CH935 · Rewrite
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Chapter 935: A Glimpse of Hope in the Dark

Loud noise woke Otto Passi.

He lay still for a moment, eyes heavy. The candles on the candlestick had burned to their ends — the remaining flames too thin to do much with the dark. This far underground, day and night were the same, and the candle was the only clock he had. Guards came every six hours with food and replaced the stubs when they came.

That was only at the beginning.

Now they seldom came. Sometimes he woke from hunger and found the cell already black.

How long has it been? He pressed his palm against his forehead, as if he could squeeze the answer out. The prolonged absence of sunlight had worn him down to something raw and unsteady, and waking in total darkness — again, again, again — carried a specific kind of weight. Not quite fear. Closer to the sensation of being forgotten by the world.

But he had to live.

His father. His entire family. Their fates sat in Appen’s hands.

Otto pushed himself upright, swung his legs off the edge of the bed, and limped to the iron railings. He had a request ready — not just for food and candle, but for a razor. The beard had grown past his cheeks. Bits of food and grease had worked their way into it, and now his own face smelled of rot. If the guard was worried about a blade as a weapon, Otto was willing to let him do the shaving himself. He was still a noble. A request for basic grooming was not unreasonable.

Voices filtered in from beyond the iron gate.

The guards weren’t bothering to lower them. Apparently they did not care whether he heard.

“What were those people thinking? This is the eldest son of the Passi family.”

“Jokes and ridicule. Isn’t that what clowns do?”

“If these acrobats had done something like that under normal circumstances, they’d be fed to the fishes by morning. Homeless wanderers.”

“Well, when were times normal? Would the eldest son be in a dungeon during normal times? His Majesty enjoys their performances. Without the king’s favor, they wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re just speaking nonsense.”

“Maybe. But what are you going to do about it? Trade your dinner for his?”

A sigh. “Forget it. It’s a few mouthfuls of saliva. He won’t die from it.” Keys rattling. “And if this is what His Majesty wants to see — don’t go asking for trouble.”

The gate shrieked open. The warden walked in holding a dinner tray, and stopped when he found Otto already at the railing.

“Milord, you’re up.” He recovered quickly, hiding whatever he’d felt. “Might as well have dinner now. I’ll replace the candles tomorrow — the chief steward forgot to send new ones.”

Otto said nothing.

The shame struck him before the meaning of the words did. His cheeks burned as if pressed against an open oven door. He had pieced together the story from the short exchange: a clown from an acrobatics troupe had spat into his food as a performance, for Appen Moya’s amusement. His dinner had been an act.

He forgot to ask for the razor.

The warden didn’t wait for a reply. He swapped the trays and left without looking back. No one spent more time than they had to in this room, regardless of how it was dressed up.

Silence poured back in.

Standing there in it, Otto wanted to scream — wanted to curse the warden for his negligence, wanted to shout Appen’s name at the stone ceiling until his voice gave out. He did neither.

Because screaming would only delay the next candle delivery. And Appen would love nothing more than to watch him thrash against the cage.

The dinner sat on its tray. He had no intention of touching it.

He turned to drag himself back to the bed — and stopped.

In the corner of his eye, the oatmeal had turned black.

He went still. Moved closer. Lifted the bowl with both hands and angled it toward the thin flame.

Not shadow. Not the dark. The oatmeal was the color of ink.

Acrobatics troupe. Clowns. Tricks.

An idea broke open in him, sudden and electric.

“Yorko said you were an ordinary acrobat. Is that true?”

“It was a coincidence. His Majesty probably chose me because my performance wasn’t bad.”

“Can you demonstrate?”

“I’ll show you the simplest one — the thief who spits ink.”

Otto plunged his finger into the bowl.

His fingertip found something: small, rough, faintly solid. He groped for it carefully and pinched it between two fingers, drew it out slowly. It was nearly transparent. Soaked through with the black water, almost invisible — thin fabric, the kind you couldn’t see in dim light, only feel.

He held his breath and walked to the candlestick. Spread the chiffon out with trembling hands.

“How did the water change color?”

“It’s not done yet. Look at the cloth — nothing on it, yes? I’ll wet it in the water, dry it with the flame. What do you think will happen?”

“Nothing… wait. Is that… a word?”

“Can you read it?”

“Is this… your name?”

“Hill Fawkes. That’s me.”

The faint black marks began to appear as the heat reached the cloth. The candle wavered. The shadows on the walls swung.

Hurry. His heart was shouting it. Hurry, hurry—

The letter marks surfaced from the dark fabric, brief and clear.

Then the candle went out.

Blackness.

Otto laughed. He pressed both hands over his mouth to muffle it, but his shoulders shook. He crawled back to the railing. He folded the chiffon carefully, pressed it between his teeth, and swallowed it down with the oatmeal.

The warmth moved through his throat, into his chest, down into his stomach. But it was not the oatmeal that spread heat through him. It was the knowledge of what the cloth had said.

There had been only a few words. Beautiful handwriting. The kind of hand he remembered from childhood lessons, prim and a little formal.

Don’t be afraid. I’m coming.

In the dark, with his face wet and his beard matted and his body smaller than it had been, Otto Passi drank his oatmeal in silence.

His determination had been worth it.

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