To my slight disappointment, the warden had decided on wearing something more modest today in anticipation of the delivery of supplies: Her usual black coat, a white button-up, and the practical dark pants she’d started wearing after I’d landed a hit in sparring. With my gray uniform and her current outfit, we looked more like warden and prisoner as opposed to what we really were… whatever that was. “So,” she said, coming to a stop at our usual spot in the grasslands before turning to face me, “how do you propose we test to see if your gun is safe?” Her eyes went to my hand while she spoke, fixing on the weapon she’d returned to me before we left Stone Lock. “I think I got an idea…” I imagined a stool. Bolted to the seat was a small stand to hold the gun in place. The feet of the stool were sharpened into stakes. As I mentally inspected the janky contraption, I realized I needed a decent length of string to pull the gun’s trigger from a safe distance. Twenty feet of string sh
A loud crack echoed through the grasslands as the gun fired without breaking apart or otherwise malfunctioning. “Yes!” I whooped. “It worked then?” The warden’s voice was excited and bright, seeming to absorb and resonate with my delight.“Yeah,” I replied before running back towards the revolver and scooping it up from the stand. Flicking the gun to the side, the cylinder clicked free to reveal the spent shell of the bullet in one of the chambers. Shit, I can’t believe it worked on the first try. Maybe my magic helped somehow? Like, I know I saw the exact specifications for this bullet and the revolver when I’d looked them up online a few years ago. Maybe my magic filled in the blanks based off of those memories – even if I don’t remember them perfectly myself…? Or maybe I really am just that good?After a moment of considering the relative ease of my success, I landed on ‘who gives a shit, it worked’ and my grin widened.The stand dispersed into a cloud of glittering blue light a
The warden closed the entrance to Stone Lock behind us before following me into the lounge. “Bryan, I think it is best for you to return to your cell for the time being,” she said with a tinge of unease in her voice as she came up to me and put a hand on my back. “What’s the big deal?” I asked over my shoulder as I let her herd me to my cell, its prison bars sinking silently into the floor as we approached. “Is it really that weird for the supplies to get here a few hours early?” “In the decades I’ve served as warden of Stone Lock, the supplies have always arrived about two hours after the sun reaches its peak. Everytime.” Remembering her mentioning an ‘echo chain’ when I’d first arrived I stepped inside and tossed my gun to the bed nestled in the far corner. The bars rose between us as I turned to face her. “You said something about an ‘echo chain’ when I first got here, I’m guessing that’s some kind of communication thing? Couldn’t you reach out to someone in Platys to see if som
I looked out through the bars from where I sat on the bed, trying to catch a glimpse of the newcomer. “Whoa… This place is incredible!” the stranger said in a bubbly, yet clearly masculine, voice, his tone similar to that of an excited kid on a field trip. “Indeed,” the warden said evenly, before seeming to continue a conversation she’d been having with the stranger outside, “as the external access to the storeroom is unneeded for this shipment, I would have you bring in the cargo through the main entrance and leave it here in the central room.” The clicks of her heels silenced as she came into view. She stopped at the edge of the lounge’s carpet, then turned to face the stranger. The stranger followed her, his head swiveling around with wide-eyed interest as he took in Stone Lock’s main room. My attention locked onto him with intrigue equal to his curiosity in the strange prison. Tall and lean, the stranger had a youthful face and a head of pure white hair he wore short and ti
The bars to my cell sank into the ground as the entrance to Stone Lock groaned shut and the lock engaged with a powerful clunk. “Is he gone?” I asked, walking towards the warden, meeting her next to the neat stack of crates halfway between the entrance to the prison and the lounge at the center of the massive open room. “Yes, I watched his wagon disappear over the horizon,” she said, her voice and body softening with relief. “What was with that guy? One second he was all fidgety and nervous, then he got all weird for a second, then didn’t say a word the whole time he was stacking boxes. And why did you tell me to not look at him?” I asked, the thoughts that’d been building in me for hours finally spilling out. “I have a suspicion as to who he was, but I ask that you allow me to verify my suspicions first, as giving voice to my speculations would only cause unneeded worry…I’ve reached out to someone who owes me a favor in Platys about our visitor and we should have an answer before
I’d lost track of time sitting silently with the warden, but after a while my thoughts had started to align and the warden slid off of me, seemingly satisfied I’d returned to my usual state of mind. Between the couch and the table, the warden stood over me. “Come, Bryan.” She ran her fingers through my hair as she rounded the couch and walked towards the crates. I rose and went after her, coming to a stop beside her next to the cargo the stranger had unloaded. There were four stacks of crates, with each stack being only two wood boxes high. However, next to those stacks was a lone open crate; the one the warden had been digging around in when I’d woken up after getting a boot to my head. “After our guest left and I was forced to subdue you, I noticed that the lid of this crate was slightly askew. And upon closer inspection, I found it to be loose enough to open without the use of tools,” the warden said, simmering anger rising in her voice. “I suspected this crate to be purposeful
The warden retrieved a smooth, rectangular wooden box large enough to hold a railroad spike from the open crate and offered it to me. “What is it?” I asked as I opened the sleek box. Inside was a rod made from what looked to be dull silver that was about eight inches in length. One side ended in a fine point, while the other end was smooth and rounded. It’s like a fat metal pencil… “It’s a ‘rune stylus’. It’s what allows alchemists to create the runes which make amalgams and constructs possible.” “So… with this I could make something like a sun shard?” I asked, gesturing with the stylus towards the glowing crystal hanging above us, excitement rising in my voice. The warden nodded in reply. “And so much more,” she said through a grin. For the first time since the warden had taken off her button-up, thoughts of reaching out to grope her tits through her black sports bra or bending her over the crate completely vacated my mind. “What kind of limitations are there? Could any normal o
“The actual act of etching a rune is rather simple,” she said as she flexed her hand into a fist and crushed the flame crystalized spirit. The falling shards of the crystal disintegrated into the nothingness before hitting the lounge carpet. But the glowing red vapor that’d been within the crystalized spirit remained in her fist as wisps of energy leaked from between her fingers. I stared unblinkingly at her fist, transfixed by the process. “Once you’ve broken its crystalline form to release the spirit contained within, all you need to do is will the spirit into the rune stylus before the spirit fades away…” She opened her hand, and the luminescent red mist flowed into the metal rod held in her other hand. As it did, the tip of the stylus started to glow red hot. “Once the stylus is primed, you will have a few minutes to use the spirit you’ve channeled into it before it dissipates… which is as simple as…” She leaned towards the bullet and scrawled a small symbol into the casing. “.