*Clank, Clank, clank. *

The knock on his door alerted the resident of the cell that he had a visitor. The dark candle lit the seven square meters cobblestone room with no windows, it was mostly only covered by cobwebs and dirt, except for an old rotten wooden bed and chair accompanied by a small desk. Leaning his back on the side of the bed, reading a book, a young youth lay on the floor calm and expressionless; he was so malnourished one could assume he was a corpse. After hearing the metallic noise, the boy shifted his blank looking eyes towards the cell door for them to meet with a familiar face.

“Oi! RotBorn, got your dinner for you!” The guard threw a tray filled with bread so completely burned that it could have been mistaken for charcoal. “Enjoy the meal, your majesty!” said the older looking blond haired man, chuckling, a battle worn leather armor was covering his body, it had been scavenged or discarded from its previous owner since the man had clearly never been in any life-or-death situation; he was not wearing a helmet as if to not hide his sickening smile.

The young redhead crawled towards the tray, picking each piece from the ground, and filling them back into it. The boy then sat down and started to dissect the bread for edible parts.

“Be grateful! It is a lot better than what you deserve! I don't even know why the boss goes through the trouble of keeping you vermin alive”

The Guard left him to his devices after delivering his dinner, the young man carefully heard the footsteps getting further and further away. The boy immediately got up from where he sat and started to scatter bits and pieces of what was edible from the bread. He took his metal cup from the table and tied a rope to its handle, positioning it against the wall.

After setting the contraption and sitting back on the floor, the blank look on his face turned to that of absolute focus, and he waited there completely still…

*Chip, chip, chip. *

Suddenly, the brows furrowed on his pale face, a rat was gnawing at the pieces of bread he scattered. Not losing his composure, he tightened his grip on the piece of rope he had tied to the handle of his cup and waited for the perfect moment.

Wait…

Wait...

Close…

Now! He pulled the rope, closing the trap and acquiring his prey.

He got up and picked up a piece of stone he had been sharpening then with swift and clean motions, without giving the animal any chance of escaping, he captured it in his hands and killed it.

After quickly skinning and gutting the rat by throwing the skin and waste down a small hole in the ground he would use as a toilet, he picked up his makeshift stove, which consisted of a few candles and an old metal mug he had acquired long ago one night where the guards got especially drunk.

Having Set his dinner to cook, he went back to his seat and grabbed the same book he was reading before the guard interrupted him.

This had been routine for evenings when they gave him something completely inedible. The guards would give them enough real food to keep them alive, but not enough for them to be able to function. The rodents the young boy would occasionally hunt were barely enough for him to have the energy to not stay completely immobile.

When the candles had melted to reach a specific height, he knew his dinner was cooked. He closed his book and put it away under his bed to enjoy his meal. Only clean bones were left after the feast, the boy carefully stored them, the marrow would be used as bait or sustenance another day.

It was now time to go to sleep, he cleaned after himself, putting his makeshift contraptions away from prying eyes and passing out from exhaustion on his bed.

The boy was awoken by A desirable scent of flavors which filled his nose. Was it morning already? No, it was not morning yet; the guard would have been the first one to knock on his cell, annoying the young “Rotborn” was his favorite pastime. One could imagine his hatred was the only thing keeping him entertained in this fort in the middle of nowhere.

This development was out of the ordinary, the only time something proper was cooked and served to the captives of this place was to impress one single person, who even the most stubborn of guards seemed to fear.

The Master was on his way.

Why was he called the Master, he did not know, but the prison staff referred to him as such in his presence. The young man was not particularly alarmed because of this revelation, the Master visited the prison at least once a year if he were to feel anything it would be relief. Because the Master was not cruel like all within this wretched place, in fact his earliest memory was learning how to read from that man.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of footsteps the middle-aged guard made while walking towards his cell. With each step he took, the smell of something mouthwatering also got closer. How long has it been since he pushed something down his throat at the start of the day? Too long, especially for a developing young man, although he was not personally close to the Master, these trivial things made him look forward to his rare visits.

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

He could tell the Master the inconsistency in his and the rest of the captives' mistreatment, yet what good would come of it, hoping for better guards was not worth the trouble or extra resentment from those who stayed. Resistance was futile, voicing one’s opinion when one was not even considered slightly human among the staff was never left unpunished. The young man did not exactly understand why he was treated the way he was but if the hatred was shared by the majority, then surely, he must have had something wrong with him, he must be a monster. It was the only thought that would justify such mistreatment, he for some reason deserved all this torture.

The living cause of the footsteps was now in front of the cell door and, begrudgingly yet gently, dropped a tray of food on the floor, glared at the boy with disgust:

“Eat up number 3, hope the bones are still inside to choke you” He left after his hateful comment.

The food was nothing special, a simple chicken sandwich, but to him, who routinely had to dine on burnt bread and barley cooked rat meat, it was a luxury. The skinny teen savored every bite of that meal, the plate was licked clean enough to be used as a mirror. It has been a while since he has had so much energy to start his day.

But what the young man did not know was that today was his sixteenth birthday, today was the day that would shape the rest of his life.

Five picked up the book the Master had given to him; it was the only thing he owned other than the rags covering his bones. It was the only source of entertainment he had and the only way to feel as though he was outside this dark room. He had lost track of how many times he read it.

The book was nothing special, a history book that the church would read to children in the capital, it was the story of the sun-ascended king Irolos. Five opened the last page and started reading the last paragraph again; his favorite part, it gave him a semblance of hope where there was none:

“““King Irolos Mageborn II had become the strongest magic holder among the other royal bloods in history. He knew that the time had come for him to leave the peninsula. He was ready and would not fail where the other royals had. Not only that, but he would get past the death mountains, while others had perished before even reaching the foot. He relinquished his throne to Astel Rageborn I, the royal blood he had chosen to succeed him, and left for the mountains. It is said that he has ascended to divinity outside the peninsula, and that he waits for anyone who shares his strength and bravery. For he had arisen and become part of the crescent sun.”””

The boy was interrupted by a friendly looking old man outside his cell gently smiling at him “Oh Five you are still reading that old book, had I known you enjoyed reading so much I would have gotten you another”

The young man looked at the Master and gave a faint smile.

“Five, if you like the story of that old king, you will be glad to hear that as a descendant of the royal bloodline, you too have access to the magic powers of the royals.”

Five’s eyes widened. He was shocked by this revelation; happiness and confusion filled his mind; the sarcastic remarks and insults of the guards suddenly made sense to him. Is that why everyone here hated him? But why would they not like the royals? Five could not understand, was it because of another reason then? Or because of jealousy and fear? His turmoil was cut short as the Master continued.

“In fact, son, the reason I have come here today is that you have come of age. You see, I knew your father ... the sun envelops his soul... and he was a mageborn. Though that does not tell us what power the sun will bless you with; it does, however, mean that you are of royal blood and thus have powers that should have manifested by now.” The gentle old man explained as he opened the cell door to enter the room.

This was not normal. This was the first time in recent memory that his cell door was opened. No one had ever gotten this close to him before, and Five was visibly getting stressed. The old man took notice and slowed down his movement to show no hostility.

“Do not worry son, from here on out you will never have to live in such misery ever again. Grab anything you need from your cell; you will not be coming back. We will test what powers you have, then I will take you with me to the capital.” The Master said with the most reassuring smile Five had ever seen; had it been anyone else telling him this, he would have been more cautious, but the Master had given no reason to doubt him.

The Master came just for him? Going to the capital? Does that mean he will see the ocean, the trees, the sky... the crescent sun? He could not hold his excitement, joy, relief... nor his dread of leaving what he had become accustomed to. So many thoughts, so many emotions, for better or worse he felt like a child for the first-time ever; Five was forced to grow up at an incredibly early age living under such circumstances. Deep down he was scared, unbelievably so; the cell door was the only thing keeping him imprisoned... and safe. But now it was open.

He took a couple deep breaths and calmed himself down.

He grabbed his book and discreetly hid the sharp rock he uses for skinning rats in his sleeve. Five then followed the old man, with the guard on his tail, breathing down his neck: “don’t try anything stupid, filth.” The Master frowned and shouted, “did I give you permission to insult anyone? All that is asked of you is to do your job and nothing more!” Five had never seen the old man lose his temper, it was terrifying but at the same time it brought him joy to see the guard get scolded for a change.

They advanced, getting closer and closer to a large wooden gate, the exit... could it be this easy? Five could see light shining through the ceiling and crevices of the door, the ray would sometimes meet with his skin creating a warm sensation that he was not accustomed to. He found some strange comfort through the sun’s touch, though he knew not why, but it was as if he were being reunited with a long-forgotten parent. They inched closer to the exit. Five could not help but be excited about it. How long had it been since he felt this immature feeling? He did not remember; did he ever feel it? Maybe, but it had been far too long.

His bewilderment ended once they found themselves in front of the door; with a slight hand signal from the master, two other guards came over. They both had some battle scars, they had rough, calloused hands and they were well armed and dressed in steel plate armor. These men were here to keep people out, as opposed to the one assigned to him, who was here to keep Five inside. They both grabbed the large door handles and started to pull; the door was so heavy that even these strong guards' faces contorted slightly until finally the doors started to open.