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Varen visibly tensed. "Lord Fathoran," he said, bowing his head in respect. "This is the soldier who invented the new magnetism technique that interested you the other day. He's also the prisoner who stole the cores of one of our relatives. Elio Elian."

Fathoran's eyes gleamed with interest. He moved even closer to Elio, studying him closely. The young soldier could feel the heat emanating from the man's body, and he had to resist the urge to step back.

"So you're the famous Elio," Fathoran said, his tone casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "I've heard fascinating things about you. But it seems you have an even more special talent for... acquiring things that don't belong to you."

Elio swallowed, aware of the dangerous situation he was in. "Sir, I..."

Fathoran raised a hand, silencing him. "No, no, don't bother explaining. The city's affairs are so... tedious." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I leave those things to my children, Estin and Mordred. They're the ones who must worry about leading the masses."

The rabbit on Fathoran's head moved slightly, its red eyes fixing on Elio. For a moment, the young soldier had the unsettling feeling that the creature was evaluating him.

"Although I must admit," Fathoran continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "that I'm intrigued by how a simple soldier has managed to cause such a stir. Perhaps there's more to you than meets the eye."

He moved even closer, his face inches from Elio's. The young man could see every detail of the man's eyes, eyes that seemed to contain centuries of knowledge and secrets.

"Tell me, young Elio," Fathoran whispered, his warm breath on Elio's face, "what would you be willing to do to survive? To protect your own?"

Elio felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something in Fathoran's gaze, an intensity that suggested this wasn't a casual question. It was a test.

Before Elio could respond, Fathoran leaned back, laughing. "Ah, but those are questions for another time, aren't they? For now, you have an appointment with confinement."

He turned to Varen. "Make sure our guest is... comfortable."

With that, Fathoran turned and returned to his "training" with the harem girls, as if the interruption had never occurred. The rabbit on his head settled once more, its red eyes never leaving Elio.

Varen, visibly uncomfortable with the entire exchange, pushed Elio to keep walking. "Move," he growled. "We don't want to keep Ivan waiting."

As they continued their way to confinement, Elio's mind was spinning. Who really was this elder who looked so young? Elio couldn't help but think about Fathoran's words. What would he be willing to do to survive? To protect his own?

♢♢♢♢

Varen led Elio to a secure room, a windowless chamber apparently designed by God to contain prisoners. There were a few of them in the building but they were rarely used, God's system was very efficient at keeping people in line.

"Guard," Varen called. An old soldier with decades of service to the families approached instantly. "Watch this prisoner. Don't let anyone in or out without my express authorization. And feed him, we need him alive for now."

The guard nodded and took his position by the door. Varen cast one last look at Elio before leaving the room.

♢♢♢♢

Elio was left alone with his thoughts. He thought about his family, his friends, everything he had fought to protect. Would this be the end of his story? Would he die here, in this cold cell, far from everyone he loved?

No. He couldn't let that happen. There had to be a way out of this, to survive and fight against the injustices he had just witnessed. His book, which remained floating next to him, could be the key. He opened it to check how much mana he had recovered.

Elio Elian's Statistics

Skills:

Sacred Flame

Holy Water

Ice Sacrifice

Familiars: Fire Salamander (+5 MD)

(11/1000)

Level 3

Mana: 5/30

Resistance: 3/30 (+100)

Stamina: 4/7

Attack: 3

Magic Damage: 8

Strength: 3

Defense: 3 (+5)

Speed: 3

Perception / Agility: 1.3

Superior Mana Armor / Defense: 5 / Resistance: 100

Balance: 7,655 mana points

Elio still had his armor, Varen decided to let him keep it as it didn't pose a threat to him, but he didn't have his lances.

Elio observed the interior of his perfectly cubic cell, its dimensions so precise they seemed to mock any notion of imperfection. The space was small, barely three meters by three. In one corner was a raised platform that served as a bed, also made of the same white stone. There was no mattress, just a thin blanket neatly folded over the hard surface.

Light emanated softly from the ceiling, an unchanging constant that neither flickered nor wavered. It was the same light that had illuminated his home throughout his life, a constant reminder of God's omnipresence in every aspect of their lives.

The cell, like everything except the doors in the city, was a creation of God, indestructible and immutable.

In one corner, the familiar "hole" opened in the floor. Elio looked at it with a mixture of resignation and familiarity. All his life, that hole had been a constant, a daily mystery that no one questioned. Trash, waste, everything disappeared into it, disintegrated by forces that no one really understood.

He backed up to the platform that served as a bed, sitting down with a sigh. His mind, trained to seek solutions in desperate situations, worked tirelessly. But every idea that emerged crashed against the relentless reality of his surroundings.

The hole? Too small, and besides, did he really want to end up disintegrated? The light? Inaccessible and unalterable. The walls? As solid and impenetrable as the day they were created.

Elio ran a hand along the wall, feeling its cold and perfectly smooth surface. There were no cracks, no imperfections. It was as if the cell had been carved from a single piece of stone.

Feeling the accumulated fatigue, desperation began to creep over him. He had fought monsters, had survived impossible battles, but this... this seemed truly insurmountable.

"Think, Elio, think," he told himself, rubbing his temples. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't concentrate.

Elio relaxed, rubbing his tired eyes. Exhaustion began to take over, clouding his thoughts. He lay down on the platform that served as a bed, its hardness another reminder of the relentless nature of his prison.

As he lay there, his gaze fixed on the light on the ceiling. He remembered the stories his mother used to tell, about how God had created these lights so they would never be in darkness. At that moment, the constancy of that light seemed more a curse than a blessing.