Isolated in a Room, Cut off from the World

Boom, Boom, Boom

The ground started to shake. Rupert woke up from the sudden vibrations, the room shuddering in response to something. The heavy tremors rattled the ground and sent reverberations through Rupert's bones.

Dizzy from waking up so abruptly, Rupert was confused about what was happening outside.

"What is going on out there? Hey, is someone there? Hey, help! Help! Is anyone out there?"

He tried shouting, hoping to reach someone, but it was obvious that his voice was drowned out by the overwhelming vibrations.

What's going on? This feeling… these types of vibrations… This feels just like the tremors that echo through the mountains when students train their abilities. Is it really explosions out there? Has there been an accident or a fight? Either way, I can't do anything…

His thoughts spiraled as he glanced around the unfamiliar space.

What is with this room? Why didn't I pay more attention to it before? Why is the door flat and horizontal? Am I in an attic? No… No attic is made entirely of stone. Everything in this room was shaped by a stone user's power—no doubt about it. This light gray color is the trademark of their work; everyone knows that. If this isn't an attic, then where am I?

The basement? Am I really trapped underground, in what they call a basement? I've never been in one before, so I can't tell, but I can't think of anything else this could be…

Is this a curse or a blessing? Most explosive powers can't easily break through stone walls, so whatever is happening outside probably won't affect me. It won't affect me—but is that really for the best? What if being affected would save me from this situation?

How long can I stay here before I die? Is there really any way for me to get out?

Rupert struggled against his bindings, but his arm was numb in its stretched position.

"Someone… Someone, anyone… I'm here… I can't break loose… Someone, I beg you, please help me!"

Starving and thirsty, his eyes ached, his brain fogged over. Tied to a pillar, he suddenly saw it—the only thing he shouldn't have seen.

The vibrations grew heavier by the second. The ground shook violently, reaching its peak. It felt like an enormous beast had been chasing him and had finally caught up.

At that moment, the nonexistent hope in Rupert's heart vanished. The wooden horizontal door, seemingly level with the ground, collapsed. Small boulders poured in before everything came to a stillness.

For a brief moment—before the room filled with dust, blocking his vision—Rupert witnessed the unimaginable unfold before him. His breath hitched.

He shut his eyes. He never wanted to open them again.

What was the point?

This was the end.

There wasn't a single chance he would be saved now. The only opening in the room was blocked by boulders.

It marked the end of his life.

No one would be coming to help him anymore.

Rupert, at the lowest point he had ever been, didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to feel. He didn't know how to respond. He just sat there, covering his mouth with his elbow, using his shirt to block the dust from entering his nostrils.

He had his eyes closed and waited.

His mind shut down.

Random thoughts surfaced—only to fade just as quickly.

The storm passed.

The vibrations calmed, slowly fading until finally, the room fell into complete silence once again. The dust settled. Stones and small boulders rested on the stone stairs and floor. Small rocks were scattered everywhere.

Then, something sparked in his mind.

A sense of inspiration hit him.

Rupert came to his senses after zoning out for the duration of the tremors. He opened his eyes and looked around the ground.

All I need is one stone. If it's not sharp, then I'll sharpen it. I'll sharpen it with my teeth if I have to.

He scanned his surroundings.

There it was.

To his luck, a stone lay nearby. It wasn't round, but it wasn't the sharpest in the room either. Still, it was enough—sharp enough to compare to his canines.

He reached for it with his legs, stretching as far as he could—then stopped.

There's a better way to do this. I can't rush. There's no need to rush. I have all the time in the world… I have all the time in the world… But if I mess this up, the rest of my time will be significantly shorter. I can't afford to half-ass this.

Rupert adjusted himself, turning his legs toward the wall. His arms remained stuck in place. Carefully, he removed his leather boots, placing them close to the wall.

Using his feet as if they were hands, he maneuvered the boots skillfully.

The scene resembled an ape moving through the branches—hands gripping for balance, feet holding fruit. But in Rupert's case, it was his boots.

He stretched his toes, moving them around before making his next move.

He took deep breaths. Slowly inhaling. Slowly exhaling.

His focus was locked on the stone in front of him.

Then, he moved.

He reached out with his feet, his entire body stretching into a straight line. Supported only by his feet and the base of his neck against the pillar, he could feel the tension along his spine, glutes, and hamstrings.

He reached the stone slowly—one toe at a time.

Don't mess this up… Don't shoot the stone farther away…

Like a tarantula crawling toward its prey, he advanced.

One toe away.

The stone—about the size of a chicken egg—lay within reach.

He moved his right foot over it, placing the bottom of his toes and the arch of his foot above the stone.

He clenched his foot, muscles tightening, and softly lifted the stone, carefully dragging it toward him.

He did it.

The stone was now close to his groin. Sweat dripped from his face. His heart pounded, the intensity of the moment catching up to him.

Now… all I need to do is get it into my hands and tear the fibers of the rope apart, strand by strand.

But the rope was too tight. His arms were wrapped around the pillar, his hands barely meeting on the other side.

His arms had been numb for a while, the lack of blood flow turning them pale.

But I have to do it.

It's my life or my arm…

Wait… I can't be rash. Is there another way? Any alternatives? Maybe my feet…?

He tried.

Holding the stone with his foot, he stretched toward his wrists.

He couldn't reach.

He tried with his other foot.

Same result.

No matter how much he strained, he could only reach his forearms.

His arms were tied so tightly they wouldn't budge. The bindings were at knee level—too high.

There was no other way.

He had to get the stone into his hands.

And to do that, he had to move his arms down the pillar to floor level.

No choice.

Rupert placed the stone as close to his hands as possible.

Shadows fell over his eyes. Determined yet afraid, he gritted the collar of his shirt between his teeth.

Then, with all his strength, he pulled down his arms.

His forearms scraped against the rough texture of the pillar, like sandpaper against bare skin.

He screamed as layers of skin peeled away.

But he had to keep going.

Thankfully, Rupert had good mobility. Unlike his foot, which couldn't reach his hands, his shoulders could fully extend without much trouble.

Little by little, his arms moved lower.

His entire body flattened against the floor, arms finally resting at ground level.

He reached out his left hand.

Grabbed the stone.

Blood dripped onto the rope, then onto his hands and the stone.

Slowly, carefully, he cut through the fibers.

Strand by strand.

Until finally—

The last thread snapped.

His arms sprang free, each flinging to the sides.

Rupert gasped. His whole body ached.

But he had done it.

He was free.

Rupert straightened his neck. Every part of his body ached—from his spine being stretched out for so long, his glutes from sitting on the hard, cold floor, the headache that hammered at his skull, to the worst of it: his forearms, now bleeding more as the tight veins loosened and began to pump again.

But Rupert was relieved. He had freed himself from the pillar. Now, all that was left was to break through the boulders and escape.

Or so he thought.

After a brief moment of stretching and trying to ease the pain in his body, he walked up the stairs, clearing the small stones from his path. When he reached the boulder blocking the entrance, he felt it with his hands.

He placed his shoulder against the stone, compressed his body by standing on the highest stair, and pushed with all his might. But despite Rupert being a lumberjack who could shift logs by himself, he could not budge the boulder.

His heart sank as he realized the grim truth.

It felt like he was trying to lift a mountain. There was no way to move it.

Rupert tried again—pushing from different angles, attempting every position he could think of to unlock his full strength. But each attempt ended the same.

Defeated, tired, hungry, and thirsty, his forearms still bleeding, Rupert trudged back down the stairs. He stumbled to the pillar where he had been tied, his body aching from every angle, muscles refusing to hold his posture. His bones ached like they were chewing on a mouthful of ice.

He gave in to the thought that this place—this dark, stone prison—was his grave.

He sat down and let his mind wander, reminiscing about his life. How far he had come. How little he had accomplished. Time dragged on until sleep finally claimed him.

Dreams were all he had left.

And for now, it was the most his power allowed him to do.