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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

The light pierced his eyes. He recoiled and rolled out of the water. Hands pressed tight, he cried, “Forgive me! Jur have mercy!” He squinted through his fingers, longing to see. The light was too intense, god’s wrath upon him. The ground thrummed, heavy steps closing in. His screams answered. #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

His vision blurred before snapping into focus. He stumbled but caught himself, shaking off the sensation. Blank-faced, he stared at the vast room—four-story vaulted ceiling, towering stairs, scattered tables, books of all kinds, stained glass filtering light. His head ached just taking it in. #SiP

He stepped gently, but his boots still gonged against the polished tile floor. His eyes darted, sweat forming on his brow. Tam didn’t think much, but he did think he didn’t want to be here. A few more steps— he froze as a voice like thunder shook the air around him. “What curiosity is this?” #SiP

Tam's skin prickled as he searched for the voice. "I—I brought what you asked for," he stammered. "I don't recall asking for a body—an unconscious one at that." "No. You wanted what was in cell 9. Whatever I could find. I found him." "Alive? Impossible. Show me." A mist formed before Tam. #SiP

The mist spun, shifting from murky white to dull brown. Tendrils coalesced, forming a tabletop. Tam's nose twitched as the smell of burning wood crossed it. "Place him there," the voice boomed. Tam pressed the table to test its solidity, then lowered the body, shaking his head. He hated magic. #SiP

"Move." A low, resonant command slammed into Tam. His muscles obeyed instantly, shoving him back. His mind thrashed, a trapped bird wild to escape, yet his body was a puppet dancing to the voice's tune. A bald figure in white, devoid of even eyebrows, now occupied the space he'd just vacated. #SiP

"No one fed him?" Tam shrugged. "Who is this man?" Another helpless shrug. The bald man's eyes narrowed on Tam. Though towering over him, Tam flinched. The man's sleeves rustled, a prelude to violence Tam well knew. Instead, a sharp point. "Down one floor. Find Kry. Get cell 9 prison records." #SiP

Tam lumbered out, his limbs moving beyond his control. Still, leaving this place made him happy. Happy was good. He kept it simple. The bald man pushed his sleeves to his elbows, then pressed a finger to Kru’s head. “Let us wake you.” he murmured. “What might be gleaned from your existence?” #SiP

Kru shot up, air rushing into his lungs. A brutal flood. Every muscle screamed with fire. His head fell back, hitting the table. Each breath a desperate fight. Eyes wild, yet he was still. His body locked in place. A bald man in white observed him. He yearned to speak, but his jaw was a vise. #SiP