Twilight Aftermath: Kingdom ( Twiath: I )

Chapter 2: Fate

It's dark, but I can feel everything—the rough drag of my body across uneven ground, the hushed whispers of people around me, and the sharp jolt of my limbs as I bump along. Then, a sudden, loud thud brings it all to a halt. The world plunges into darkness once again, and it feels like time itself freezes. Seconds stretch into minutes, maybe even hours, as my consciousness slowly drifts back to me.

I feel the weight of my body first—the dull ache, the stiffness in my limbs—and then, slowly, I pry my eyes open. Everything is a blur at first, the world swimming around me in half-formed shapes and muted colors. But as the fog lifts, clarity returns. My vision sharpens, and I realize where I am.

Wooden bars. A cage.

"Where am I?"

The question spins in my mind, tangled with confusion and frustration. My head pounds as I try to recall, try to piece together the events that led me here.

"What happened?"

Flashes of the grassland surge into my memory, and with them, a hot surge of anger.

"Where is that silver assassin...?"

It all becomes clear, painfully clear. The grassland, the fight, that smug bastard who shattered my first steps toward discovering who I am. The thought makes my blood boil. I wanted nothing but answers, to take control of my life, and he—he took that from me. But then, a part of me, annoyingly calm, reminds me that I'm alive, that I'm still here, just... locked away in this wooden cell.

"Argh," I grunt, feeling the uncomfortable pressure against my back. Now that I'm fully awake, the rough, gritty texture of the wooden mattress grates against my skin, through the fabric of my white clothes. I glance down at them, the intricate patterns embroidered into the fabric catching the dim light. These clothes... they might be the only clue I have, the only link to wherever I came from.

I grit my teeth and force myself to sit up, every movement deliberate and slow, as if testing the limits of my body. My muscles groan in protest, but I push through. Sitting upright now, I take in my surroundings, my gaze locking on the wooden bars in front of me.

They're sturdy, thick, a barrier between me and freedom. The warm light illuminating the bars casts a faint, almost mocking glow on my confined space. I run my hands over the rough surface of the mattress beneath me, the textures scraping against my palms.

I stare at the bars, at the slim gap between them, and a bitter realization settles in my chest. This is my reality now. My body aches, my mind churns with questions, but one thing is certain: I have to get out of here.

I stretch my legs, extending my feet slowly, feeling the tension in my muscles as I raise my arms above my head. I close my eyes, focusing on my breathing, controlling each inhale and exhale with precision. My body is sore, still recovering from that battle, from the heightened state of awareness that drained every ounce of energy. I need to feel rested, to release the strain before it drags me down.

After several minutes of deep breaths and gentle stretching, I can feel the stiffness in my limbs start to ease. My body feels lighter, more fluid. Satisfied, I rise from the wooden mattress—if I can even call it that—and step toward the wooden bars that confine me. My hands curl around them, and immediately, I sense it. This wood—it's different. Stronger. There's a weight to it, a power that doesn't come from ordinary timber.

I frown, gripping the bars harder, testing them with a slight pull. They don't budge. I know instinctively that breaking these bars isn't going to be easy, maybe not possible at all. To confirm my suspicion, I take a step back, planting my right foot behind me, my left foot forward, preparing to kick with full force.