Asterion rose slowly from his chair, the polished leather creaking beneath him. His expression radiated warmth—almost grandfatherly—as he offered the two prisoners a slow, deliberate nod of acknowledgment. Then, with a measured grace, he reached for the ceremonial bicorne resting on his left shoulder and placed it atop his head, completing the formal silhouette of the High Inquisitor once more. At his subtle signal, the guards moved into action. The prisoners were taken from the chamber one at a time—no words spoken, only the clink of shackles and the soft shuffle of boots against cold stone. They disappeared into the dim corridors, their figures swallowed by shadow as the heavy doors of their cells thudded shut behind them.
The two inquisitors gathered their documents and offered short bows before departing in silence, their footfalls fading as they ascended with the accompanying guards. Soon, the dungeon settled into stillness once again, its torches flickering softly against damp walls. Only four figures remained by the cells now: Marshal Arcadia, standing rigid and watchful; Ganya, his stance uncertain yet alert; Evdok, hands clasped behind his back with the air of a man calculating his next move—and Asterion, who lingered at the desk, now seeming more relaxed, but no less in command.
Asterion turned toward Evdok with a sharp, approving grin and clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. Then, he looked to Ganya and offered a broad, almost jovial smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach the eyes. «Well done, carabiniers. I assume you’re part of the original unit responsible for bringing down the foreign vessel?»
«Yes, sir!» Evdok replied at once, voice ringing with crisp discipline, spine straightening as though steeled by pride.
«My congratulations!» Asterion exclaimed, radiating theatrical delight. «And your names?»
«Senior Agent Evdok Omorion, sir! And my partner, Cadet-in-training Ganya Stonia! We serve in the Fifth Carabinier Unit, under Corporal Major Zahrron Qelan!»
Asterion turned slightly, glancing toward Arcadia with a gleam of amusement in his eye. «Did you hear that, Marshal? These men are deserving of praise—the heroes of Beldore!» he proclaimed with a flourish, like an actor delivering the final line of a rousing scene. Arcadia, ever the granite pillar of protocol, gave a slow, silent nod—his face unreadable, but his approval begrudgingly granted.
Asterion clapped his hands with performative flair. «My dear boys, we thank you for your service. I imagine you’re eager to return home, yes? How long have you been on duty now?»
«Since nine this morning, sir,» Evdok replied.
«Such dutiful protectors of the realm!» Asterion exclaimed, his voice rich with performative praise. «Marshal, don’t you think it’s time to relieve these men of duty? Let them rest—heroes need their sleep, after all.»
Arcadia gave a single nod and moved to ascend the worn stone steps that led out of the dungeons. But just as his boot met the first riser, a voice rang out.
«Permission to object, sir!» Evdok called, his tone calm but resolute.
The marshal paused, brow furrowing as he turned back. Asterion tilted his head, expression sharpening with interest. The affability slipped, ever so slightly, from his face—replaced by a curious shadow.
«We’d like to stay on guard duty,» Evdok continued, his voice steady.
Ganya’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide in disbelief. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came. Was Dokko really volunteering them to stay in this grim place? Speaking on his behalf? Evdok glanced sideways at his partner, his expression unreadable save for a faint gleam in his eyes—one that seemed to whisper, “trust me”.
«And why is that, Senior Agent?» Asterion asked, his tone dipping into a lower register.
Evdok stood straighter, hands at his sides, eyes steady. «We’ve grown accustomed to the prisoners, sir. I speak Prestorean, and I’ve managed to communicate with them. I believe I’ve earned a measure of their trust.»
Marshal Arcadia took a sharp step forward, his boots echoing against the stone floor. His eyes narrowed beneath his cap. «What did you say, Senior Agent? You spoke with the detainees?!» His voice was a low growl, thick with reprimand.
Then Asterion’s voice sliced through the tension—measured, frigid, and utterly stilling. «Marshal, calm yourself.» It was not a request. His gaze pinned Arcadia where he stood, and his face, once so animated, had become a mask of focus. He then lingered on Evdok for a moment longer, his gaze unwavering.
Then, with a sudden shift, he straightened his back and let out a breath that almost resembled a chuckle. «I like how you think, Senior Agent.» The High Inquisitor's smile bloomed once more, all warmth and charm, as though the chill from moments before had never existed. «We’ll discuss this further tomorrow. Gather as much information as you can. Good evening.»
With a swirl of his coat and the crisp click of polished boots, Asterion turned and ascended the stairs, his silhouette vanishing into shadow. Marshal Arcadia followed, tension clinging to his shoulders, his displeasure radiating like heat in the cold subterranean air.
As the echo of their departure faded, silence reclaimed the dungeon—until Ganya could no longer hold it in. «What the hell, Dokko?!» he snapped, voice ricocheting off the damp, stone walls.*
Evdok merely gave a dismissive sigh, the beginnings of a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth—wry, conspiratorial. But before he could speak, both men froze. Footsteps. A figure emerged—a young woman, perhaps a secretary or aide, her uniform crisp, her demeanor unreadable. In her hands, she carried a single glass of water. Without a word, she handed it to Ganya, her voice barely above a whisper. «For the elf,» she murmured, before turning and vanishing with the same quiet efficiency with which she’d arrived. Ganya shot a withering look at Evdok.
Evdok shrugged, grinning now in full. «Come on, Ganya. Hanlike’s thirsty.»
With a heavy sigh of defeat, Ganya took the glass and stalked off toward the cells, muttering under his breath.
Evdok, meanwhile, leaned against the wall near Max’s cell, casually folding his arms. His smile lingered as he peered through the bars. «So… how’s it going?»
