Darkness and coldness surrounded me. Metallic sounds grew louder, echoing like distant hammering. A sharp, throbbing headache pulsed in my skull, each wave of pain intensifying until it became unbearable. The agony forced me to wake up.

"Ugh... Where the hell am I?" I opened my eyes slowly, but a blinding light made me wince. The metallic clanging grew louder, pushing me to open my eyes fully, almost in shock.

"What? What's going on?" My gaze darted around frantically. My chest tightened as if the adrenaline from the previous fight still coursed through my veins. I tried to stand, but my body ached all over.

"Good morning, princess." The voice sounded familiar, and as I turned to look, I saw him—the member of the State Guard I saw earlier.

He was tall, standing at approximately 1.80 meters. His hair was as dark as the night, neatly combed, and he carried himself with a firm and authoritative posture. His light brown eyes gave him a calm yet intimidating gaze. He wore the standard green-and-black uniform of the State Guard, adorned with several decorations that hinted at a rank higher than most.

In his right hand, he held what looked like a police baton, tapping it rhythmically against the metal bars in front of me. It was then that I realized—I was in a cell.

"You've been out for quite a while. Honestly, I thought you were dead," the soldier said with a chuckle, setting the baton aside and leaning casually against the bars.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice laced with confusion and unease.

"Ah, right. My apologies. I suppose I should introduce myself before anything else. How careless of me," he said, offering a slight bow that hinted at professionalism.

"My name is Leo Di Cassano, Lieutenant of the Internal Affairs Division of the State Guard. Based in Alessandria, of course. Oh right, also, Welcome to the penitentiary! Get comfortable—you might be here for a while."

"Lieutenant... Of the..." I stared at him for a few seconds, dumbfounded. The uniform he wore stirred memories—memories of the man I had killed, memories of the Dastens, of their house burning at the hands of the State Guard.

The words echoed in my mind as I scanned my surroundings. The penitentiary was nothing like I had imagined. The walls were old and cracked. Dim lights powered by Amerite crystals cast a pale, greenish glow, barely illuminating the long, narrow hallway lined with cells. Iron bars, thick and corroded, separated the prisoners from the outside world.

"I admit this must be a shock for you, but relax, you're not in trouble."

"Not in trouble?" My eyes dropped to my hands, which I could barely move. To my surprise, they were carefully bandaged, and I could feel the weight of more bandages wrapped around my forehead. It was clear someone had taken care of me.

"Thanks... Although I have to say, having these things on doesn't exactly make me feel like I'm not in trouble." I raised my hands, showing him the shackles that kept them immobilized.

"Yeah, well, it's just a security measure."

"A security measure? I'm locked in a cell without weapons... What exactly are you protecting yourself from?" I said, narrowing my eyes.

The lieutenant smirked, tapping the metal bars lightly with his hand. "Don't blame me; it's protocol. Everyone who ends up here gets shackled. That's just how it works. Besides, don't forget what you did."

"What do you mea–?" A sudden chill ran through my chest, followed by an overwhelming sense of fear. Could it be—The member of The State Guard I had killed before. Did they already know?

No, that can't be. The man I killed stayed inside the burned house of the Dastens. There shouldn't be anything left there. I doubt they'd even bother to look… No, it's impossible.

If they find out what I did, my family will know. My life will be ruined. How could I tell Elyra that her brother is the worst kind of scum? How could I tell my parents I'm a murderer? This can't be happening to me. I'm just a victim. I never wanted this.

I have to get out of here. I can't stay. If I do, they'll execute me. Killing a member of the State Guard is one of the worst crimes a citizen of Dalmora can commit. If I don't escape, this will be my end–

"You were in the middle of the street, fighting a group of people. Don't you remember? I guess that hit to the head was harder than I thought."

I stared at the lieutenant, frozen by fear, so much so that I had forgotten to breathe.

"I know what you're thinking. Getting into a public fight will land you a few months in prison along with a fine. You don't want that. And considering the nature of your fight, I'd say calling it just a few months is optimistic."

The lieutenant locked eyes with me, his gaze sharp and piercing, as if he were searching for something hidden inside me.

"But I don't want that. The way you fought was admirable. A pleasant surprise. I don't want to see you in prison."

Hearing those words made me breathe again. He was not aware of my past sin. What he and I were thinking were completely different things. I needed to calm down.

"You don't want me in prison?" I looked at him, doubtful.

"That's right, exactly as you heard. Son, these are difficult times. Dalmora is in turmoil and what this country needs are people with the will to fight. You seem to have that will."

I blinked, still not sure whether this was some kind of twisted joke. "I think you are getting a little confused sir. I only did that because they tried to rob me. Obviously I wasn't going to let them."

"That's true. They were just trying to rob you, but there were five of them, and you were alone. You chose to fight back, knowing you might lose, and yet, you did it. You showed tenacity and heart—qualities that are rare these days."

"Look, I just want to go home. My father is sick, and the rest of my family has barely any food. I need to get back urgently."

The food. I had completely forgotten about the bag with the food—and the bag with the rings and the Gamma weapon. I looked around frantically, searching.

"My things! Where are they?!"

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"You mean these?" The lieutenant pointed to a table a few meters from my cell. There they were, the two bags. The sight of them made my chest tighten with equal parts relief and dread.

"Yes! Those are mine! They belong to me!"

"They certainly are yours, and you'll have them back—but only when we're done talking." He folded his arms, leaning casually against the bars, yet there was an unmistakable weight behind his words that told me this conversation was far from over.

"Okay, okay... Perfect. What exactly do you want to talk about?" I said, my frustration simmering just beneath the surface, the weight of the shackles around my wrists adding to my irritation.

"I have a proposal for you. It's quite simple, really. Join the State Guard. We'll provide the necessary training to make you one of us. It's an official position—with pay, of course."

His words hung in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. I stared at him, struggling to process what I'd just heard.

"Join the State Guard?..."

Memories surged through me, unrelenting. The soldier I had killed. The burning home of the Dastens. The State Guard enforcing the quota, threatening my family, beating my father. My stomach twisted.

"I refuse," I said, my voice sharp, cutting through the silence.

The lieutenant let out a faint sigh, shaking his head as if disappointed. A small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"I don’t think you understand. I’m giving you the chance to work for us—to become one of the pillars of Dalmora. Think about it. Stability, honor, a future."

"I understood perfectly from the start but the answer is no. Nothing you say will change my mind."

I saw it immediately—the flicker in his eyes. My defiance had struck a nerve. The air grew heavier, pressing down on me, and his presence shifted. It was no longer casual.

"Tell me, kid. What’s your name?"

"...Aidan."

"Aidan, what do you do for a living?"

"I... I work in a family business. I'm a farmer. My father grows wheat—has for as long as I can remember—so I help him with that." My voice wavered slightly, softening as I spoke about my father..

"Oh! Now it all makes sense! You're a farmer." The lieutenant’s sudden, booming laugh echoed through the room. It was sharp, condescending, and it burrowed under my skin like a splinter. What was so funny? I didn’t know.

"Yes, I'm a farmer. Is there a problem with that?" My frustration flared, spilling into my words.

"Not at all! Not at all! You know, farmers in Dalmora have always had a reputation for being proud, and you don't disappoint! That's all. Don't take it so personally, kid."

I clenched my fists, the shackles biting into my wrists. My eyes fell to the floor, my jaw tight. His laughter grated against me, each word like a needle pressing deeper.

"It's about the quota, isn't it? You're angry at the State Guard because of the quota imposed on all the farmers in the area."

So he knew. Of course he knew. Why was I surprised? He was a lieutenant. He probably knew everything happening in Alessandria.

"If you know, how can you laugh?" I muttered, my voice barely audible.

"What was that?" the lieutenant asked, leaning closer, his tone sharp.

"HOW CAN YOU LAUGH?!" The words exploded out of me before I could stop them.

In any other situation, yelling at a member of the State Guard would have earned me a solid beating—or worse. But he didn’t move. He just stood there, silent, letting my anger bounce off him like rain against armor.

"Do you think I like enforcing such a high quota on the farmers in this region? Do you think I’m happy with the state of Alessandria? With the state of Dalmora?"

His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it—a flicker of something deeper, something restrained. It wasn’t just words. It was frustration, maybe even anger, barely masked under his authority.

"Don’t be so self-centered. You're not the only one the war has affected. Don’t try to play the victim with me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"We’ve all lost something to this war. Everyone. Not a single soul in Dalmora can claim otherwise. I want things to go back to normal too. I want peace. I want to be able to go out to dinner on weekends without worrying about people starving in the streets or half of Alessandria being wiped off the map."

"Stop lying! I saw it! I saw how your men were burning down innocent people’s homes!!" I snapped, my voice trembling with anger.

"Orders!" the lieutenant barked, slamming his fist against the metal bars, the sharp sound reverberating through the room.

I flinched.

"Direct orders... Just like you’re forced to meet a quota, we have to follow commands. We’re not immune to punishment either. Most of us have families to feed. You’re not special."

"Tsk..." I hissed through gritted teeth, looking away. As much as I hated to admit it, a part of me understood what he was saying. Nobody wanted to be sacrificed. Everyone just wanted to survive.

"I’ll repeat myself—join the State Guard. You’ll have a better life than the one you’re clinging to now."

"I... I can’t. I’ve seen things that won’t let me. And I can’t leave my father in the condition he’s in." My words faltered. There was no way I could do it—not without something real to hold onto.

Disappointment darkened his expression. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling through his nose.

"But if you could remove my family’s quota... I’ll do it," I said firmly. It was risky, and I knew I was asking too much.

"You want your quota removed? Do you really think something like that can just be erased? That’s decided by higher-ups—politicians. It’s out of my hands."

Bad luck. I’d dared to hope, only to be reminded of reality.

But perhaps not all hope was lost.

"I’ll think about it," he said. "If you join, I’ll try to reduce your quota—or maybe even get rid of it completely. But I can’t promise anything."

His voice softened again, and for the first time, it felt like he genuinely wanted to help me. Perhaps, unlike the man I encountered in the Dastens' house, Lieutenant Di Cassano was a better person.

"I understand. Please, just give me a day to think about it. That's all I need."

The idea of having the quota removed was nothing more than a possibility—an improbable one at that. Yet, the offer lingered in my mind. It was tempting. Too tempting. There was so much at stake.

The lieutenant reached into the right pocket of his pants and pulled out a set of keys. He unlocked the cell door and then carefully removed the shackles from my wrists. The sensation of freedom was overwhelming. I stood up with some difficulty, testing the movement in my hands. They ached, but the pain was manageable.

"I know you'll be back," he said. "When you do, make sure to thank Dubois. He's the medic who treated your wounds. You were in terrible shape—it's a miracle you're still alive."

"Dubois... I won't forget." I stepped out of the cell, moving slowly toward the table where my belongings had been placed.

"Oh, and one more thing," the lieutenant called out. "You had a burn on your shoulder—looked like it came from a Gamma weapon. Not only that, but you were carrying a Gamma pistol. Standard Dalmoran design. I'm not going to ask what you got yourself into or how you got it. Consider this my first act of trust."

I kept gathering my belongings, listening carefully to every word he said while double-checking that nothing was missing, but everything, even the pistol was inside. I didn't want to let my fear show, but in reality, I was terrified. He already suspected something. He probably suspected the truth.

Swallowing hard, I nodded silently and walked out through the main door of the penitentiary.

The cold air hit me as I stepped outside, but it wasn’t enough to clear my thoughts. My fingers tremble slightly as I clutched the bags.

The streets were quiet, too quiet. Shadows stretched across the ground, twisting unnaturally under the flickering lights of the Amerite streetlights. Each step echoed, like a drumbeat marking time—time I didn’t have.

I glanced back at the building, half-expecting to see the lieutenant watching me, but the doorway was empty. Still, his presence lingered, like a ghost refusing to fade.

I had survived this encounter, but survival wasn’t enough. Not anymore. The war had already taken so much from me, and now it demanded even more. My choices felt like chains I couldn’t escape, and no matter which path I chose, I knew one thing:

This wasn’t over.