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He waited for his eyes to adjust—nothing. With the lantern's glow gone, darkness engulfed him. This would complicate his mission, but the cells were small. Hands outstretched, he felt the walls. Single step, cold stone. A couple more steps, and his feet were submerged. The cold biting his toes. #SiP

He touched the far wall. His shoes, cloth and tatty hide, were drenched, but the water stopped at his ankles. Moving right, the floor sloped, and he found a dry area near the next wall. A minor cut out in the stone served as a pallet. Back to the entrance, no other exit, yet it must be here. #SiP

Years of research led him here. No one believed him. The king and his advisors wouldn’t let him search. Kru wouldn't stop; this was too important. The world would change. So, he found another way, a monstrous way. In the darkness, his body shook—was it from the cold or the horrors he had done? #SiP

The men dying, the women screaming, the children—the poor children. He wasn’t evil, but to be here, he needed to do evil things. History would show he did the right thing. Yes—yes, he focused on that. They would see how he sacrificed so they could benefit. Kru knew he was a good man. #SiP

How to start? The darkness weighed on him. The cold seeped into his bones. Tired from his journey, the walk down the stairs had taken its toll. He will rest first and then begin tomorrow. Yes, that was the idea. He lay on the shelf and pulled his thin garments tight. Rest would bring clarity. #SiP

A clang from the door startled Kru awake. His head hit the stone above. “Ouch,” he muttered, the words echoing softly. A small pat reached his ears. “Is someone there?” No response. He crawled from the bed, careful to avoid the water, and searched the door. His hands grasped something soft. #SiP

He brought it to his face, straining to identify the object. The smell of sour, musty bread filled his nostrils. His stomach grumbled. When was his last meal? How long had he slept? He took hearty bites. Bits of vegetables and meat crossed his tongue. It was gone too quickly. #SiP

His stomach growled for more, but it didn’t matter. Only the Jur Portal. It was hidden here, it had to be. He couldn’t let minor things distract him. He prayed for light, knowing the gods wouldn’t answer. They never did, damn them. No tools, just his mind, and for Kru, that was enough. #SiP

He memorized every touch, constructing the cell in his mind. His fingers numbed, cold biting to the bone. Hunger gnawed at his belly. Search, eat, sleep—repeat. How many days now? He couldn't waste energy remembering; the search was his only path to life. He found no mark, no way to his goal. #SiP

A clang signaled his next meal. Bread dropped through the slot. In his mind, he marked his place, then crawled to the door. Hands searching, there was nothing. “Where is it?” his voice gravelly. “Where’s my bread!” His arms frantically pushed across the floor, splashing water. Still no bread. #SiP

He needed food to continue his work. On his knees, soaked, cold, biting his skin, he pushed into the water. It must have rolled here. He had avoided the water; he didn’t know his way. Where else could it be? "Please. So hungry." His desperation echoed. "I can help." A whisper came in the dark. #SIP

“Who’s there? Where are you?” Kru strained his eyes, but the darkness denied him. “I have bread, if you are hungry,” a voice answered from the water-filled corner. Whoever it was, they must be there. Kru lurched towards the voice. Water splashed, and his hands slapped an empty wall.#SiP

Giggling echoed, "I've got bread, Your bread!" "Please!" Kru screamed, "I need food for my work." "Work? What work can you do here?" The voice's octave dropped, tone sharp and flat. "You're here to die like the rest." Laughter filled the cell. Kru chased it, but it was like catching the wind. #SiP

“I will not!” Kru yelled. “I will save us, Jur… Jur is the problem. Please, I need food.” He slumped on the floor, his head falling back against the bed shelf. His body quivered from the cold. He shoved his hands into his pits, his legs pulled to his chest, muscles straining from the exertion. #SiP

The whisper returned. He turned his head in the dark, seeking, but it was all around him. It said, "What know you of Jur? Jur the Maker. Jur the Builder. Jur the God. What could one such as you know about one such as him?” “Jur the–mad,” Kru whispered back. “His machines will destroy us all.” #SiP

Laughter filled the cell, echoing, raising in volume. Kru held his ears and pressed hard. Curled on the ground, yelling back, it was a battle of sounds that he lost. His throat raw, he stopped and the silence hit him like a blow. His hands slip, with faint words coming to him: "I'll be back." #SiP

A splash sounded in his ear. Kru crawled to the edge; the water, icy and relentless, he feared it. He was soaked. He longed for warmth before searching, but there was nowhere else. No other place. He would control his mind, conquer the cold, find the portal, and the whisper. He pushed in. #SiP

Each inch, he crawled through the numbing cold. It wasn’t like searching the walls, where he could construct an image in his mind. Here, details were lost, leaving vague images. His hands hit a rock, then a crack, and then a hole. Pulling his hands free, he flexed his fingers. Could this be it? #SiP

A way out? He grinned, he laughed, it was right here; hidden by the water. Plunging his hands back into the water, he examined the hole. Feeling its edges, pulling them, pushing deeper, this had to be it! His heart sank. His smile turned to weeping. It was too small, the size of his hands. No. #SiP

Kru cried, falling into the water. His body was too numb to feel it, his mind too lost. The cursed gods had done this. He sank, head felling back, he screamed, “If only I had light! Damn you all!” He lay there, wishing for it. Praying for it. The gods, who never answered prayers, finally did. #SiP

“Smashing hell. Still alive.” The gruff' voice said. Kru craned his neck, trying to place it. One hand reaching out, searching. Cloth bound his head, his throat cut off. He clawed at the rope, tugged at the bag. Rough hands lifted him. He spasmed, trying to resist, but it was feeble—childlike. #SiP

Tam trudged up the castle steps, wondering why he always got the crap jobs. The prisoner on his shoulder squirmed, shaking his step. Tam banged his head into a wall—hopefully that would stop him. Yep, crap jobs and endless steps. Lucky him. Top wasn't even close. Damn. Don’t think about it. #SiP

At the tower’s peak, the last door. Huffing and puffing, Tam cursed the climb, the height, the steps. In the cells, work was simple—no thinking, just doing, he was boss. Here, he had no power. He knocked, waited. He hated waiting. Damn. The door opened, but no one held it. His flesh prickled. #SiP