"The Polus castle does not often have reason to use its gaol. Those of lesser crimes and offenses are typically segregated in smaller chamber hidden within each Knight Order's base, where rehabilitation tend be the focus rather than outright punishment. The damp, dark dungeon beneath the castle is where only those who cannot be reasoned, or those who cannot be executed, are held: political prisoners, or perhaps a misbehaving Throne."

  —Gadreel Cherubim, Chancellor of Polus

  ———

  The Knight

  Ascalon leads the Knight into the bowels of the castle’s underground. The bright marble and gleaming white of the surface is gone, replaced by a rustic brown as aged wood now encompasses the worn exterior. It is reminiscent of a forest cabin: serene in some manner in the isolation it provides, yet stale with smells of musk permeating the tight corridors. This place is a prison and, judging by the commotion caused upon their arrival the previous day, the Knight can surmise who it is the King wants to introduce.

  “This is a rather odd location to meet a friend,” it teases. “I suppose it’s Annalay we’re meeting?”

  “You would be correct,” he says whilst carefully taking its hand and descending deeper into the darkness. With every step, a hollow echo resonates around them, ringing through the passage and empty cells slowly coming into their view. “It must be a nostalgic experience for her, to return to the gaol. Well, it is used nowadays more as a penitentiary than any other; this space once was reserved for traitors of the nobility, but as time went on, we changed its purpose to serve as a rehabilitation center for our rather unruly knights. You can imagine a few days locked up in this dreadful place would make any soul feel repentant.”

  The Knight has seen worse—dungeons covered in an inescapable fume of flayed flesh and tortured bodies. The Polus gaol is quite the paradise in comparison. Though there is an air of stuffiness, the cells appear to have been wholly scrubbed clean of filth. The rooms within are also quite accommodating: spacious, a neat mattress, a private space to relieve oneself, and multiple bundles of cloth to serve as blankets. There are even a few candles to serve as a light source. For the winged ones who yearn for open skies this may seem to be torture, but the Knight finds it rather quaint.

  “Why would Annalay feel nostalgic?”

  A strange air envelops the king. Pity? Sadness? It is a mixture of many emotions: complex, but not entirely negative. There is a hint of fondness in his rigid stride, of memories both fickle and comforting.

  “Before she became a Throne, Annalay was known as the capital’s resident troublemaker. She still is to an extent, but in those early days there was no end to the chaos she stirred. Taverns were left destitute, woman found themselves by her bedside, and it wasn’t rare to find her sprawled out on the street after a heated brawl. Hehe, the court really despised her, said it was unbecoming of a noble to behave in such a matter, but she cared not. So, they resorted to more drastic measures and imprisoned her in the gaol after every one of her antics. Unfortunately for them, Annalay actually grew to like sleeping in these worn cells. She spent more time here than in her own barracks.”

  I can see why. Sometimes, it is nice to have a silent shelter all to oneself.

  “I never did find out why she liked being here so much. Perhaps this is the time to sate my curiosity.”

  Just as he finishes speaking, a loud, rumbling snore echoes around them. Ascalon has not lied; she really is at peace here.

  They walk up to her cell, and the first thing the Knight notices is its uniqueness compared to the others. The room is larger, hosting two mattresses in order to hold strong against her colossal size, and numerous little markings are carved upon the wood: some shaped into crude drawings while others appearing to be mere gibberish and long-winded rants. They are far from new, and judging by how faded the dents are, it estimates their creation to be about a decade old.

  There, stretched out on her back with nary a care in the world, is Annalay whilst still donned in her thorned armor. The spikes pierce the mattresses and leave behind holes of exposed cotton, but the Knight supposes her position must be comfortable if she is able to sleep in such a position.

  Ascalon sighs and shakes his head. His expression conveys that of a disappointed sibling, and so he walks up to the bars, raises his hand, and knocks against the cell. “Annalay, it is time to wake up.”

  She grunts and with great effort forces herself to rise one limb at a time. An arm is raised, sluggish and flopping about, and then so is the other until she collides face-first into the bed and pushes up—all whilst smacking her lips together in a bid to rouse her dry throat.

  “Mmm, Ascalon? That you?” Annalay mumbles, stumbling onto her feet as she rubs her eyes. “Ah, that old codger probably told you to come lecture me, didn’t he? That’s fine and all, but I’d appreciate it if you could give me a few more minutes. Hells know how long it’s been since I’ve had a nap this nice. It’s good to be back home.”

  “I’m glad,” he says with a small laugh. “Unfortunately, your time here is at an end. I have another punishment awaiting you.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Stars, really? Maybe I should’ve caused more trouble.”

  “Please don’t. Besides, I think you’ll quite like this punishment.”

  “Hoh? Sounds like you’ve got something real fun in store for me. Is this about Celia?”

  “Well, why don’t you see for yourself.”

  Ascalon steps back and waves the Knight forward. As it approaches her, Annalay’s voice becomes silent. She collapses onto her knees, and her hands grope her own body, smacking herself as if the pain will cause the sight before her to disappear. But it does not. This is reality, and as soon as she comes to that realization, Annalay springs forth and bends the cell bars back, ripping them apart effortlessly. In an instant, the Knight is smothered in another one of her holds.

  But this time is different. This is not the hold of one welcoming back a beloved friend, but rather of a desperate little girl clutching onto the manifestation of her hope. Her savior. The one who gave her the courage to rebel. It does not understand why these feelings rise from the burly woman, but such peculiarities have become all but common lately.

  “It really is you, isn’t it?” she says with a trembling whisper. “Hells, I… I really am a fool. Didn’t even notice the entire time we were together. Some friend I am, huh?”

  The Knight strokes her back and allows itself to stay with her in the moment. Love is a powerful thing; it turns even the wildest of souls into a fragile, bleeding heart. “Oh, Annalay. Dear, sweet Annalay: Of course you wouldn’t have known. I’m not Lorelai anymore, not the same at least. I’ve changed. But, even so, I’m still here. I’m alive and I have the chance to strive toward a new me, so please don’t blame yourself. From now on, I’d like to make new memories with you. Is that okay?”

  She pauses, and in her helm’s slits is an onslaught of thoughts. There is torment in them. There is longing. But, above all else, there is a wish for fellowship once more. “Heh, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot. But you’re wrong about one thing: You are still Lorelai. A different one, sure, but even now I can feel that you’re the same as ever.”

  Annalay lets go, hesitantly and with a shaky breath. There is still something that preoccupies her mind, but she tries hard not to show it: the worry hidden beneath her outer bulwark. The Knight believes it knows the source of her behavior.

  “Just tell me one thing,” she begins, voice breaking with an obvious melancholy. “Is everyone else dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even Celia?”

  “I saw her body. She’s gone.”

  “I see.” The Nature’s Throne struggles to keep herself standing, but she remains stoic in the end. Or rather, she has already long come to the truth. To have it finally confirmed however shreds away at any vestiges of erstwhile hope no matter how implausible it may have been. Still, despite the grief, there is a peace in knowing she need not suffer under the worry of an ambiguous fate. Her friend can finally rest.

  “Right, it’s a miracle you were even able to get out. And while Celia’s strong, she—ah hells, guess spending all that time cooped up made her soft. I always did say to get some fresh air once in a while, and look at her now. You better be feeling sorry up there for leaving us behind, Celia. You damn idiot…”

  The Knight doesn’t say a word. Sometimes, silence is more comforting than any consolation. Annalay wishes to cry in silence, and so she does. All it can do is foster a safe haven for her, a retreat where she may let loose her emotions unburdened. Ascalon appears to have the same sentiment, and so the three of them pass the time together, sharing in a private period of mourning.

  When her tears have finally dried, she makes no attempt to put on her previous facade of unruliness. This must be the true Annalay: a thoughtful, softhearted woman full of care. That she now bares herself shows her trust in the Knight… a trust that will be cherished very, very well.

  “Sorry. I—forget you saw that,” she says with an uncharacteristic meekness. “Heh, sometimes you need to let out a bawl. People aren’t meant to bottle up their emotions; being true to myself is how Celia would want me to carry on. Though, it doesn’t change how embarrassing this is.”

  “I, for one, am quite honored to see a new side of you,” Ascalon says with a perhaps poorly timed attempt at reassurance.

  “Oh, shut up your majesty. You’re only making this worse.”

  “Ah. I apologize.”

  The Knight bursts out laughing with a strange, exhilarating rush of delight it has not thought possible of itself. It does not know why its acting in such a manner. Is it because of Annalay’s flustered tone? Is it due to Ascalon’s clumsiness, his demeanor abashed as if he’s a plump-cheeked child being scolded by their caretaker? It does not know. This feeling is frightening, foreign, and yet it can’t help but give itself to this bliss. How terrifying. How utterly baffling.

  And yet, I cannot stop. Why? I—this isn’t right. This is the second time I’ve been subjected to such abnormal behavior. Has a curse truly been beset upon me?

  The other two join along with its merry fit, laughing as they surround it in a wide hug from all sides. There is no escape from their affection, and most concerning of all, it doesn’t want to. The Knight feels a bit of kinship with them in this moment, as if it truly is the Lorelai they have come to love with all their warmth.

  But it must never forget: the Knight is an imposter—a creature only wearing the skin of the one they so adore, slain by its own hand. It doesn’t deserve this happiness. This life is built on deception. Eventually, it will all come crumbling down, and the only thing that shall await it is further sorrow.

  Remember who you are. Remember your duty.

  “I’m so sorry,” it says to the giggling pair. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Ah, it’s all fine. I think that little laugh brought me back to my good ol’ self, anyways,” Annalay says with a hearty squeeze from behind. “Come to think of it, was this really supposed to be my punishment? I doubt me blubbering my eyes out was what you wanted, Ascalon.”

  “That’s right, I nearly forgot!” he says, leaning in close to Annalay’s side and patting her shoulder. “You are correct. Your actual punishment is to escort Lorelai through the city.”

  “Hm? That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “I’m glad you think that way, because your first destination is the Virtue’s central office.”

  Annalay’s mood shifts in an instant. She stiffens in place, hands clenching together with such intensity that they begin to tremble, and a layer of venom coats her next few, furious words.

  “Is that hag still there?” she growls with the savagery of a wild beast.

  “Yes, Annalay. And she’s waiting for you. She’s been waiting ever since your return, but I wasn’t able to find the right time to inform you until now.”

  “… Damnit.”

  “Please, Annalay. Surasha is there as well, and I’m sure you know as well as I how much she’s missed Lorelai. If not for me, do it for her.”

  Annalay doesn’t respond. She merely begins to walk away with lumbering, weighty stomps. Her every move hides a suppressed wrath, and yet she tries her best to remain carefree as usual, however poorly veiled.

  “Come on, Lorelai,” she eventually grumbles. “Let’s get this over with.”