Chapter 5: The warning and a Caged mind

Nyx froze. The sound of the floorboard—loud, jarring—signaled immediate risk. She reacted instinctively, moving quietly across the stone floor and positioning herself behind a marble statue just as the solar door opened.

“Who’s there?” the Queen’s guard demanded, already reaching for his sword.

She remained motionless, pressed into the cold stone, listening as the guard stepped into the hall and then dismissed the disturbance. “Probably a rat. This old wing’s full of them.”

Nyx waited for his departure. Only once the door closed behind him did she move, her heart racing. The urgency was clear: she needed to reach the prince.

Instead, she encountered additional security. “The royal family is in closed council,” a guard stated, expression stern. “Guests are to return to the main reception or leave.”

The path to the prince was effectively blocked. The king, albeit unknowingly, had isolated his own son at a critical juncture.

Her return journey to the dragon fortress blurred together—a mix of anxiety and urgency. The Queen’s plan replayed in her mind, each iteration reinforcing the immediate threat. The prince was in direct danger, and Nyx, confined to a carriage, felt powerless to intervene.

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Upon arrival at the fortress, she was met by Draco and Ignis. Their demeanor was predictably antagonistic. Draco, with his habitual sarcasm, remarked, “Look what the humans threw back. Enjoy yourself at the prince’s court? Pick up any new tricks?” He punctuated the comment with a failed magical display.

Ignis approached, intent on intimidation. “What did you really discuss? Ask for help? Complain about us? You embarrassed the family just by being there.”

Her focus shifted from fear to determination. Time was critical.

She responded, tone neutral: “We discussed the superior quality of palace pastries compared to the meals here.” She attempted to move past.

Draco blocked her, gripping her forearm. “We want the truth.”

The contact triggered a reaction. Channeling her anxiety and frustration, she directed her power into a single action: Burn.

This wasn’t traditional fire—just a sudden surge of heat. Draco recoiled instantly, pain evident. “What did you do?” he demanded, visibly unsettled. “You… freak.”

Ignis was momentarily shocked. Nyx seized the opportunity, pushing past and making her way to her chambers, securing the door behind her.

She retrieved parchment and charcoal, hands unsteady. After composing herself, she wrote:

Ember,

The Silverwood is a trap. The hunt is not for game. Do not go. Trust no one. – Sunrose.

Details were intentionally sparse, minimizing risk if the message was intercepted. She folded the note, concealing it in her hand.

Exiting the fortress required initiative. The main gates were monitored, but Nyx utilized her knowledge of the building’s structure—a hidden passage from the kitchen pantry led to the outskirts.

The town was already growing dark. The Quill and Orb, as expected, was understated. Nyx entered, approached the counter, and discreetly delivered her note to the shopkeeper, whose reaction indicated understanding of the situation’s gravity.

He placed his hand firmly over the note, nodding once with measured deliberation before returning to his work. The message had been relayed—objective achieved.

A surge of relief swept through her, though she managed to maintain composure. The task was complete. She exited into the alleyway, the burden she carried now marginally lighter. Opting for an alternate route, she chose a narrower, more neglected path—unpleasant, with the distinct odor of decay and waste.

That’s when she noticed it.

A sizeable iron cage, rusted and pushed up against a damp brick wall, nearly concealed by piles of dirty rags. Inside, a boy—emaciated, hair matted, but with a gaze that was unexpectedly alert and analytical, despite his condition. He was visibly shivering in the cold.

Their eyes met, briefly. His look was not one of supplication, but of calculation, as though he were evaluating her intentions and potential influence.

In that instant, Nyx experienced a profound mental shift.

A vivid recollection surfaced: a formal gathering of mages, a young man—no older than twenty-one—being officially recognized as the youngest Master of the 7th Magic Tower in centuries. His innovative theories on elemental fusion had initially been dismissed as extreme by senior members, only later to be acknowledged as groundbreaking. She remembered his confident expression, featured on the cover of widely circulated magical treatises.

It was unmistakably him. The boy in the cage. A future innovator, currently reduced to an asset.

Before she could process the implications, a large man, dressed in a stained apron, exited a nearby tavern, audibly jingling a coin pouch.

“Oi! Don’t stare at the merchandise, girl!” he barked, his breath visible in the cold. “He’s not for display—he’s an investment. Bought his contract from debtor’s prison. Bargain, considering the way he talks. Now move along unless you intend to conduct business.”

Nyx retreated, the impact of his words clear. The prince’s situation remained urgent, but she had now uncovered a talent with the potential to shift the balance of power—currently caged and commodified.

The situation was not merely dysfunctional; it was a distortion of justice and order. Nyx’s priorities shifted, expanding beyond personal objectives. She resolved not only to reclaim her rights, but to challenge and overhaul the systemic issues that allowed such circumstances to persist.

...********To be continued********...

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