"It's been five days," Cyrus muttered, staring blankly at the stone-gray ceiling.

On the first day, he waited patiently. After all, Cyrus was no stranger to being locked in a dungeon. The second day brought him to worry. Why haven't Lord Dílis and his daughter contacted him? Did these Spectres not bother, believing it would be a waste of time? On the third day, Cyrus found himself pacing the cell until his soles turned red.

And now, on the fifth day, Cyrus' only goal was to remain sane.

Maybe something has come up, he thought, resting his eyes.

Yet the next moment, they opened wide, fraught with fear and guilt. Why? Why does that thing and corpse appear every time Cyrus closes his eyes? When will these thoughts st—A sudden knock stirred him away from these thoughts. Without wasting a second, Cyrus bolted to the door.

"H-hello?" He began, his voice slightly trembling. "Will there be someone to speak with me about the incident? It feels like I've been forgotten."

There was no response, only the creak of the small serving hatch sliding open, followed by a tray of gray slop being pushed through. But when Cyrus was to be left alone again, he was struck with panic.

"Wait!" The metal door loudly echoed with the force of his knocks. "Please, answer. Something—anything!"

There was a momentary silence between the two until Cyrus heard a response from the other side.

"We've been conducting investigations into both your and the victim's circumstances," The man paused, articulating his thoughts. "And your connection with The Dílis Family was verified the night during your incarceration."

Wait. They've left Cyrus alone in here?

"Well, did they say anything?" Cyrus asked, stifling a quiver.

"No. But we've found some discrepancies in your identity." —The man's voice lowered into a whispered coax— "Come on, if you share more about yourself, it could expedite your release."

Cyrus remained silent for a minute. Lord Dílis did not seem to inform The Spectres of his unusual circumstances. But then, why was he still here?

"Only His Stewardship could provide such details," Cyrus eventually replied softly. "Please direct your inquiries to him if it's crucial."

He heard a grunt from the other side. "Kid, you're in serious trouble if you're not proven innocent. It's in your best interest to come clean when you have the chance."

With his thoughts swirling, Cyrus remained quiet. He persisted as such despite hearing The Spectre's departing grumbles. So there Cyrus was, alone again. Feeling drained, he returned to the bed and resumed staring at the ceiling.

They've left me here alone. It wasn't entirely unexpected; he and the Dílis family were strangers, not even acquaintances, let alone friends. Still, a part of him had hoped that Lady Dílis, at least, would seek out his version of events. Yet, no one came.

It's fine. Cyrus' gaze shifted downwards to the wall. I needed the reminder.

He then turned to Bird. And what a pitiable sight it was. It remained nested on the bed's pillow, staring listlessly while hardly moving. This place was never meant for a canary. So, with a sigh, Cyrus gently lifted Bird on top of his palms.

"Why do you stay, little guy?" he asked softly. "You should be outside in the fresh air and sunli—er... light, not here in the dim, lonely darkness."

As ever, Bird remained silent, nestled round as a ball.

"Well, never mind," Cyrus continued, shaking his head and voice gaining momentum. "Do you want to hear another story? You like those, right?

Bird fluttered its wings. Was that a yes? Cyrus didn't know, but he took it as such.

"What should I talk about today?" Slowly, his gaze searched the gray stone for inspiration.

In these past few days, he has been telling stories to his feathered inmate. Did it make him look crazy? Probably, but he has to find some means to pass the time while escaping intrusive thoughts.

"Oh, I know." Once he returned his sights to Bird, an idea struck him. "How about I tell you about the Thunderbird?" Another flutter of wings. "Alright then. Once upon a time, there were nomadic tribes that roamed vast plains and forests. And among their stories of myths and creatures was the thunderbird or, as they called it, animkiig." A pause. "Anyone could hear them coming by the booming thunder of their wings flapping or the lightning shooting out of their eyes."

He continued the story, explaining how it symbolized power and strength, capable of lifting three carriages with a single claw. Meanwhile, Bird kept its rapt attention, making Cyrus wonder if it could understand him or just like the attention. But if at least one living being enjoyed that vast amount of useless knowledge of myths and legends he's stored in his head, then Cyrus was satisfied. And who knows, maybe there would be more storytimes once he's gotten out of here... if he gets out of here.

"They were believed to be protectors against the great horned snake, capable of mesmerizing their prey." Cyrus continued, rubbing his beard, sifting through his jumbled mess of a memory. "Ah, yes. They were also revered as messengers of the sun." He smiled at Bird, steel-blue gaze holding a tinge of excitement. "Would you fancy being a Thunderbird? A protector of justice?

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

The bird took flight and circled around Cyrus before landing on his shoulder. Maybe it understood him?

There was a knock on the door. Along came the sounds of bolts coming undone on the other side, followed by a Spectre entering the room, bronze mask and all. Yet he was different than the one with hazel eyes. Their mask was darker, more sinister. And in truth, Cyrus had expected him to treat him as a criminal, but to his surprise, the man bowed before him.

"Greetings, Sir Wade," The Spectre began, waving towards the exit. "His Stewardship requests for your presence."

The man couldn't finish his words before Cyrus and Bird were already out of the cell. "Good. Great. Let's go."

And words couldn't describe Cyrus' joy once his cuffs were off.

Forward they went. Emerging from the dungeon and into the stately halls of The Guardsman headquarters once filled to the brim with staff, visitors, and guardsmen, they were surprisingly empty. Now, only the echoes of his footsteps bounced off these walls.

"Where is everyone?" Cyrus inquired. "Did something happen?"

The Spectre shook his head, his voice steady. "You don't know? No one is permitted to witness those incarcerated by us." Surprisingly, patted Cyrus' shoulder with a thick, gloved hand. "Don't worry; no one will know your connection to us."

Why does that matter? Cyrus pondered the significance of this rule but opted not to voice his thoughts, deciding it would be best to address them with Lord Dílis. "Uh, thanks."

After rounding a few corners, the pair maintained silence until they reached familiar yet empty halls, finally arriving at those familiar double doors.

The Spectre knocked on the door before opening it. "Your Lordship, Sir Wad—" Bird interrupted him by darting past his head and into the other room, leaving him dumbstruck.

"Oh, it's you who chose Cyrus." Lord Dílis' hearty laugh followed from inside the office. "About time, isn't it? You've been cooped up in that cage for far too long."

Chirp!

Meanwhile, The Spectre and Cyrus silently exchanged glances. Should he just walk in? The Spectre simply nodded before departing, leaving a hesitant Cyrus waiting at the door.

Lord Dílis. Cyrus peered through the door gap. What are you thinking?

Would he be angry or annoyed? Would he believe Cyrus' innocence?

With a deep breath, Cyrus took the plunge. Inside, the office stood in stark contrast to the lord's personal quarters. It was devoid of displays or insignias of his Wayfarer or Lordship status. One quick glance revealed a few weapons adorned on the wall and a simple desk in front of a window that offered a modest view of Avalorn's lush cityscape.

Chirp!

Bird flew up to Cyrus and circled around him before darting towards the window. More specifically, Bird flew to the man clad in dark brown slacks and a sage-colored formal shirt, who stood gazing at Avalorn with a serene expression.

"Cyrus, my boy." The Dúndraíocht turned to him, offering that warm smile he always kept. "I'm glad to see that you're ok."

And it took all of Cyrus' effort to remain calm.

"T-thank you, Lord Dílis." Cyrus placed a fist over his heart, unable to shake the feeling of being scrutinized by the grandmaster mage.

"Come now, Cyrus. We've spoken about this before. Call me Cosan!" Lord Dílis sauntered to his desk and took a seat. "Now, come closer. It's rather difficult to converse from across the room."

The Steward beckoned warmly. And yet, Cyrus felt as if weights were strapped to his calves. He walked as if the marble floors were covered in eggshells. Why did the air feel so heavy? And once Cyrus sat down before the lord of the city, an uneasy silence settled between the two.

Time slowly passed without words. Lord Dílis had fallen into a contemplative silence, his hands clasped on the table and his gaze pointedly fixed on Cyrus.

Defend and deflect. Cyrus mentally rehearsed his options.

It was not his fault she was dead. After all, she attacked him in the first place! In fact, he wasn't even conscious in the first place... Why did Cyrus feel the need to defend him—Lord Dílis broke into a grand smile.

"Well done, Cyrus."

"Huh?!" Cyrus blurted out, eyes widening.

Lord Dílis chuckled as he rose from his seat. "I said, 'Well done, Cyrus.'" He moved around the desk and reassuringly patted Cyrus' shoulder. "Let me explain; I've been informed that you claimed the woman you killed was a student from The Milligan Academy?"

The word 'killed' made Cyrus flinch, but he nodded nonetheless.

"Cait...ríona, yes," he confirmed, his shoulders hunched.

Lord Dílis settled back into his seat, his expression hinting at amusement like a cat discovering a hidden mouse hole. "Her name isn't Caitríona. And she wasn't affiliated with the academy." He allowed the thought to settle within Cyrus' mind, his sharp gaze locked onto Cyrus' burgeoning shocked expression. "In fact, Gorman Eilís had never set foot near The Milligan Academy. She was merely a flower vendor in the Corrocho district and apparently without awakened domains."

And All Cyrus could do was open his mouth in shock. Had Caitríona lied about everything? Cyrus considered it before, but found it ridiculous that she had lied about her name for years. But now that it was out in the open, it sent a shiver down his spine.

Meanwhile, Lord Dílis' expression grew ever more severe. "Thanks to you, we've uncovered another rat hiding within the city. A rat that spreads pestilence and death wherever it scurries." His following words were weighted and heavy as if he wished Cyrus to etch them into his memory. "She was a member of the Theatrum Umbrae."

With a trace of disdain, Lord Dílis then produced the confiscated necklace adorned with the face ornament. He tossed it onto the table, his gaze flickering with such hatred and anger that Cyrus almost froze at the sight.

"The Theatrum Umbrae—" he continued, his voice seeping with restrained bile. "—is a group of deranged cultists who adhere to the doctrine of," He paused, restraining his anger. "'Life is but a play,' bestowed upon them by their god, Hypokrites. Just so you know, these vermin masquerade as actors on life's grand stage. They weave deceitful narratives to manipulate others into extremes of emotion. And when the time is ripe, they orchestrate events to shatter their victims' lives, transforming them into a wraith." There was a pause as his gaze bore into Cyrus with an intensity that left no room for evasion. "Did these vermin exert any influence over you?"

Cyrus opened his mouth but did not speak. What would he say? That Caitríona had been dreaming about him for years before he arrived? That a god tore off his face and wore it like a mask, speaking to a faceless audience about him as if Cyrus were the main lead of a play that's been in the making for thousands of years?

And oh, could he see it now; Cyrus would have to stop training his magic, forever trapped in this city until Lord Dílis deemed it safe. Years would slip past like water as he grew older, unable to explore the world and find meaning in life. And in the end, Cyrus would eventually die of old age in this prison, filled with resentment.

So, Cyrus decided on what he knew best; he lied.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.