When Nox regained his senses, he was in a dark room.

He stared up the dull ceiling. What happened? The last thing he could remember was fighting Zalthor, and the sheer power that the Thurinian’s Animarta possessed. He was literally fighting a deathless armored giant that could control three elements. There was lightning and fire everywhere, the stage reduced to ruin while Nox was…

He was what? A pounding headache beat at his skull, and he squeezed his eyes closed. After the pain had subsided, he raised his right arm and… the chains rattled.

Chains?

He glanced in that direction, and his eyes widened. A manacle enveloped his wrist, tied to a chain pounded into the grimy wall. And now that the fog in his mind had cleared, he realized that he was lying on a cot, small and smelly, and he was wearing a rough tunic that bared his arms.

Bolting upright, he glanced around. No lights except for the torches burning outside the bars of his cell. His cell. He was in a prison.

“Hello!” he shouted, his voice loud in the confined space. He waited a few minutes, and when no response came, he shouted again.

This time, there was a clang, then the loud stomping of iron boots. A man in full plate came into view, an elegant cobalt sword in his hand. Nox took one look at it and knew he was a Wielder.

“What’s up?” the guard asked. His voice wasn’t hostile, but there was wariness in it, and even fear.

Nox studied him. He couldn’t see the Wielder’s face beneath the helmet, except for the eyes, but he was familiar with the insignia emblazoned on his chestplate: a scythe cleaving a white flame.

Soulbreakers. The kingdom’s elite.

Why were they guarding him? Shaking his head, Nox showed his shackles. “Mind telling me what I am doing here?”

The guard blinked. “You’re in prison.”

“Yes, I know. On what charges?”

“You don’t know?”

“Would I ask if I know?” Nox snapped. His patience was growing thin by the minute. This was an elite?

The guard hesitated. He peered at him through the metal bars which, Nox realized just now, was dotted with tiny crystals. Then the guard nodded, seemingly confirming something. “So you don’t really remember,” he muttered.

“Remember what?” Nox demanded.

“That you killed several Thurinian Wielders, including Zalthor.”

The words struck Nox like hammer blows. It echoed in his ears, and what strength he had in him left. “I… I did what?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes. You killed people.” The guard’s tone was soft this time. “I don’t know the full details. I was just stationed here to guard you for this shift. But I heard that you wrecked an entire wing of the school. Almost killed the Royal Family too.”

A jolt lanced along Nox’s spine. “Ella! Is she all right?”

“Who’s Ella?”

“Estella. Princess Estella.” Nox rose from his cot, stepping toward the guard, but he could only get as far as a foot past his cot. “Please! Is she safe?”

The guard hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, she is. She’s… the one who brought you here. She and the teachers.”

The pounding in Nox’s head returned, greater this time. He clutched his head as images and sounds flashed in his mind; Zalthor screaming in agony, a pool of blood, light and fire blasting around Nox, swirling in a confused mayhem.

And there was pain. Excruciating pain. Then darkness.

Nox collapsed back on his cot, wide-eyed, staring at his hand. What… What had he done?

The guard soon left him. Nox was used to darkness; it was his power, and one that had kept him alive for years. It was how he came to know Ella, to meet and love her for who he was. But here darkness wasn’t his friend nor ally.

Here in his cell, darkness was his tormentor.

***

Nox didn’t know how much time had passed since he was imprisoned. It was difficult to gauge time in a windowless room, and his only indication was the regular meals they were bringing him, as well as the occasional trips to the toilet.

The guards were changed twice within three meals and two toilet trips. A day, he presumed. But when he asked, the replacements refused to talk with him.

It wasn’t just the darkness that kept him up and prevented him from resting. The silence in his mind was deafening, like a vast dark ocean with him adrift in the middle. He didn’t know where he was, but there were no prisons near the Academy, he was certain of that.

Conversing with Erebos wasn’t an option, either. Those were anti-magic crystals on his cell bars, and he was certain, even inside the walls and his shackles.

In his spare time, Nox tried to replay the last thing he remembered in his mind. He knew there was a risk in succumbing to the power of Shadow, but he had believed he could already control a little of it, even just for a short time, as Karsos had been relatively unscathed.

But to actually kill his opponent when his life wasn’t threatened? Something had to have happened for him to do that.

The meals continued, and yet no one came to see him. On the ninth meal, he contemplated attempting an escape, but he relented in the end, knowing that it would only add to his crimes.

So he waited.

On the eleventh meal, the fourth day by his estimation, the sounds of marching boots echoed outside the hallway. Nox sat up from his cot, anticipation pumping in his veins. They were here for him, he knew.

A line of Soulbreakers entered his vision. There were five of them, all garbed in the same armor, but Wielding an assortment of Animartas. One of them was the guard Nox had talked to when he first woke here.

“Nox Stigan,” a burly Wielder said as he unlocked the cell bars, “you are to be escorted to His Majesty to stand trial for your crimes against honored guests. Resist, and you will be killed on your feet.”

The words were delivered in quick and rehearsed tones. Nox wondered just how long the man had been doing it to perfect his delivery. Not that it mattered.

With a shrug, he watched as three of them entered. One removed his shackles, only to replace it with a shorter one meant for escorting prisoners. Then they hauled him to his feet and led him outside, where the four guards surrounded him.

Their leader studied Nox for a moment, then nodded and led the group out of a heavy door.

Nox’s heart pounded as they guided him through several corridors. They were obviously underground; no windows adorned the walls, and he had to climb a long flight of stairs that seemed to go on and on forever.

His escorts weren’t conversationalists, which only made everything last longer. Whenever he would try speaking to them, a grunt or a slight turn of the head would be the only response. He gave up after the third time.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they emerged into a brightly lit hallway. There were windows now, and through them Nox saw a sight that made his throat tighten.

A sheer drop extended below a steep cliff. Below, he caught the distinct sparkle of a lake, no large than his palm. A part of his mind thought the lake was just small. Then he saw the surrounding mountains, their height dwarfing anything he had seen, and he compared it to the trees gently swaying in the breeze.

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His eyes weren’t playing tricks on him; the lake was wide and far into the bottom.

“Amazing view, isn’t it?” the escort leader said, turning his head toward Nox briefly. “Six thousand feet. No one would escape here save by flying. But then again, who would even bother?”

Nox remained silent. Only one prison was carved within the heart of a mountain, and it was only reserved for the most dangerous criminals: the mountain-prison of Daryon.

And Estella had placed him here.

The coldness he felt as they emerged into an open area didn’t have anything to do with the chilly air blasting the mountain peak. He didn’t even notice that he was already inside a transport skyship until he was pushed into the seat.

The flight to the capital was long and bumpy. Nox barely slept throughout the journey. He didn’t fear what fate awaited him; he was long prepared the day he first held Erebos in his grasp. And even if they executed him, fighting a Remnant was far more terrifying.

No, what he dreaded most was seeing Estella again. Did she hate him for what he had done? Was she now afraid of him? He didn’t want to face her—he couldn’t face her anymore, or even touched her with his blood-soaked hands.

The sun was already dipping below the mountains when they arrived. Beyond the windows, Nox saw a city sprawled across the middle of the valley, bisected by a flowing river. A bridge, glinting in the fading sunlight, spanned the two halves.

He couldn’t see the castle, but he knew it was on a separate area. Which meant that they wouldn’t be taking him there. He found some comfort in that; at least there was a chance that he wouldn’t see Estella.

The skyship descended onto the port built along the banks of the river. Soon he was on his feet again, being led down the ramps, where more Soulbreakers awaited to escort him to the trial chamber.

“We’ll take it from here,” a tall Wielder said, his dark red cape flowing behind him like a blood. He regarded Nox with pity, then nodded at the escort leader.

The transfer went without a hitch, and Nox found himself inside a steel transport that could barely fit him. He sat on the floor, knees pressed to his chin, the sound of ironx-shod horse hooves muffled by the walls.

It was another hour before they stopped and he was led out of the box. As he stepped into the courtyard, he glanced around him. Tall walls circled the area, strong and sturdy. A fountain gurgled nearby, and the courtyard was deserted. To their left, the Trial Chamber rose like a candle, glinting orange in the dying sunlight.

Flanked on either side, the group led him through an archway. More guards, this time of the Imperial Guards, stood in a row. Walking across the corridor, their footsteps echoed. It felt strange that there was no one else beside them, save for brief flashes of mail armor as patrols followed their appointed routes.

Finally they reached an ornate door. The escort leader stopped and announced, “Captain Tarson here, bringing the prisoner Nox Stigan.”

“Let him in,” the king’s voice rang from beyond the doorway.

This is it, Nox thought. He squared his shoulders and marched inside. He would not show fear. And whatever decision was made, he would accept it.

As they entered, he resisted the urge to gasp.

The domed circular room echoed with a multitude of voices that soon fell hushed at his entrance, but Nox didn’t notice it at first, his gaze fixed on the floor and the walls. It wasn’t so much a trial chamber as an audience hall fit for a king, though he could see why a monarch would want to pass judgement here.

The walls were windowless, but the ceiling was not, and a glass mosaic, painted with the kingdom’s map, comprised most of it. At the sun’s highest, the rays would have struck it, bathing the floor with dazzling radiance, turning the image of Faven into a blazing engraving.

Nox had only seen an image of the one of the Founders once, but the likeness he was seeing was different than in a textbook. Faven stood tall, his lithe arms grasping his white Animarta above his head, as if he would smote anyone deserving of judgement. The tip pointed ahead, and Nox followed it to a raised platform where several people sat.

The King was recognizable in his grand robes and flowing cape, palms planted on the table before him. To his left, Nox was surprised to see, was the Queen, blue-and-white dress hugging her form, a deep frown marring her face.

Nox didn’t recognize the rest. Five men in less grandly robes, yet just as imposing as the king. Two were older than Estella’s father, three weren’t. Their eyes followed him, wary and curious at the same time.

He was led into the center, above Faven’s heart. With the King and Queen above him, Nox didn’t wait for them to force him; he knelt in front of the platform, bowing his head in submission. The escorts saluted, then strode out of the chamber, closing the doors with thud.

For a moment, silence pervaded the room.

“Nox Stigan.”

The king’s voice echoed, a simple statement devoid of accusation. Nox kept his eyes on the floor, seeing but not seeing. He would remain silent, and he would wait for his judgement, whatever it was.

“Look at me, Nox Stigan.”

Reluctantly, Nox raised his head and met the king’s stare. Emotionless eyes stared back at him. Was this what Estella often saw whenever she spoke to her father? Or was it just a facade that the king kept for criminals like him? It certainly wasn’t the gaze that greeted him in their first meeting.

The king regarded him silently. His hand rose, sweeping over the chamber. “Do you know the significance of this room, Nox Stigan?”

Nox furrowed his brows. Those weren’t the words he was expecting, but he had to reply nonetheless. Thankfully, he had written an essay once about this very room. “This is the Hall of Judgement, Your Majesty.”

The king nodded. “It is here that I, and my predecessors, pass judgement on those who have committed the gravest of crimes, crimes that even regular laws would not suffice.” He paused. “Do you know why you are here, Nox Stigan?”

“Because I killed Zalthor, Your Majesty.”

“Twenty-three dead. A hundred and more injured.” The king leaned back in his chair, weariness and dismay creeping over his face. “And our good relation with Thurin strained more than it already is. That is the result of your unexpected actions.”

“I will accept any form of punishment, Your Majesty.” What was there left to say? He wouldn’t beg for mercy; it was his fault, after all. In his desire to forever be with Estella, he had pushed her away and destroyed their relationship in a single battle.

The king was silent again, though not as long as before. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Do you remember anything of the events that had transpired?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Of course.” The king leaned forward again. “We all bore witness to it, the way you transformed into a monster. A demon, which hasn’t been seen in this kingdom since its foundation.”

Nox lowered his gaze, grimacing as more images flooded his mind. Images of blood and torn limbs, screams of agony and terror, and Estella’s tear-filled eyes holding Astra in front of his heart, piercing it.

His breath hitched, and his hands moved to his chest. There was no pain. But he should have been dead!

“My daughter couldn’t do it,” the king said. “You were trying to kill her, and she couldn’t do it. She loves you.” He shook his head.

Nox’s throat tightened, and his eyes grew misty. “I…” He tried to speak, but no words would come out.

“Of course, you are a threat. And a threat must be dealt with.” The king continued. “That is why you are here. But first, I believe we must finally drop all pretenses.”

He snapped his fingers, and the manacles restraining Nox’s limbs clattered to the floor.

Nox didn’t wait a second. He sent out his thoughts, flinging them away like javelins, straight toward Estella’s direction, wherever she may be. He needed to say sorry, to tell her how much he loved her.

But rather than the fiery and resolute echoes of her mind, all that Nox could feel was a dark void. He looked up at the king, confused.

“Yes. Your Resonance was nullified,” he confirmed.

If Nox hadn’t been already kneeling on the floor, he would have collapsed on his knees. Instead, he sagged where he knelt, the strength in his body leaving him. Once nullified, a Resonance couldn’t be remade unless the initiator made another pact. But he was here, so far away from the woman he loved.

He could flee, the thought tickled his mind. It would be so easy to break free now, though he had a feeling that the chamber was protected against most magic. But he could try, take the king and queen hostage in exchange for seeing Estella one last time. He would gladly accept death afterward, even if it was by her hands.

The king’s next words, however, made him freeze: “You can try to escape, but Azrael won’t be able to help you.” He raised his hand, where a golden ring glinted off a finger.

It was a moment before a voice grunted in Nox’s mind: Ask him how he knew.

To hear his Animarta’s voice was a relief to Nox, but he knew it wasn’t the time to catch up. “He’s asking how you knew, Your Majesty.”

The king snorted. “You’re the only Shadow Wielder in my kingdom, Nox Stigan. And there’s only one place you could have gotten your powers: the Cave of Sorrows, where Faven killed his own wife.”

“It’s true?” Nox blurted before he could stop his mouth. He winced, berating himself for being so foolish, but Erebos’s thoughts alarmed him.

“Yes, it is true. In fact, you possess the same power that Faven used.”

It felt as if he had been struck by lightning. Erebos, is this true? Nox demanded.

Yes.

Why didn’t you tell me?

Because I have forgotten.

What?

His confusion and disbelief must have shown in his face, for the king spoke again. “I take it he doesn’t acknowledge what he did.”

“He doesn’t remember.” How could you not remember? But Erebos’s only response was silence.

“Of course.” With a sigh, the king leaned back once more. “But now you understand what must be done.”

Nox pursed his lips. He knew this was coming, and he still had the urge to flee even though it would be a futile attempt. Would that really change anything, though? Estella would likely hate him even more.

He looked at the king with grim acceptance. If death was going to be his punishment, so be it.

You know I will die too if you do.

Shut it. You brought this upon yourself. Using the Founder to kill his own wife? Even I wouldn’t forgive you for that.

Arabella was simply defending Faven against Thurin and the others. I had to take over her to ensure both of their safety. A brief pause. I just didn’t expect she would succumb to my power.

Wait. What do you me—

“Nox Stigan, by my right as ruler and sovereign of Faven, I hereby exile you from my kingdom to the land of Tarson.”

It took Nox a full minute before everything fully registered in his mind, and another minute before he could finally speak again. “I’m… not being executed?”

“No,” the king said. “Azrael will resist, and we no longer have the power to contain him. As such, keeping him away from my kingdom is all I can do.”

There was a strange glimmer in the king’s eyes, one that Nox almost missed. Before he could think of what it meant, the king snapped his fingers again, and the escorts re-entered with new shackles.

Nox didn’t say a word as he was led out of the chamber, his mind whirling with a dozen thoughts. But just as the door closed, he glanced back over his shoulder.

It may have been his imagination, yet he could have sworn that the king’s right eye dipped in a wink.