden from the Empire."
He looked at them, his grey eyes clear and calculating.
"The only way in or out is through the transportation portals. Artifacts."
Everyone nodded.
"And there are likely three," Azael continued. "One used to bring prisoners in. Another way to export the crystals. And one personally for the supervisor."
Again, they nodded, this time a little more impressed, the weight of his deduction sinking in.
His voice lowered but remained confident, despite his youth. "To escape, we need to reach one of those portals."
"The crystal export route is impossible since it is heavily guarded. Probably the most guarded path in this place."
His gaze hardened.
"That leaves us with the other two. Risky, but possible."
Azael leaned back slightly, his mind already crafting the first threads of a plan.
And in that moment, something changed in the room. They weren't just prisoners anymore.
They were co-conspirators.
They were a team.
"So, does anyone here have any suggestions?" Azael asked, his voice breaking the silence, cutting through the thick tension hanging in the air.
But no one answered.
Their gazes fell to the cracked stone floor, minds running in frantic loops. The silence wasn't just hesitation—it was the fear of reality sinking in. The guards' wing was too crowded, swarming with awakened mystics who could crush them without effort. And the supervisor—he was in another realm altogether. A powerful mystic, no doubt, capable of sensing even the smallest hint of energy disturbance. To sneak past him would be inviting death.
Think, Azael… think, he scolded himself, fingers tightening into fists.
His dark element wasn't strong enough to mask his presence from high-tier mystics. Maybe from unawakened guards, yes, but not the ones with real power. And this prison, unfortunately, had too many of those.
The situation was like a sealed box with no key.
Yet, there was a way—one path Azael had seen. A desperate one. A path that could let everyone else escape.
Except one.
That path demanded a sacrifice.
Azael had thought of it, but he wasn't ready. He wasn't willing to let someone give up their life, not for him, not for this plan.
But then he saw their faces. Each of them wore the same expression. Haunted, yet resolved. Like they all had reached the same conclusion.
Before Azael could stop the thought, a soft voice pierced the silence.
"I'll do it."
Everyone turned.
Emma.
Azael blinked, caught off guard. "Huh…?"
"I'll distract the supervisor with my body," she said, her voice steady, even calm. "That way, you'll be able to escape this place."
The words hit like a stone in the chest.
"But… that would mean—" Azael started.
"Yeah," Emma interrupted. "I know. It means my life will be in danger. Maybe even… I'll die by his hands." Her voice wavered for the first time, but her eyes didn't. "Still… I want to do it."
Azael opened his mouth, but no sound came. His throat closed up, strangled by the weight of what she was offering. The girl who had been used, abused, and broken was now standing as the shield for their freedom.
She smiled gently, her bruised lips parting softly. "Just keep your promise, Azael. That's all I ask."
He looked at her, eyes deep with emotion. Then he nodded.
"I will."
Emma's smile widened and, for the first time since they'd met, a laugh slipped past her lips. It was faint, fragile, but full of something warm. "Then this is our plan."
In that moment, the heavy air lightened. Just a bit. As if the darkness had made space for a single, flickering flame.
Azael sat back, heart still tight, when Tarek's voice cut in playfully. "Oh, by the way, Azael. Earlier, when you used the arcane—how the hell did you do that? I saw you touch the crystal today, and it didn't react at all. So… how are you awakened?"
All eyes turned to him again, curiosity replacing the gloom.
Azael raised a brow and gave a smug, mischievous smile. "Not telling."
Tarek groaned. "Come on, man! That's so unfair!"
Azael chuckled, the sound catching everyone off guard, even himself. It had been days… no, weeks—maybe more—since he'd laughed like that. The sound felt foreign, but comforting.
They laughed with him. Even Emma.
It was strange. They had barely known each other for a few days, and yet the bond between them felt real. Genuine. For the first time in this wretched place, Azael didn't feel like just a reincarnated soul trying to survive.
He felt like… a friend.
A leader? Probably.
A brother in arms.
They sat together for a while longer, huddled in the darkness, warmth blooming in a space where none should exist.
What none of them knew then, not even Azael, was how fragile that warmth would be—how easily the future could tear it apart.
But for now… they simply laughed.