Hope

It took a while to convince Tia.

She had well thought out counter arguments to each element of my plan. She wasn't wrong though; it was dangerous, stupid, almost hopeless, certainly doomed to fail - and did I mention that I'm only six years old?

There was no way of getting out of here that was foolproof, no plan that was a guaranteed success, and I had to spend hours explaining that to her.

She didn't like it, but begrudgingly accepted that we would need a lot of sheer dumb luck. Tia wanted out of here as much as I did, if not more so, but she was a cautious person. The kind that not only had a plan B, but plans B-Z, accounting for every possible source of randomness.

I only had a plan A, well, it wasn't really a plan at all. It was a rash gamble that hinged on a single, critical moment. If just one thing went wrong, then it was all over, and we would probably be killed on the spot.

The fated day would arrive tomorrow, and I had a lot to prepare for. So, for now, goodnight.

...

Creaaaaaak.

The prison door was pushed open, and a set of footsteps followed soon after.

I pried open my eyes, and awoke from a long night of meditation. I glanced ahead, spotting Tia lying face down a few feet away from the cell bars. She was masterfully feigning death.

I used my right leg to push myself upright, and tried to balance as best as I could. The air around me was heavy, and it had become slightly difficult to breathe.

The heavy thud of the guard's boots grew closer, and closer. It was early morning, and he was inspecting each cell before the markets patrons arrived.

The first thing I saw was his shadow, and then a glimpse of his thick leather shoes.

My heart was thumping against my rib cage. The scrapes along my arms were becoming hotter, and more painful, as if they were turning back into fresh wounds. My ribs hurt. Like, really hurt. I had almost forgotten that they were still fractured. One blow to the chest, and they would shatter, and that would be that.

I braced myself, and tried to calm down my breathing. Now wasn't the time to be getting nervous.

The man slithered into view. He was a long, lanky individual, and had almost certainly never won a fight in his life... but he was armed. He tightened his grip around his metal baton, and gave Tia a steely glare.

Fall for it.

One more step.

Just open the door, please.

SWOOSH. The cell door flung open, and the man stepped inside. What a dumbass.

I leaped forward, ducking under his extended arms and wrapping around behind him. "What-- brat!"

He swivelled around, his face warping into a disturbed grin. "And just what do you think you're up to?"

This was it. I had to survive this blow, no matter what. I had to stay conscious, and limit the number of sustained injuries.

The man raised his baton with the intent to kill, one foot in front of the other, using his hips to drive the weapon forward.

Just before impact, I twisted my body to the right, baiting his swing towards my left arm. I relaxed my muscles and went limp. If I tried to oppose the blow, it would tear me apart. Instead, I had to move with it, and rely on my 'shield' to dampen the force being applied.

Mana shields, a form of mediocre protection practiced by mages to shield themselves against very weak spells. Their usage had become essentially non-existent as any mage worth their salt is able to easily break through them. Therefore, the amount of time required to prepare a mana shield is simply not worth the effort for a mage.

But what if someone without the gift spent twelve, long hours, gathering mana particles and tightly packing them around their body. What would that do to the air around them?

The answer is density. There would be a much higher volume of particles surrounding that individual. Enough particles to dampen not only a mage's spell, but also... an attack from a physical weapon. Well, just what sort of a maniac could possibly pull off something like that?

The baton dug into my left side for what seemed like an eternity, sending agonising pains down my arms as I could vividly feel my muscles on the verge of being ripped apart.

My vision darkened as I flew through the air, but I had managed to stay awake. I hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. A dull thud echoed throughout the corridor, followed by the satisfied scoff of the guard.

I pretended to be unconscious, but opened just one eye barely enough to make out what was in front of me.

Please... if there's a god listening. I'm sorry for whatever I did in my past life, I'm sure I must've been a horrible person to deserve all of this. But that girl doesn't, so if you bring her into this, I swear... I swear that I'll never forgive you.

The guard turned his back and took a few steps towards Tia's cell. This had gone so perfectly that I couldn't help smirking. My eyes snapped open, and I shuffled over to Aaron's cell.

Right on cue... a boy, around ten or eleven years old, squatted in front of the cell bars. He was sickly pale, and so thin that a gust of wind would have sent him airborne. His dingy, auburn hair had begun to fall out, and his clothes had been torn in so many ways that he had begun to look like a wild caveman.

He reached through the bars, and handed me a bone. A bone that Aaron had been sharpening against the stone walls of his prison cell for the past month, waiting for the perfect opportunity to arrive.

And here it was.