Questions And Answers

Warren had lost track of how many days had passed. It could've been three. Or five. Maybe more.

The walls of his cell were smooth stone, cold even in the afternoon. Nights felt longer than they should have. Sleep came and went in fits, and the silence was only broken by the occasional clatter of boots or the metal clink of a food tray being shoved through the slot.

The meals were… surprisingly decent.

In the morning, soft flatbread still warm from the oven and a thick stew of beans and root vegetables. At night, dried meats and rice, with fresh greens on the side. Once, even a slice of something that tasted like real fruit. Despite how much better the quality was compared to the forest, Warren just felt bitter. Every bite reminded him of what he'd lost.

Kaela hadn't returned.

Neither had Vin.

And every day that passed without them—without an explanation—just made the knot in his chest tighten.

He stared at the wall as the evening meal sat untouched beside him. When the heavy metal door opened this time, it wasn't a guard bringing food.

It was the blonde man from the gate—the one with eyes the color of blood.

And next to him stood a girl Warren had never seen before.

She looked young, maybe around his age, with short dark blue hair that curled slightly at the tips, and light blue eyes so clear they almost looked silver in the dim torchlight. Her posture was calm, composed. But her presence... something about her demanded attention. She wore a standard scout's light cloak over tight-fitting reinforced cloth armor. No weapons. Just a small insignia pinned to her collar—a symbol he didn't recognize.

The blonde man stopped a few paces from the cell and gave her a curt nod. She stepped forward.

"My name is Reyna," her voice clear but not unkind. "My Sigil allows me to determine when someone is lying."

'Sigil?' The word sounded familiar, but he didn't quite know what it meant. He opened his mouth.

"What's a—"

"You are in no position to ask questions," the blonde man cut in, tone hard.

Warren's mouth shut.

There was a tense silence.

Reyna continued, her expression unmoved. "I've been sent to question you about the events surrounding the Vermillion hunting party. My ability ensures that your answers are accurate."

Warren blinked slowly. 'So they really think I did it. That I somehow wiped out a full group of hunters. Alone?'

He stayed seated on the floor, back against the wall, gaze fixed on Reyna. "...What if I refuse to answer your questions?"

The blonde man stepped forward, his boots echoing sharply in the corridor. "Then you will be executed on the spot."

"Is that a threat" Warrens pulse quickened.

"A guarantee," the man replied. His voice didn't rise in volume, but it cut deeper than any scream. His red eyes sharpened—darkening like coals stoked too hot. "Answer the questions."

His voice left no room for negotiation.

Warren swallowed hard. He thought about lying. Thought about saying nothing. Thought about spitting in the red-eyed bastard's face and accepting whatever punishment they threw his way.

Wouldn't it be easier? Just close his eyes and let it end here. Let them execute him. Let them be rid of their suspicion and fear.

Maybe the world would be better off.

But then he heard it again.

[Answer his questions]

That voice.

The same voice he had heard at the river—when the red wolf nearly tore through Vin.It rang through his skull like a quiet bell, sweet and undeniable.

Warren clenched his jaw.

'I don't have much choice… I'll go along with it. For now.'

He looked up, eyes steady despite the pressure pressing down on his shoulders like invisible weights.

"Fine," he said, voice low but clear. "Ask your questions."

The girl, Reyna, gave a slight nod, her pale blue eyes calm and unreadable. She stepped closer to the bars and began:

"Question one. What is your name?"

"Warren."

"Question two. What is your goal?"

Warren hesitated.

'What is my goal…?'

He swallowed. "To survive. For now."

"Question three. Did you attack or aid in the attack on the Vermillion hunting party?"

"No. I didn't even see them until after they were dead."

Reyna nodded again, her voice measured.

"Question four. Are you affiliated with or work for any groups?"

"No. I came here alone."

She watched his face carefully before giving the final question.

"Question five. What do you intend to do assuming you are released?"

Another pause. This time Warren looked between the two of them.

"I don't know. I guess… find answers. Try not to die."

Reyna glanced at the blonde man beside her. "Anything else?"

The man, silent until now, stepped forward. The weight of the air around him thickened like a storm front.

"Just one," he said. "What Legacy do you bear?"

Warren narrowed his eyes studying the mans face.

The pressure coming off him was unlike anything Warren had ever felt.

He hadn't noticed it clearly outside the settlement walls, too overwhelmed by shock and confusion, but now… now it was undeniable. The man's presence wasn't just commanding—it was oppressive. The air felt heavier. Denser. As though the very atmosphere obeyed his will.

Yet despite that weight, despite the danger…

Warren couldn't help but feel something else.

Familiarity.

The longer he stared into those crimson eyes, the more something stirred in his chest. 

Comfort.

Like seeing an old friend after many years. Or finally remembering a face you'd forgotten.

The feeling was strange.

'Another ability . . . or what did they call them . . .sigils?'

Warren's throat tightened. He looked the blonde man in the eye.

"I don't even know what that means."

Reyna turned to the blonde man and gave him a small nod.

The man crossed his arms.

"Legacies," he said slowly, "are Wills left behind by some of the strongest beings this world has ever seen. Unlike ordinary Bound items or relics, which reflect the strength of the user, a Legacy warps the user to reflect the strength of the one who left it behind. They don't just merge with your soul—they change it. Give it shape. That kind of force... is dangerous in the wrong hands."

Warren's breath caught.

'So that's what that voice was? That presence in the cave?'

He considered lying. Or just playing dumb with some carefully chosen words.

But before he could say anything, the familiar, feminine voice returned. Calm and resolute.

[Tell him you possess the Legacy of Envy.]

Warren clenched his fists.

"...I possess the Legacy of Envy."

The room went silent.

The blonde man's eyes widened—just for a fraction of a second. He turned to Reyna. She gave another nod.

The tension shifted. Less hostile now. Less cautious. But no less dangerous.

"Your story seems... legitimate," the blonde man finally let out. "A higher-up will be by shortly to determine next steps. Cooperate, and you might walk out of here with your life."

The two turned and left, the heavy iron door closing behind them.

Warren was alone again.

***

The stone walls of the cell bled cold through his skin.

Days had passed. He wasn't sure how many—two, maybe three—but the hours crawled by like dying insects. The food was better than the forest slop: spiced meat, soft bread, warm broth. Almost mockingly good.

But Warren tasted only ash.

Despite how much better the quality was compared to what he'd scraped together in the wild, he just felt bitter.

They had locked him away like a criminal.

After all that...

He leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling until his vision blurred. 'What are Kaela and Vin doing now? Do they think about me even a little?'

He didn't want to know the answer.

Then the lock clicked.

A heavy door opened beyond the bars, and Warren blinked, sitting up straight.

A tall man in a long grey cloak stepped inside, flanked by two silent guards. He carried no weapon, yet the air shifted the moment he entered—as if the cell itself revered him.

Warren felt it. That pressure. Not unlike the noble with the red eyes—but worse. This man didn't radiate dominance.

He was dominance.

"I don't believe anyone's welcomed you properly," the man said, voice even. "So let me be the first."

He stopped just outside the cell bars, gazing through them without blinking.

"Welcome to the Elden Keep."

Warren didn't reply.

The man went on, hands clasped behind his back. "I've read the report. You were found near the ruins of a dead squad. You possess a Will you don't understand, strength you don't deserve, and now you sit here, wasting time that could be spent proving yourself."

He stepped closer.

"I'm here to offer you a deal."

Warren narrowed his eyes.

"You will be released from this cell, trained by the best instructors this Keep can provide, and tested thoroughly. Should you succeed, you'll be given a place of power—a prominent role. Wealth. Influence. You'll never be thrown into a cage again."

It was too good.

So naturally, it was a lie.

"And what do you get out of it?" Warren asked coldly.

"I only ask for two things from everyone who works for me. Loyalty and results." The mans words were a stark contrast to the preassure he gave off.

"I'm not interested in becoming a cog in another abusive system," Warren said, voice sharp. "I've seen enough of what 'Loyalty and Results' get you."

The man didn't blink. His expression didn't change. But the guards behind him shifted—just slightly.

"I understand," the man said softly. "That is why I'll offer you another choice."

He leaned in, eyes narrowing.

"Death. . . "

Silence fell like a blade between them.

Warren looked away, his fists clenched.

He hated this.

Everything about it.

But he wasn't ready to die. Not without figuring out what this Legacy inside him really was. Not without answers.

Reluctantly, he nodded once. "Fine."

The man smiled thinly, like he'd just expected a coin toss to land on heads.

"Good," he said. "But understand—this deal comes with conditions."

He raised a hand and counted off each one with a finger.

"You cannot disclose that you possess a Legacy Will."

A second finger.

"You cannot disclose your true rank to anyone."

A third.

"And you cannot disclose our affiliation—not to friends, not to comrades, not to lovers. No exceptions."

Warren's throat tightened.

"If you break any of these conditions," the man continued, "you will be executed. Swiftly and without trial."

He turned away.

"You've been chosen for something greater, Warren. Whether you rise or fall depends entirely on you."

With that, the man disappeared through the door.

Warren sat there, feeling the weight of invisible chains wrap around his wrists.

Chains he'd just agreed to wear.

***

The next day, the cell door opened again—not with menace this time, but with formality.

A soldier handed him folded scout gear and gave him five minutes to change. When Warren stepped out, he looked like any other recruit.

But inside, he wasn't.

He wasn't like any of them.