The walls felt like they were caving in on him. His breathing was heavy, his sight blurry, and his body beaten, but his spirit remained intact. Many moons have already passed since the events of the fateful day that changed his life. The lad was imprisoned inside the dungeon cellars underneath the castle. He was surrounded by the cruelest things imaginable: rapists, murderers, thieves, arsonists, psychopaths. The air was suffocating, and there was barely any light--but Wyatt held on. For weeks, he was locked in a cell with three other criminals and would regularly get food. He counted himself as one of the lucky ones as his cellmates were more reasonable than the others, while everybody else fought for every piece of scrap they could lay their hands on.

Numerous footsteps along with the sound of steel began to spread throughout the prison. "Wake up, pieces of filth!" The jailer cried out, rousing the weary and sleeping rogues from their slumber. "It's time to feast." He said as he was accompanied by a few of the castle guards.

He opened each prison cell one by one and laid down a large bowl of food. After locking the doors back again, chaos would erupt as everyone fought for the food like starving, rabid hounds. "Look at you all," the jailer said. "What a pathetic sight." He laughed as he proceeded to complete his routine and head back towards his quarters.

"Hey," Wyatt's cellmate called out to him. "Food's here. Eat." The man patted the cold, stone floor, signaling the lad to sit. "Thank you," Wyatt replied as he walked over and sat beside his cellmates who were already eating.

"What's the menu for today, Hawk?" He asked. "Oh, the usual. Stale bread, some scraps, a few mugs of water, and look at what we have here boys--more fucking stale bread." Hawk replied and was able to get Wyatt and the others to let out a laugh, however, the same couldn't be said for the other inmates.

"Look at them, fighting over food as if they had any strength to spare." Another cellmate began to point out as he ate. "Leave them be Cassian, it's for the best to just mind our own business." The other cellmate of theirs replied. "I can't stand stupidity Gregory," Cassian replied with an annoyed look. "We eat, do some work, and sleep. That's how the cycle goes until our body gives out and we die." He continued. "Lads, let's just thank the Divines we're still alive and continue to eat our breakfast in peace," Hawk said after gulping down his water.

Wyatt was, in a way amazed at his three cellmates. The conditions they were in were harsh, but they continued, unbothered. They were in here longer than he was and for unjust reasons as well. The days after Wyatt had spent his first night in prison and shared his story, they welcomed him with open arms and shared theirs as well.

Hawk was once a budding baker who traveled across Primera to hone his craft. One day, he found himself in trouble with some corrupt guards as he passed by Rosetown. Hawk was forced to pay a non-existent toll, and when he forcefully declined, was beaten into submission and dragged into prison. He was wrongfully charged with theft as the guards claimed that all his possessions were items that were noted to be missing items from other towns.

Cassian was a medical practitioner in training whom Wyatt was somewhat familiar with. He was assigned to be tutored under Rosetown's head physician alongside another trainee and was doing well for himself. This allowed him to gain the physician's praise while also inciting jealousy from his fellow trainee. A few months went by after starting his study when suddenly, the head physician died after drinking one of his daily doses of medication. Cassian knew that it was the other trainee as he spotted him in the alchemy lab one night, looking at vials that were filled with different colored liquids. However, after reporting the incident to the authorities, he found himself being the one to be dragged and locked up, as the missing vial from the alchemy lab was found in his sleeping quarters--framing him as the culprit.

And last was Gregory. He told Wyatt and the others that he was a traveling merchant from a neighboring continent. He journeyed off to Primera to pay respects to King Septimus years ago and fell in love with the land. He frequently went back and forth to sell his wares, and one day was unfortunately caught in the middle of a messy confrontation with some bandits on the outskirts of Lord Mikhael's territory. He was suspected to be one of the bandits since he had unrecognizable features and was immediately thrown into the nearest cell.

Wyatt looked at the three and pondered for a while. Eventually, he realized the reason why they were able to work together while in such an environment. He realized that they shared a common bond: it was that they were wronged. We don't belong here, he silently thought as he almost finished his share of the rations.

A few hours passed by and the jailer returned. "All right you lot," he said. "Time to work!" The jailer then led the prisoners out, escorted by armed soldiers who led them to areas in town that served as their assigned workplace.

After the civil war had ended, tensions were still high despite the supposed peace between the Great Houses. House Polifio wanted to strengthen their military again because of their losses and decreed that the majority of able-bodied men without any jobs join the military instead. This left the local town needing workers. The prisoners were then tasked instead to solve this problem. This served as a way of paying for their sentences--to try and earn back the trust of others. If the populace were to praise someone for their work and behavior, they may be granted a pardon.

This law had always made Wyatt feel uncomfortable. He, with the rest of the populace, had mixed thoughts about this. However, after spending time with his cellmates, he saw goodness--a slight glimmer of hope, that maybe this was not such a bad idea after all.

As they walked, Wyatt and his friends were informed that their group was assigned to help with the forgery. This made Wyatt feel uneasy despite growing up in this line of work. This was the first day since his imprisonment that he would get a chance to see his father. He never got a chance to do so--the moment he lost sight of Godric, the guards quickly cornered him, rendered him unconscious, and Wyatt woke up in prison with a sore headache.

Moments passed, and his group saw the smithy up ahead, accompanied by the familiar sound of ringing metal and ore being smelted. Wyatt also saw an all-too-familiar person already rushing toward their direction. The guards stood in formation but the man paid them no mind as he brushed by them and gave his son a warm embrace--one that the lad desperately needed.

"Wyatt, my boy!" Wyatt's father said as he hugged his son tight, holding back tears. "Oh, thank the Divines! Are you hurt? Did they feed you inside there? Did any of them threaten you?" He then picked up a hammer from a nearby table and pointed it at the guards. "You know my son is innocent! Let him out of that hell right now!" He screamed, threatening everybody in sight. "Father, calm down! I'm fine for now." Wyatt calmed his father, who then put the hammer down.

"This group is assigned to you for the week, smithy," A guard informed the blacksmith. "They'll work until sunset. After that, they'll return to the cells, and will be back the next morning." he continued.

"I understand," the blacksmith replied. "I'll handle it from here." He signaled the guards to leave them to be as he rested his arm on his son's shoulder. "We'll be watching, remember that." The other guard reminded the group as they left the scene.

"These pathetic excuses we have for guards don't scare me." The blacksmith said as he chuckled. He turned to Wyatt's group, fixing himself first. "Well then! Excuse me for what happened earlier," he continued as he faced the group. "The name's Dale Blackwood. My brothers-in-arms call me Dale, the townsfolk call me Mr. Blackwood, my enemies call me "Ironclad", but you three can call me friend." Dale let out a smile. "Now, before we get started: why don't you introduce me to these fellows here, son?"

Minutes went by and introductions were made. Wyatt was surprised at how his father easily accepted them, even though they were labeled as criminals. "I know a good person when I see one," the blacksmith said as he looked at the people Wyatt spent weeks with. "Even with only one good eye left, I can still see goodness in people--and all of you were wronged by this brand of justice that we claim to have." Dale continued as he suddenly took a bow. "My son survived in there because of you three. You took him in without hesitation and treated him as your own. I'm forever in your debt. I'll put in a good word for all of you--that, I promise." The blacksmith looked at them with conviction.

"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Blackwood," Cassian was the first to express his gratitude. "We'll see to it as well that your son is protected." He continued as he turned towards his fellow prisoners. "Well, as you can tell Mr. Blackwood sir--aside from young Wyatt here, we're no experts when it comes to metalwork," Hawk continued on the conversation. "Just tell us what to do sir, and we'll try our damn best." The blacksmith looked at the four of them, thinking about what they should do.

"Let's see here..." He pondered. "Wyatt, I have here some armor that an adventurer ordered three nights ago," the blacksmith picked up a chest plate that had been placed underneath a table. "I just finished it last night. The man said to deliver it to him once he's done at the local tavern. That's where he's staying. Take Gregory along with you--this thing's heavy, so take turns carrying it."

The blacksmith said as he passed the chest plate to Wyatt who almost dropped to the ground because of the weight. "Here--let me help you," Gregory said as he helped Wyatt up and carried the armor as well.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"This thing is heavy--what's this made out of?" the merchant was curious. "It was some metal I got from some dwarven friends up in the Echoing Mountains," the blacksmith replied. "The stuff is heavy, I'll give it that--but it is a tough one, all right. The client looks to be a strong one as well, so he should be fine."

"Cassian, you go help me with melting the rest of the remaining ore. I know you practiced medicine before, so why not learn something new?" Dale said to Cassian, who was pleased with the choice. "This'll be interesting," Cassian replied with a curious tone.

"Finally, Hawk." The blacksmith turned to the prisoner. "Earlier on I heard you're a baker. I'll give you some money--fetch some ingredients from the market and prepare something for us to eat later at midday. I bet you lads are starving, so I'll see to it that your bellies are full before going back to the cells." He continued as he handed the wide-eyed Hawk a sack of silver.

"Thank you for this opportunity, sir!" Hawk replied in a gleeful tone as he rushed towards the marketplace. "You won't regret this, lads! We'll be feasting today!" His voice trailing off in the distance.

"Does he even know where he's going?" Wyatt asked, concerned about his friend's safety. "Not to worry, Hawk's got an abnormal sense of direction when it comes to finding things he wants," Gregory replied. "Well then, let's be off, shall we?" He continued as they ventured off to the tavern, while Dale continued talking with Cassian.

"Your father's a nice fellow, isn't he?" Gregory, the eldest of the four, asked Wyatt as they neared the tavern. "Yes, and I thank the Divines that I was blessed with a father like him," Wyatt replied as they entered the tavern and placed the chest plate on the counter where it landed with a loud thud, which shook the innkeeper.

"Who--oh, Wyatt! It's just you." the innkeeper said as he attempted to move the chest plate to the side of the counter. "Your name's been making rounds in the tavern for about three fortnights already. With what happened, you do not need to worry lad as a few farmhands can vouch for you. They say they saw you arrive late to the scene," he continued.

"Also, from what I heard: they saw the entire thing happen between Godric and that Walter fella--well, except for what happened inside the shed." The innkeeper explained as the duo listened.

Wyatt felt a wave of relief over him but was worried about Godric's safety. Gregory looked at Wyatt and observed that he had a troubled look on his face. "This Godric," the merchant turned to Wyatt. "Who is he to you?" He asked, intrigued about the person who was the reason Wyatt was in prison.

Wyatt thought about it for a moment. "He's a friend, I feel sorry for him," he replied after a moment in silence. "The town treats him like an outcast, and even though he thinks that it doesn't bother him, it does," the lad explained to Gregory.

"And you know this, how?" he asked. "Godric said something the me one day, and it changed my perspective on a few things," Wyatt replied, as Gregory sat down on a nearby chair.

"I asked him one day, how he manages to continue living in such a way and he merely said: 'If the world thinks I'm different, then so be it--what matters, in the end, is what I think of myself. They'll call me names, and make fun of who I am but to hell with them.'" Wyatt recalled Godric's words. "He doesn't show it--but it does bother him, and because of that, I'm rooting for him to prosper in a way." He continued explaining to Gregory and the innkeeper as they both listened intently.

"He continued saying that he wanted to find a greater purpose in the world. and so I told him to go run into the woods, hoping I'd be able to help him with his dream." he continued.

"Hold on lad," the innkeeper suddenly spoke, his voice full of concern. "Which forest did you send him to?" he continued as he left the counter and approached Wyatt. "I told him to run toward the southern forest, past the great river. Why?" Wyatt replied, somewhat feeling a sense of dread after seeing the innkeeper's reaction.

"By the Divines lad; you sent him to Mistveil Forest," the innkeeper replied with a pale look on his face. "That is the kingdom of the great elven king! From what I've heard, their House is known to be more reasonable to other races, but no one enters the elven land uninvited. If he entered that forest, it would be a miracle if he was still alive." Wyatt could not believe what he'd done. The feeling of dread turned into terror. He felt horrible as thoughts of him sending his friend to certain death flooded his mind.

He felt a heavy load press down on his body as if he carried a boulder. "Easy lad," Gregory did his best to cheer him up. "Based on what you've told me, I can tell this friend of yours is gonna be okay," he said as he patted Wyatt on the back. "Now let's go, we still have to deliver this hunk of armor." He looked at the chest plate pressed against the wall at the end of the counter.

"Oh, that's quite an impressive piece," the innkeeper commented on Dale's work. "I think I know who this might belong to. He's just upstairs--first door on the left. Don't forget to knock as he's a bit on edge, and uhh..let's say he's an interesting one." he warned the duo.

"T-thanks, old man. You too, Gregory." Wyatt said as he calmed down a bit, even though the feeling remained. "No worries. Now let's go. Our customer's waiting." Gregory replied as the duo began to lift the chest plate again and climb up the stairs onto the adventurer's quarters.

The duo reached their destination and Wyatt knocked on the wooden door. Soon after, heavy footsteps were heard inside the room, approaching the two who were patiently waiting on the other end. The door swung open and Wyatt expected a big, burly man, but to his surprise, what greeted the two instead was a man whose features were foreign to Wyatt. He was armed and dressed strangely. The man was lightly armored, had a dark skin tone, was tall, and around his neck, he adorned a dark, deep orange scarf. Wyatt sensed something off about him, as he analyzed the two, but mainly focused on Gregory.

"Wyatt, go downstairs," Gregory suddenly said as he stood face-to-face with the mysterious stranger. "Give me a moment with our customer," Wyatt replied with a nod and went back down the stairs, nearing the counter where the innkeeper was waiting.

"Well, how'd it go?" The innkeeper who was cleaning a mug asked.

"Old man, do you have any idea who your guest is?" Wyatt asked the innkeeper as he sat himself down on a chair. "Ahh...I told you he's a strange one," the innkeeper replied. "If memory serves me right, our guest is from the neighboring continent of Azane. The skin tone and clothes also tell me he hails from a city that people say is found somewhere in the center of the continent--one that's surrounded by sand and dust."

Wyatt listened to the innkeeper, becoming even more curious about the man. "Surrounded by sand and dust?" Wyatt asked, puzzled. "How do they even survive?" He asked again. "Well, that I don't know lad. Does this face look like it's been to another continent?" The innkeeper joked as he pointed at his face, which made the two chuckle. Moments later, they heard a door shut, and footsteps come down the stairs. It was Gregory, who had a stern look on his face.

"What happened?" Wyatt asked. "Did something happen?"

"We talked for a bit--but nothing to worry about," Gregory replied as he approached the two. "Let's be off. We probably still have more work to do once we get back." He continued as he opened the door. "Thanks for the hospitality, old man." He respectfully nodded at the innkeeper.

The innkeeper replied with a nod of his own. "Take care now, you two." The two headed out the door and waved goodbye to the innkeeper who smiled as the door closed.

"Hey, what happened up there?" Wyatt asked Gregory as they passed the town square, just a few corners from where the forgery was. "Nothing. He rubbed off on me in the wrong way, so I had to step in and do something." His cellmate replied as he began to walk faster than normal. Wyatt felt something was off.

"Hold on Gregory, I feel like there's something wrong here. Who was that person?" He continued, pressuring his cellmate into telling something that he knew he was keeping secret.

"A ghost of my past--nothing more," Gregory replied. "We'll discuss no more of this." He said as he turned to look at the auburn-haired boy. "We all shared our stories in prison as a sign that we trust each other," Wyatt grabbed Gregory's shoulder. "Why hide this from us?" He looked at him dead in the eye.

"Because boy, it is not a story that any of you should know!" Gregory shouted at Wyatt, catching the attention of the townspeople who were present. "What's going on here?" A guard approached the two. Before they had a chance to explain, Hawk suddenly arrived, ingredients on hand. "Ahh--apologies for that, my friends are just hungry, that's all!" Hawk smiled at the guard, who somewhat felt like he didn't want to be bothered in the first place. "Okay. Get on with it then." He then motioned the three to move along.

"What in the seven hells is going on?" Hawk whispered to the two as they continued walking, with the forgery already in sight. "Hawk, Gregory's hiding something from us," Wyatt said as Gregory looked at him with a concerned look. "Don't do this, Wyatt," the prisoner suddenly pleaded with Wyatt, who was caught surprised, along with Hawk. "For all of your sakes."

"What do you mean for all our sake--"

Hawk was not able to finish his question as he was interrupted by a loud explosion in the distance. The trio dropped to the floor as screaming was heard from all directions. This continued until a nearby building exploded, causing debris to scatter everywhere. Wyatt and Gregory quickly rolled to dodge the burning wood, as Hawk helped a nearby person up to their feet.

Soon after, Wyatt saw men who were clothed in the same fashion as the man from earlier appear from two directions, carrying weapons and what seemed to be bags of gold and silver.

As the trio watched the scenario unfold, one of the individuals spotted them and took a good look at Gregory. The stranger then spoke something to him in an unknown language, to which Gregory also replied. Wyatt and Hawk looked on in confusion, dumbfounded at what was unfolding in front of their eyes.

"Gregory--hey!" Hawk shouted at his friend. "What is going on?" he asked, hoping to find the answer that he and Wyatt desperately needed.

"It did not have to come to this," Gregory replied with a completely different voice, accompanied by a completely different accent--one that was not familiar to either Wyatt or Hawk, based on the expression on their faces. "I did not want to share this story with any of you because I wanted to spare you from the dangers of my world, but perhaps it was inevitable."

"Who are you?" Wyatt asked him, as Gregory slowly became a stranger in his eyes. "I do not know myself. This...Gregory you speak of, is but a million of my names." Slowly, a number of the mysterious men surrounded them. Hawk and Wyatt readied themselves for a fight. However, their cellmate spoke a few words that sounded like a command, to which the others soon followed.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he continued. "For you my friends, you can call me Xhiamas--head scout of the Wandering Arrows." Wyatt and Hawk stared in disbelief as the man they thought they knew, had turned into a completely different person in a snap of a finger.