Gale’s mind felt like it was splintering, the weight of his pain pressing against him from every angle. His body trembled beneath the girl’s touch, her hands gently cleaning the wound on his side despite the trembling in his body. Each press of the cloth sent a sharp wave of agony through him, but he couldn’t pull away. His limbs were too weak, too broken, to even move.

Through the fog of pain and exhaustion, he barely heard her words, but when she asked, “Where are you from?” it cut through the haze like a blade. The question felt so simple, so innocent, but it brought with it a flood of memories, of everything he was trying to forget.

Iekburgg. The city that had shaped him, that had broken him. A place filled with too many ghosts, too many things he wanted to leave behind. He had fled it once, but now it felt like it was here, with him, in every aching breath he took.

His mind raced to answer, but his mouth was dry, and his thoughts scrambled, too scattered to form a coherent response. Despite the exhaustion, the blood loss, and the sharp pain radiating from his side, he forced the words out.

“Iekburgg,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking the name of the city could somehow make it real again.

"It's where I was first whipped before being brought to the first cell." He muttered,no emotions but pain.

For a moment, everything around him felt distant, as though the weight of his words had dragged him away from the present, taking him back to the place that had molded him into what he was now. But the pain—the biting pain in his side, the coldness of the stone floor—yanked him back to the moment.

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, the faint sound of his ragged breathing. And though the girl had asked him where he was from, a deeper question lingered in Gale’s mind. Why did it matter? He was broken, far from the person he used to be, and all that remained was the pain and the silence.

But even as the answer left his lips, he could feel a weight settling over him, something heavy and unspoken between them, as if the city that had once been his home now had no place in the world that awaited him.

Kayla nodded, listening to him. "You're brave, Gale" She murmured, smiling softly at him. He had run from the royal guard and endured pain, but still didn't tell her to go away even as she had accidentally hurt him. "Whipped? Oh, you're that Gale. I won't do anything to you." She promised quietly, watching him. "Would you like anything?" She asked softly.

The question cut through the haze of pain, sharp and cold.

"Would you like something?"

It lingered in the air for only a moment, but it felt like a lifetime. Something about it, so simple, so innocent, felt like a slap across his face. Why? What was the point? Did it even matter? He could feel the weight of the words like stones in his chest. The question wasn't just a question—it was a reminder. A reminder that he was still alive. That he was still here, caught in this pit of agony, of failure.

He could barely lift his head, the weight of it too much to bear. His side throbbed, and the pain crawled through his body like fire, but it wasn’t just the physical pain that cut the deepest. It was everything else—the memories, the ghosts of Iekburgg that followed him even now. The city, the screams, the whips. It was all tangled inside of him, a knot of hurt and rage and hopelessness.

The question echoed in his mind. Would you like something?

Couldn’t she see? Couldn’t she understand? What could he possibly want? What could he possibly need anymore? Everything had been taken from him. Iekburgg had stripped him bare, had torn everything away, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to salvage.

He wanted to die. The thought was simple, raw, unavoidable. It had always been there, lurking in the back of his mind like a shadow. But in moments like this, when the weight of his brokenness pressed down on him, the desire was almost overwhelming. His chest tightened. His throat burned. He could feel the coldness of the stone floor beneath him, like it was trying to pull him into the earth itself, to swallow him whole.

He didn’t want water. He didn’t want food. He didn’t want a blanket. What would any of that matter when he was already so far gone? What was the point of it all, when he was just a broken thing, dragging through the motions, each breath a reminder that he hadn’t yet managed to escape? Why keep going?

The thought of slipping away—of not having to feel the sting of every wound, the weight of every ghost, the endless ache in his soul—was the only thing that felt real right now. It wasn’t even a death he wanted, not really. It was just peace. A release from the endless fight.

But no, that wasn’t allowed. Iekburgg had taught him that. The pain, the suffering—it wasn’t just something you endured and then ended. It was something you carried with you, until there was nothing left to give. Until your bones were too tired, your mind too fractured, and your heart too hollow to even know what it meant to live anymore.

The question pressed on him again, like a weight on his chest. Would you like something?

It wasn’t an offer. It was an insult. She didn’t know. She didn’t know what it was like to live in a place where hope had long died. She didn’t understand that there was no “something” to offer. There was only the darkness, the void, the endless pull of nothingness.

His eyes fluttered shut, the world around him fading in and out of focus. There were too many thoughts swirling, too much static in his head, too much of everything. But through it all, the question remained, gnawing at the edges of his mind. Why? Why couldn’t he just... end it?

It wasn’t a thought he had the luxury of indulging anymore. Iekburgg had already made sure of that. There was no escape, no relief. Only the crawling, suffocating weight of survival.

He swallowed hard, the dry rasp of his throat reminding him of his own fragility. How much longer could he endure this? How many more days, weeks, years could he live in this body, this skin that had already been ripped apart, inside and out?

He thought of the city again—Iekburgg. And for a moment, he wondered if it would be kinder to let himself fade into nothingness, to finally stop feeling the echoes of that broken place. But that, too, felt impossible. There was no release. There was no end.He gripped her arm with a force strong enough to keep her there but she could leave.Gale's grip was strong but weak at the same time.He locked his gaze in hers,eyes cold as ice as he stared into her.

"The only thing I want is for you to kill me.," he whispered into the darkness, his voice barely audible. The word was a confession, a surrender.He let go of her arm,seeing the fresh red stain now on her clean skin.His head fell back to the stone again,head throbbing.

He didn’t have the strength to answer her. Not with words, not with anything. Because all he wanted, all he could hope for, was for it all to stop. The pain. The memories. The question. Everything.

"I'm not going to kill you. You're gonna get out of here. I'll help you" she said quietly, not minding the blood on her arm. "Nobody can tell the prince's wife to be no."

Gale’s body hung limp from the chains, his feet barely brushing the cold stone floor. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and every inch of his body ached from the hours of torture, the poisons, the wounds. He was exhausted, but his mind was sharp—sharper than ever.

The King stood before him, silent for a moment, watching. The air was thick with tension.

“You really think you can defy me forever?” the King’s voice was cold, cutting through the silence. “You’ll tell me what I need to know. You’ll break, just like the others.”

Gale’s throat burned, his tongue dry, but he remained silent. Every muscle in his body screamed for release, but his resolve was unshaken. He wasn’t going to break. Not now.

The King moved closer, his shadow looming over Gale. “I’ve broken men twice your size,” he continued, his voice growing more menacing. “You’ll be no different.”

Gale’s jaw tightened, and despite the pain, he forced himself to look the King in the eye. He refused to show weakness, refused to give him the satisfaction.

The King reached down, grabbing Gale’s chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. “Look at me,” he commanded. “You’ll answer, or I’ll make you.”

Gale’s heart raced, but he didn’t flinch. He stared back defiantly, his lips trembling slightly, but not from fear.

And then, with what little strength he had left, Gale spat. It wasn’t much—a small, weak gesture—but it was all he could offer in the face of this cruel man.

The King froze for a moment, his expression one of pure shock. Then, his face twisted with anger.

“You—” he began, his voice trembling with rage. “How dare you.”

The King raised his hand, and in a swift motion, slapped Gale across the face. The force of it sent Gale’s head jerking to the side, his vision flashing with pain. He staggered, but he stayed upright.

“You’ll regret that,” the King muttered, wiping his cheek clean, his voice low and filled with fury. He stepped back, shaking his head in disgust.

Without another word, he turned to the guards. “Take him. Now.”

The guards moved quickly, yanking Gale from the chains and pulling him toward the door. His legs wobbled, but he didn’t fight. There was no strength left in his body, but his mind was still clear. He wasn’t finished.

The door slammed behind them, and Gale was dragged deeper into the castle. The cold air hit his face, but his thoughts were focused on one thing. Survival.

Kayla watched Gale with curious eyes

Gale was barely aware of his surroundings as the guards dragged him through the dim, cold corridors of the castle. His body was on autopilot—his limbs weak from hours of abuse, but his mind, sharp and defiant, kept him upright. He’d been through hell before, and this? This was just another chapter in a story that wasn't finished yet.

The guards were silent, their steps heavy, their grip firm on his arms. Every time Gale’s feet dragged against the stone floor, a jolt of pain shot through his body. His side throbbed from the wound, but the poison still worked its way through his veins, dulling his senses and making every step feel like a mile. The King’s slap still stung on his cheek, but it wasn’t the physical pain that weighed him down—it was the way the King had looked at him, as if he were nothing but an insect to be crushed beneath his heel.

But Gale wouldn’t break. Not for that man.

The guards finally stopped at a heavy, iron door. One of them unlocked it, the sound of metal scraping against metal echoing in the otherwise quiet hallway. They shoved Gale inside, and the door slammed shut behind him with a resounding thud.

The room was small, the air thick with the smell of mildew and stone. A single flickering torch on the wall cast long shadows, but the place felt suffocating—like a tomb. Gale’s eyes scanned the room for any way out, but there was nothing. Just cold stone walls and a solitary, worn cot in the corner.

He was alone. For now.

His breath came in shallow gasps, but he refused to let the panic take hold. Focus. He needed to focus. He couldn’t afford to let himself sink into despair, not when there was still a way out. He just had to hold on.

A sudden noise broke through the silence—footsteps, approaching fast. Gale straightened instinctively, his senses alert, ready for whatever came next. The door swung open again, and this time, it wasn’t just the guards.

The King entered, his presence as suffocating as ever. His cold eyes studied Gale for a moment before a cruel smile twisted his lips.

“You think you’ve won something, don’t you?” the King’s voice was low, a taunt. “That little stunt you pulled with the spit? It doesn’t matter. You think that’s rebellion? You think that’s defiance? I’ll break you, Gale. You’ve got no choice.”

Gale didn’t respond, his jaw clenched, his eyes hard. His breath was ragged, but his pride was intact. If the King wanted to break him, he would have to do better than that.

The King took a step closer, his gaze never leaving Gale’s face. “Do you know why I’ve kept you alive this long, Gale?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Because you are a tool. A piece of a puzzle I need. And you will tell me what I want to know, or I will make you wish you had.”

Gale’s lips curled into a grimace, but he said nothing. His throat burned from the poison, but he forced himself to stay quiet. His mind raced with thoughts of escape, of a plan, but all of them seemed impossible. The odds were stacked against him, and yet, something inside him refused to accept it.

The King’s smile deepened, a twisted satisfaction in his eyes. “You think you can resist forever? I’ll just keep hurting you. Keep hurting everyone you care about, until you finally break. You’ll tell me what I need, or they will pay the price.”

Gale’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of others. They—who was the King talking about? His mind raced, trying to piece things together, but before he could formulate a response, the King’s voice cut through his thoughts again.

“You’ve never known true pain, Gale. But you will. Soon enough.”

The King turned on his heel, and with a gesture, the guards moved in, dragging Gale back to the center of the room. They pushed him onto his knees, ignoring the way his body shook from the strain.

As the King’s footsteps faded into the distance, Gale’s gaze flicked back toward the door. He was alone again, his hands shackled, his body broken. But something inside him still burned. His will, his defiance, the part of him that would never be crushed—that would never go away.

And with every hour that passed in that cold, lonely cell, he held onto that fire.

He would find a way out. He would escape. And he would make sure that when the time came, he was the one who decided when the game ended.

Kayla had hidden in an empty cell as Gale was spoken to and dragged to the next cell over. She knew the prince would be looking for her soon and find her soon enough. Once the guards and king left, she slinked out of the cell and sat, leaning against Gale's cell. "I'm sorry they're doing this to you." She said quietly, closing her eyes. "I'll try to make them stop"

The girl’s words barely made sense to Gale, a faint, fragile offer of hope that felt almost laughable given the situation.

“I’ll try to get them to stop,” she said, her voice soft, almost too hopeful.

He blinked, still fighting to stay conscious, trying to ignore the weight of the chains digging into his wrists. His feet barely touched the floor, and every breath felt like it might be his last. But the girl—this girl—was talking like she could change anything.

Get them to stop?

Gale almost wanted to laugh, but it came out as a pained rasp instead. He managed to lift his head enough to give her a look, eyes dull and shadowed, not quite empty but close.

“You think you can stop them?” he said, his voice rough, almost mocking. “The King’s not gonna stop for you. He doesn’t stop for anyone.”

His chest tightened with both the pain and the bitterness that seemed to grow in him every time someone tried to play hero. He had long given up on the idea of saving himself, let alone relying on someone else to do it. She had no idea what she was getting into.

“You think they’ll listen to you?” he continued, the words quieter now, but just as biting. “You’re just... wasting your time.”

His eyes flickered toward her for a moment, but then he looked away, unable to meet her gaze any longer.

He didn’t need help. He didn’t want it. He just needed to survive.

But this—this kind of pity, this hopeless optimism—that would just make everything worse.

"Then stay here at the mercy of the king. I have the authority to at least tell my husband-to-be to order his father to have mercy." She snapped, still staying calm despite her tone. "I'm not wasting my time......actually, I probablly am. It's either this or being side-eyed by a lot of people, so I choose this."