Chapter 179: The Death Cells

Seraphina’s jaw tightened at the choice presented to her. Pride. Or survival. The words hung in the darkness like a challenge.

“You’re right that I want to escape,” she said slowly, her voice cold despite her exhaustion. “But I cannot simply cooperate with a criminal. You could kill me the moment we’re free. I don’t trust you.”

A long-suffering sigh echoed from the darkness. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you? Fine. Let me at least introduce myself properly.”

The chains rattled softly as the figure rose. Footsteps approached the edge of his cell, and torchlight finally illuminated his features.

Seraphina’s eyes widened.

He was young—or at least, he appeared young. Short green hair, disheveled but neatly cut, framed a face that held an expression of wry amusement. Glasses perched on his nose, the lenses catching the flickering light and glinting silver. His eyes, when they met hers, were a pale grey—intelligent, watchful, and utterly devoid of the malice she expected from a criminal.

“My name is Gill Ownwell,” he said simply. “I’m a seeker of knowledge. Most people call me the Archivist.”

Seraphina’s breath caught. “The Archivist?” Her voice rose despite herself. “But… the Archivist is supposed to be an old man! And he should be at the Red Hollow Pass!”

Gill’s lips curved into a faint, amused smile. “I am old. I simply maintain my appearance through… various means.” He adjusted his glasses. “And that information about my location is outdated. I made a small mistake—well, a significant one—and ended up here instead.”

Seraphina studied him with renewed suspicion, her mind racing. ’The Archivist. The one we’ve been searching for. The one who might know about curses and—’ She forced herself to focus. “What kind of ’mistake’ lands someone in a death cell? The fact that you’re here, that the kingdom intends to let you starve, suggests your crime was severe.”

Gill’s expression flickered—something guarded passing behind those grey eyes. “I’m afraid that’s private. I can’t tell you.” He tilted his head, studying her with that same wry amusement. “And I’m not forcing you to agree. I’d already given up before you arrived, honestly.” A pause. “But I am curious. What brings a knight of Melium to a Solarian prison? Did you also do something that made them want you dead?”

Seraphina’s jaw tightened. She didn’t answer immediately, her mind churning with possibilities and suspicions.

But if he was telling the truth… if this truly was the man she and Elise had been searching for…

’If I trust him and he betrays me, Elise loses her only protector. If I don’t trust him and he’s genuine, we lose our only chance at information.’

The weight of the decision pressed down on her like the cold stone walls.

“That’s… complicated,” she said finally, her voice carefully neutral.

Gill’s eyebrow rose. “Complicated how?”

Seraphina met his grey eyes through the bars. “I didn’t come here willingly. I was protecting someone. Someone important.” She paused. “Someone who needs to find the Archivist.”

Gill’s expression shifted—surprise, then understanding, then something almost like pity.

“Ah.” He leaned against the bars of his cell, studying her with new interest. “So you came all this way, fought through monsters and soldiers, endured capture and imprisonment… all to find me.” A dry chuckle escaped him. “And now you’ve found me. In a cell. Dying of starvation.” He spread his hands. “Congratulations on your successful quest.”

Seraphina’s eyes blazed despite her exhaustion. “This isn’t funny.”

“No,” Gill agreed, his humor fading. “It isn’t. But sometimes, if you don’t laugh, you cry.” He pushed off from the bars, retreating into the shadows of his cell. “Think about my offer, knight. Maybe this is our chance because the strong people are now on the battlefield against the demon army.”

Seraphina’s mind raced. ’The demon army? That means most of the garrison is occupied elsewhere. This might be our only window.’

She thought for a long moment, weighing risks against necessity.

’Elise’s safety is everything. I can’t afford to be picky. Taking a risk is better than rotting to death in this cell.’

She met Gill’s shadowed form through the bars, her voice firm despite her exhaustion.

“Fine. Let’s get out of here.”

Gill emerged from the shadows, a genuine smile crossing his features. “A wise decision, knight.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew something small—a tool of some sort, too tiny to make out in the darkness. With practiced ease, he applied it to his cell door. There was a soft click, and the door swung open.

Seraphina’s eyes widened. “How—?”

Gill was already at her cell, repeating the process. Another click, and her door swung open as well. He moved toward her, his eyes dropping to her wrists where blood still seeped from the manacle wounds.

“You’re bleeding quite a lot,” he observed. “You should absorb the ambient aura around you to begin recovery.”

Seraphina flexed her freed hands, wincing at the pain. “Absorb? Is that possible?” She looked at her wounds, then back at him. “I can manifest my power through my Oath. These wounds are nothing.”

Gill stared at her for a long moment, his expression shifting through several unreadable phases. “You… don’t tell me you don’t know aura absorption techniques?”

“I know how to use my Oath,” Seraphina repeated, confused by his reaction. “That’s enough.”

Gill’s face fell slightly. He let out a long, weary sigh. “It seems I expected too much.” He shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s just focus on escaping.”

Seraphina’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing you need to worry about right now.” Gill turned toward the corridor, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Follow me.”

Seraphina opened her mouth to ask something but her words died in her throat as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Bones. Skeletons. Lining the corridor in grim, silent rows.

Some still wore tattered rags that might once have been clothing. Others were picked clean, white against the dark stone. They lay in cells, in the corridor itself, slumped against walls as if they’d simply given up and let death take them where they sat.

Seraphina’s stomach turned. “This place…” She forced herself to look away from a skull that seemed to stare at her with empty sockets. “Are there no guards at all? This whole level is just… abandoned?”

Gill moved ahead, his steps careful and quiet. “Why would they waste manpower guarding a tomb?” He glanced back at her, his grey eyes catching the faint light. “The prisoners here are already condemned. Starvation, disease, the slow decay of hope—those are the executioners. No need for swords or gallows.”

They reached a staircase—ancient stone worn smooth by countless feet over centuries. Above them, the darkness promised an exit, but also unknown dangers. The prison complex sprawled around them, vast and labyrinthine.

“Here’s the situation.” Gill paused at the base of the stairs, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “The simplest plan would be to open the other sectors. Free the prisoners. Let chaos do our work for us.” He gestured vaguely into the darkness. “There will be guards in those sectors—not many, but enough to make solo escape impossible. With a riot, we’d have cover. We’d have confusion. We’d have a chance.”

Seraphina’s jaw tightened. “No. We can’t release criminals. They’re dangerous—they’d kill innocents, cause destruction. I won’t be responsible for that.”

Gill’s eyebrow rose. His voice carried a note of dry amusement. “Knight… you need to abandon that honor of yours. It won’t help you here.” He studied her with those pale grey eyes. “In fact, it might get you killed. Do you have any idea how many guards will be waiting outside? Not just in this prison, but in the castle beyond? The garrison may be depleted, but they’re not gone.”

Seraphina met his gaze without flinching. “I understand the risk. But I won’t sacrifice innocents—even potential innocents—for my own survival. There has to be another way.”

Gill let out a long, exaggerated sigh that echoed softly in the deathly silence. “Haahh… what’s the point of arguing with someone as stubborn as you?” He shook his head, adjusting his glasses with a theatrical flourish. “Fine. We’ll do this the traditional way. Quiet. Careful. And with absolutely no help from a riot.”

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed as she studied him in the dim light. “Your mannerisms… your attitude… I’m still not convinced you’re truly the Archivist.”

Gill waved a dismissive hand. “Believe what you want. I don’t particularly like that title anyway. ’Archivist’ makes me sound ancient and dusty.” He sniffed. “I prefer ’knowledge seeker’ or ’information broker’ or—” He paused, considering. “—’professional survivor,’ given our current situation.”

Seraphina’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If you truly are the Archivist, then you know things. Things that could help the person I’m protecting.”

Gill’s expression flickered—something calculating behind those pale grey eyes. “The person you’re protecting. The one who needs to find me.” He tilted his head. “A princess, I’m guessing? Cursed? Running from something that wants her dead?”

Seraphina’s silence was answer enough.

Gill nodded slowly, a hint of respect entering his voice. “Then we definitely need to get out of here. Both of us.” He turned toward the staircase, his tone shifting to businesslike efficiency. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do. The guards patrol in pairs, changing every four hours. The next change is in about…” He checked a pocket watch that appeared from somewhere—Seraphina hadn’t seen him retrieve it. “—twenty minutes. That’s our window.”

Seraphina moved to follow, then paused. “How do you know all this?”

Gill glanced back, a faint smirk on his lips. “I pay attention. It’s what I do.” He started up the stairs, his steps impossibly quiet for someone who claimed to be weak and exhausted. “Stay close. Stay silent. And try not to bleed on the floor—blood leaves trails, and these guards aren’t completely incompetent.”

Seraphina followed, her wounded wrists leaving faint crimson droplets despite her efforts to keep them pressed against her sides. Each step sent pain lancing through her arms, but she forced herself to match Gill’s pace, to stay silent, to focus.

They climbed for what felt like an eternity—winding stairs, narrow passages, the occasional glimpse of corridors that branched off into unknown darkness. Gill moved with the confidence of someone who had memorized every twist and turn, pausing only occasionally to listen, to check, to ensure the path ahead was clear.

Finally, he stopped before a heavy wooden door. Light seeped through the cracks around its frame—torchlight, real and warm after the oppressive gloom of the death cells.

“This leads to the servant quarters,” Gill whispered. “From there, we can reach the outer walls. But we’ll have to cross a guarded courtyard to get there.” He glanced back at Seraphina. “You said you can fight, even wounded?”

Seraphina’s jaw tightened. “I can.”

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