Chapter 41 - Capital

Arthur sat on a different truck this time. Far from the cage.

He couldn't bear to be near it.

The convoy rumbled forward, dust rising in thick clouds around the wheels. They were nearing the teleportation site—the place that would send Arthur, along with the prisoners, to his new post.

He forced himself to not think about the night before.

It had been foolish. Emotional. Weak.

That wasn't going to happen again.

Instead, he turned his mind to the road ahead.

He was being stationed apart from the rest. Alone.

No support. No one to cover for him. No one to watch his back.

But that also meant no constant scrutiny.

Fort Lanai had been kept at arm's length. Ever since the

supposed death of General Thanason and his entire regiment, suspicions had circled like vultures. The common belief wasn't that Fort Lanai had been infiltrated. No—the whispers called them traitors. 

The arrival of Commander Duleryon had done nothing to dissuade the, for six months, Fort Lanai had remained at arms length to the higher ups of the rebellion. They were told to do nothing but guard.

 But Arthur was in a unique position to change that.

He had a plan. Simple. Smart. And most importantly—made from logic, not emotion.

Step one: Become trusted. Become valued. Be privy to their plans.

Step two: Find a way to get information back to General Thanason.

That was it.

No reckless risks. No pointless promises. No more mistakes.

The trucks rolled to a slow stop.

Arthur tensed as Ram approached, a strip of fabric in his hands, his mouth curled into a half-apologetic smile.

"We're going to need to blindfold you."

Arthur's muscles coiled tight. So. They did suspect him.

"Why?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

"Regulation." Ram shrugged. "All of us here are qualified to know the exact location of the teleporter. You weren't exactly planned for."

Arthur hesitated. Then nodded.

"Alright."

The blindfold was fastened tightly around his head, plunging him into darkness.

'If they wanted to kill me, they wouldn't need this roundabout method.'

The truck lurched forward again. Arthur focused on his balance, listening to the creak of the wheels, the low murmur of voices. He continued like this for almost two hours.

Then—

Cold.

A sudden rush, like ice water being dumped over him.

A shiver raced down his spine as the air around him shifted.

They had crossed through the teleport.

"You can take it off now," Ram called.

Arthur burned the mask away, blinking hard as his vision adjusted.

And what he saw stole the breath from his lungs.

This… this wasn't what he expected.

He had imagined a fortress—cold, unyielding. Walls of iron and stone, guarded by ruthless soldiers. Convoys of war machines rolling through massive steel gates, a city built solely for one purpose—war.

But instead—

He saw people.

Not soldiers.

Civilians.

The streets were alive with them. Shopkeepers bartered at shop stalls, voices overlapping in a steady hum. 

Children ran through the roads, their laughter ringing so impossibly bright in Arthur's ears.

There was a café and tailors. There was even an ice cream parlour.

High-rise buildings loomed in the distance—offices, not barracks.

Arthur felt his stomach drop.

"W-What is this place?" The words barely left his lips.

Ram grinned as he helped pull the prisoners from the truck.

"Welcome to the capital."

Arthur turned to him, still struggling to breathe. "Capital?"

"This is a resistance, boy." Ram stretched his arms. "We're not fighting to kill. We're fighting for independence. Why wouldn't we have our own capital?"

Arthur's mind reeled. This place… this city…

"It's so… peaceful." His voice was barely a whisper. "You're telling me this is where I'm going to be stationed?"

Ram chuckled. "Well, let's check you in first, and then we'll see."

Arthur barely heard him.

Peace.

It felt wrong.

Even in the other rebel cities he had visited, war was everywhere. Factories thundered day and night, churning out weapons.

Every person was a cog in the machine, working toward the singular goal of winning.

But this?

This was life.

Not war.

Not blood.

Life.

A promise of what might come after the rebellion.

For a moment, his stomach twisted.

Because deep down, a thought crept through his mind—one he wasn't sure how to silence.

'What if they're right?'

'What if this rebellion isn't just destruction? What if it's… something more?' But then reason returned to his mind. 'It doesn't matter, for my plans to work, the resistance has to fall.'

Arthur swallowed hard, shoving his thoughts away.

"Come on, boy." Ram clapped him on the back. "Get the cotton out of your ears."

Arthur blinked. "Huh?"

Ram rolled his eyes. "Let's go!"

Arthur forced his legs to move.

The trucks rolled forward slowly, disappearing into the heart of the city.

And at the edge of it all, the city gave way to a large mountain.

At first glance, it seemed like a mountain—just another rise in the landscape where the city abruptly gave way.

But as Arthur focused, he realized the truth. The formation was too smooth, too precise. This land was flat for miles in every direction. The only real mountain ranges were near Lanai Pass.

His breath caught as his eyes landed on the massive iron gate at its base.

"No fucking way."

The entire mountain… was a fortress.

Hollowed out, reinforced, repurposed for war.

Ram chuckled beside him. "Oh yes. This place can house the entire city's population if we're under siege. Not bad, eh?"

Arthur exhaled slowly. "Not bad at all."

The gates yawned open, and they rolled inside. Arthur had expected cold stone caverns, flickering torchlight, something medieval, like the training grounds he had endured under Master Syar.

Instead, the interior was alive—walkways, staircases, lifts humming softly under the glow of bright electric bulbs. The air was filled with the distant clatter of activity, voices echoing off metal-paneled walls. It was almost easy to forget they were inside a mountain.

"Follow me," Ram called.

Arthur trailed behind, his body moving on instinct while his mind wrestled with memories of the previous night. His stomach twisted with the weight of his own failure, the boy's enraged gaze still burned into his thoughts. 

They navigated a labyrinth of hallways, Arthur losing his bearings a dozen times over before they reached the dungeons. A guard stood by a thick metal door, his expression unreadable.

Ram nodded toward the prisoners. "The Morellas."

The guard barely acknowledged him until his gaze landed on the boy. The child could barely stand, his mother supporting him as he hopped forward, his ruined leg dragging behind him. The guard lifted an eyebrow at Ram in silent question.

Ram smiled—a sharp, nasty thing. "They tried to escape. The boy got caught in a hunter's trap. We did what we could."

Arthur clenched his jaw, biting back the urge to speak. They hadn't done anything. They'd left the boy like that out of spite.

The guard only nodded, indifferent. He grabbed the prisoners, shoving them toward the entrance. The boy twisted in his grasp, shooting Arthur a look so full of rage it was almost startling.

Arthur met the glare head-on, refusing to look away.

Then they were gone.

Ram led him deeper into the fortress, into an office where a ratty-looking man lounged in a chair, idly scrolling through a computer screen. He had limp, graying hair, and watery blue eyes that made him seem older than he probably was.

A slow grin spread across the man's face as they entered.

"Ahh, Officer Ram," he drawled, stretching out the words like he was savoring them. "What a delight to see you. Truly. You know, I was having the most dreadful day—utterly terrible! I thought to myself, 'Surely, it cannot get worse.' And yet—" He gestured grandly at Ram. "Here you are. Proving me wrong."

Ram grit his teeth. "Lieutenant Frost. I've got the transfer."

Frost's gaze flickered to Arthur, his eyes sharpening for the briefest moment—like steel catching light—before settling into something lazy and amused.

"Well, well, well," Frost purred. "Another soul to sharpen my genius on. A pleasure, truly! My new intellectual whetstone—what's your name, dear sir?"

Arthur forced a polite smile. 'What the hell is wrong with this guy?' "Arthur."

"Ahhh," Frost sighed, his grin widening. "A man of many words, I see. We shall get along famously."

Arthur suppressed a groan. This man was going to be exhausting.

Frost spun lazily back to his screen, tapping at the keys. Arthur knew General Thanason's spies had already planted his records into the system, but he still felt the unease clawing at his spine.

"Ah! There you are." Frost's fingers drummed against the desk. "Arthur.

Assigned to station here. Lucky you. You must have friends in high places."

Arthur hesitated. "Uhh… do I?" 'Was Officer Reftia behind this? I did made her think I wanted to avoid the front lines?'

"You'll be my assistant," Frost announced, beaming. "Wonderful."

Arthur's heart sank. He forced a tight-lipped smile. "Ahhh. Right."

Frost turned his gaze on him, and in that instant, Arthur knew—his time here was not going to be easy.

"You start tomorrow," Frost said airily. "For now, Ram will show you to your quarters."

"I'm an Officer," Ram snapped, bristling.

Frost tilted his head, staring at him blankly. Then, after a long pause, he tilted his head and said—"Pretty please?"

Ram let out a low growl before grabbing Arthur's sleeve and dragging him out of the office, muttering darkly under his breath. Arthur stumbled along behind him, exhausted in every possible way.

They arrived at a dimly lit barracks—a room of empty bunk beds, silent and abandoned.

Ram jerked a thumb toward the room. "Here. This is for the execution team, but they're out on deployment. You can stay here."

Arthur blinked. "Can't I… go somewhere else?"

Ram shot him a look. Arthur decided not to push the issue.

"You start tomorrow," Ram grunted. "Take the day to get used to your surroundings." Then, without another word, he turned and stalked off.

Arthur sat heavily on the nearest bed, rubbing his face.

"All to myself, huh?" he muttered. He exhaled, tilting his head back against the cold metal frame. "Well… I guess that ain't bad."

But somehow, the quiet felt suffocating.…