Would they hold him here forever? Or was it the Crystal for him.
Mahkana paced back and forth, if one could call it pacing. There was maybe a total of eight feet between the solid walls of his cell, and his glyphs lay painfully out of reach. He closed his eyes.
Twenty feet forwards, Thirteen to the right. Pick the lock, open the chest. Retrieve the pouch, daggers, and glyphs. Break free.
But what then? One escape and he would be marked for life, he was sure about it. No guards would forgive what he had done, and even if he wasn't to be crystalled by the end of this, an escape would seal his banishment permanently, of that he had no doubt.
So he sat, and laced his paws together gently in front of him, folding his knees up this chest and letting out a long, contemplative sigh. After a few moments, his head fell forwards, forehead landing on the backs of his hands and ears folding flat against his soft fur.
It wasn't supposed to go this way, was it? Maybe I ran on information that was incomplete. Maybe I expected too much of those around me.
Ever calculating, the menki remained in his hunched position for a few hours, ears flicking occasionally. The air inside of the cell turned from cool morning to sweltering afternoon under the crystal's light, and drops of sweat began to bead along his skin, quickly becoming sopped up by his fur, which turned damp and matted down. There wasn't much more he could do, at this point. They'd even taken his petty training glyphs that had been sewn into his clothing secretively. Truly, there would be no escape for Mahkana Ruuka.
The Diaboli girl, Lyelora. She had been such an easy target, so trusting of him. A few simple magic tricks and the help of his two Lemur friends, and she had bitten - swallowed the bait whole in fact. A simple bit of work had gathered the blood. The mage to channel had ever-so-conveniently come to him, through the contact of the Faceless in Ojaveda.
Mahkana's fist pounded against the side of the wall. Perhaps it was testing for weaknesses, perhaps it was out of frustration. The wall didn't budge, and it seemed that the well-cleaned interior of the prison mocked him. No motes of dust even danced in the harsh light seeping through the bars and windows.
One does not work their whole life for nothing. One failure does not determine me.
I am failure embodied. One goal was given, one task, and I have failed! Would it not be better for me to be crystalled?
Failure is for the weak. There are setbacks, to be sure, but the end goal remains the same.
There is no end goal! The end goal has perished! Dakkru herself has removed any chance of an end goal! He is dead, and I have failed!
Am I.....worthless?
I feel...like I have been taken on the strings of men I have never met, and forced to dance. This whole time, I thought the actions were mine. I was...I wanted to see him live. I wanted to receive the blessings, the prestige. So hard I have cultivated this person, this enkidukai others call Mahkana. Was this a creation of the expectations of the dead?
For cycles I have spent my life studying the Brown Way. Becoming at peace with who I am, with the earth, soil, dirt, rocks, and life around me.....
But perhaps I am not who I thought I was?
Tears streamed down the Enkidukai's face, mottling his complexion and matting his fur even further. His fests clenched tightly, and rough sobs wracked through his body, until a sound pricked his ears.
Pristinely he adjusted his torn clothing. With no thought to it, he wiped his tears and fluffed his fur, popping his neck and putting a smirk on his face.
The door opened, the fenki captain of the guard parsing into view, her cold gaze falling upon Mahkana Ruuka, prisoner of the Octarch.
"We've news for you, Mahkana. New information about your case. We're moving you to a larger cell, something more comfortable....."
Freedom.
I can taste the beginnings of freedom.
