The food hall of the Level C underground prison was no better than a garbage dump. The ceiling lights flickered like they were gasping for their final breath, casting a weak yellow hue over steel trays and gray concrete walls. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, rust, and something rotten Aryan didn't want to identify. Prisoners murmured, fought, or simply stared blankly into their food—most of which resembled animal slop more than a proper meal. Aryan sat in silence, poking at the cold lumps on his tray with a dented fork.
Across from him, Kale sat like a shadow given flesh. Back straight. Eyes down. Not touching his food. Aryan had been watching him for days. There was something different about Kale. The way he moved, the way others avoided eye contact with him—not out of respect, but fear. A silence followed him like a second skin.
"You're not like the others," Aryan said quietly.
Kale didn't look up. "And you're too noisy."
Aryan smirked. "Yeah, I get that a lot. But I mean it. You're not one of them. The ones who just gave up."
Kale finally raised his eyes. They were sharp, cold—eyes that had seen more than they should have. "Why do you care?"
"Because I need someone who hasn't given up. Someone who still wants out."
For a second, Kale stared at Aryan, then scoffed and turned back to his tray. "You think I'm stupid enough to trust someone like you?"
"I think you're smart enough to realize I'm your best shot."
Kale didn't reply. Aryan leaned back, letting the silence hang for a moment. This wasn't going to be easy. But he had time. And more importantly, he had patience.
That night, back in his cell, Aryan sat on the edge of his stone-hard bed, fingers curled into fists. He shut his eyes. Breathe. Focus.
He could still remember the moment he had killed the Ice Pluse user in the forest. The way the power had surged into him like freezing fire. And now? Nothing. The artifact that hung above the prison like an invisible ceiling sucked the energy from every Pluse in the underground jail. He couldn't even feel a spark.
But something had changed earlier that day. When he confronted Kale, a faint pulse had stirred inside him. Barely there, but it existed. That meant suppression, not erasure.
He opened his hand, willing something—anything—to form. Cold air kissed his fingertips. A shimmer of frost. A whisper of the Ice Pluse.
He smiled.
The next morning, Aryan sat next to Kale again.
This time, Kale didn't move.
"You say you don't care, but you haven't moved tables," Aryan said, grinning.
"Maybe I just hate walking," Kale replied dryly.
"Or maybe you want out of here as badly as I do."
Kale remained silent, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.
"I saw the way you held that broom yesterday. Like a sword. I trained in martial arts for years. I can spot someone who knows how to kill."
Kale's jaw tensed.
Aryan leaned in. "Who are you, really?"
A long silence passed.
Finally, Kale spoke.
"I was part of a clan once. Sword Clan. We weren't powerful, but we had a legacy. A sword—an ancient one. It was passed down for generations. Protected like a treasure."
Aryan nodded, careful not to interrupt.
"One of our own betrayed us. Tron. He tried to steal the sword and was banished. A year later, he returned... with an army. Two hundred men. The night of our clan's sacred celebration. He blocked the exits, cut off communication with the World Government, and massacred everyone."
Aryan sat still, stunned.
"My father died protecting me. Told me to run. I did. But I came back. Took the sword. Killed them all. Every last one. The blood of my people still stains that temple floor. And Tron... he founded Blade."
Aryan exhaled slowly. "That's why you're here."
Kale nodded. "I saw Blade members in a village. I attacked. Tried to kill them. The soldiers thought I was a maniac. Arrested me. Blade ran away."
Aryan clenched his fists. "That's not justice. That's a system built to protect monsters."
Kale looked at Aryan, surprised.
"So," Aryan said. "Still think I'm just noise?"
Kale smiled. For the first time.
They met again the next night, this time in the laundry section where prisoner uniforms were cleaned and sorted. Less guards. More shadows.
"There's a rhythm to the artifact's pulse," Aryan said. "I noticed it yesterday. Every few hours, there's a tiny drop in energy. Maybe five seconds long. Enough to slip through, maybe."
"It controls every cell lock, energy barrier, even the water supply," Kale replied. "But you're right. It flickers. I noticed it too."
"We need someone who can get us to the core," Aryan said. "Someone in the black market inside."
Kale tilted his head. "Vix."
"Who's Vix?"
"Level C forger. Smuggler. He's got half the guards in his pocket."
The next day, Aryan approached Vix.
"You looking for drugs or suicide?" Vix asked, grinning.
"An escape."
Vix raised a brow. "Ballsy. You got coin? No? Then let's make it fun. Beat me in a fight. I'll help."
Aryan cracked his knuckles. "Deal."
The fight was brutal. Vix was faster than expected, and slippery. Aryan took hits. Blood. Bruises. But his training—and a spark of Ice Pluse—helped him win. He used a frost slip to trip Vix into a steel bar.
When it was over, Vix laughed through broken teeth. "Fine! You're crazier than me. I'm in."
That night, Aryan and Kale met with Vix near the generator vents.
"Rod's gone," Vix whispered. "Summoned by the captain for a strategic report. You won't get another window like this."
Aryan's eyes gleamed.
"Let's break this place."
They moved in shadows. Kale took down guards with precise movements. Vix used forged keys and rerouted surveillance. Aryan stayed close to the walls, watching for energy flickers.
Finally, they reached the core chamber. A glowing orb of crystal, humming with suppressed energy.
"Time this right," Vix whispered. "One surge and it's fried."
Aryan placed his hand on the artifact. Ice spread from his palm. Vix triggered the surge.
BOOM.
The artifact exploded in sparks. Alarms rang.
In every cell, prisoners felt it.
Pluses. Returned.
Aryan turned, his body glowing faint blue.
Kale held his fists up, veins pulsing with power.
"Let's go to war," Aryan said.
That night, the underground prison fell into chaos. Steel gates frozen. Guards overwhelmed. Lights failing. Prisoners surging out of their cells like a tidal wave.
Aryan and Kale led the way through broken corridors and sewer tunnels.
Above ground, the moonlight greeted them like a long-lost friend.
They were free.
But not safe.
Not yet.
"Tron won't let this go," Kale said, staring into the night.
"Then we won't give him the chance," Aryan replied.
They walked into the darkness.
Together.