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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

"Why's he out?" the man asked. "Went crazy. Hit his head." "I see. Before today, when'd you last see him?" Tam shrugged. "Don't know?" "Don't go there. King closed deep cells." "When was that?" Tam frowned, thinking ached. "When he became King." The man's eyes widened. "Six years ago." #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

“Speak. I am Zim, Thaumaturgist of Troth. For this conversation, speak freely. Who are you?” He could feel his jaw start to move, but not by his will. He clenched it tight, snarling. Kru knew this magic, it was denied him, but his mind was his. He forced the bile from his throat and sent it flying.

"That was uncalled for," Zim said, flicking the spittle from his robes. "I did not expect such resistance from the likes of you. If you refuse to speak, then we probe deeper." He waved his hands, and a blazing spear shot forth, piercing Kru’s eyes. Zim cried out as his own hand burst into flames.

Kru laughed. Weak and unmoving, yet his eyes burned bright as he turned his head to Zim. “My secrets are my own. Only I am worthy to save us all. Remove my blocks, and I will teach you things. You are but a child, too blind to see.” Zim sank back into a chair, staring as the wild man laughed on.

Zim watched as the crazy man’s laugh became a chuckle and slowly died on his lips. The man slept, Zim still watched. His mind ablaze with what his probing had found, he searched corridors of his memory for a solution, an understanding. In a window above the sun set, and Zim watched and wondered.

"Excuse me, my liege." The timid voice broke Zim's trance. He turned to Archivarius Aza, her light blue robes hanging neatly. Hair bound back, a satchel over her right shoulder that burst with scrolls and loose papers, more still in her hands. Waiting patiently at the door as if afraid to enter.