Nias feet dragged on the floor, her body led by her shoulders and limp necked head, now painted with her own dark red blood.

Her eyes fluttered as her consciousness went in and out, and the thoughts available to her darted, incohesive small glimpses of the dim tunnel.

Tatters. My clothes.

GrayStone. The tunnel.

Faces. Watching me.

Wooden. Jail bars.

Hands. Gripping tight.

She dug her toes lamely into the graystone, an imperceptible sign of resistance to the men who pushed her onwards. There seemed to be only 3 lanterns in the barren tunnel, one at each far side, And one halfway in between them. But nia couldn’t trust her eyes now, not with blood dripping low past her brows. One cogent thought managed to form itself, Where are my friends, as she relaxed painfully into sleep.

She forced her eyes open, wondering what time it was, trying to recollect the day, and the terrifying night that led her to now. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours that she was out, right? She turned her neck slightly, and was immediately punished. The movement was enough to confirm that she was confined behind the wood and stone jail she had glimpsed as she had been dragged — yes, dragged, those bastards — to her own cage.

“Hey!” A Kurt summoning from the side, a voice a bit too lively for the dank prison. The single word was successful in pinning her consciousness to the real world, but failed to give her the strength to respond or face the direction of the speaker. He continued anyway. “My Name is Coul. Who do I have the pleasure of being imprisoned across from, may I ask?” He was very close to her, she discerned.

She found the last reservoir of energy, she dare not call it strength, not wanting to be impolite. “Nia.”

“Nia, I have endless questions, but I hesitate to bombard you when you’ve so clearly been through enough already today. Don’t feel the need to respond, please. I’m certain we will have plenty of time to acquaint ourselves.” The words flowed smoothly — and in such great numbers — that they were overwhelming, but only a bit. Coul seemed to intentionally take long pauses in between the long string of sentences, as if to give her time to process — which her pounding head happily indulged. “Before you pass out again, you should know that you are in the Gold Kings private prison just outside the castle grounds proper. They will bring you enough food and water to survive, for better or worse, and your trial will pass before the Gold King himself in just under a week’s time, also for better or worse.” A thoughtful pause lingered before he proceeded without a response from Nia. She dared not say anything, careful to preserve her mind. “Even from here, I can see you’ve got an open wound on your forehead that’s mostly stopped bleeding, but nonetheless, you are covered in what I’m assuming is your own blood. They may bring you something to prevent infection, and you should be fine soon enough.” He didn’t pause to add, “I don’t know what you’ve done, but I’m getting clues that it’s worse than almost any man in here, to be that beaten.” Coul realized his last musing may have been inappropriate, and added, almost tenderly, “Sleep, Nia. There’s plenty of time for that, at least.”

The foreboding comment lingered as her consciousness drifted away, her body finally demanding the rest even her in borne politeness couldn’t stymie.

She awoke again, her body stiff, unmoved. She remembered the man, her fellow prisoner, and turned. He was already watching her, which was more creepy than comforting, even as he gave her a gentle smile to welcome her back to the prison.

“Good morning. You can’t tell it, but the sun will have just poked her face up. You’re right on time, as I suspected you might be. I hope you’ve rested well enough. The guard, who I’ve named Tymothie — you two will become fast friends, I’m certain — dropped water and bread to your right. Only the best at the Kings Prison Inn.” The mockery was a bit much for Nia first thing, especially with the headache, but she was glad to know she has food aside her, and even appreciative of the man’s contrasting humor to the situation.

The prior day finally came flooding back to her as she ate eagerly, and she told Coul about it, aware, as well, that the other prisoners were either just beginning to stir or steadfastly asleep. She told him about the farms outside the kings walls, the labor she had been forced into, convincing the other slaves to stop working. Coul was respectfully quiet, only interjecting a nod, an affirming or thoughtful grunt to encourage her story further, or the smallest of questions for details she missed.

She told him everything. His open conversating made it easy to speak, and Nia herself still needed to process, to affirm to her own mind that some sort of sensical events led her here, even if those events were terrifying to recount. She even found herself bragging at points, recalling the ways she took leadership amongst the enslaved, and encouraged them to stand up for themselves. She couldn’t help but wonder where they all might be now, however. Maybe Jaong is in a cell here, as well. Sadness came over her, as she could only imagine the terrible things they might be experiencing because of her. She pushed those thoughts away, knowing they would see each other again, hopefully soon.