“I can’t believe this guard had a favor from dad to cash in, on New Year’s Eve of all nights…” Bryon hissed quietly into Scurlock’s ear, flicking one claw in a small gesture to dampen the noise of his speech using his magic. Scurlock shook his head at his brother.

“I know, what are the odds… but our family doesn’t leave debts unpaid, and there will still be plenty of festivities tomorrow night. It's just guard duty, I’ve done it before,” Scurlock said, eyeing the Pouflon Captain in front of him. It had struck him as odd that this seemingly random Captain had managed to curry favor with their father, but the signature on the card was real. Scurlock had seen fakes, and the one presented to him was genuine as could be. Their family was lauded for their accountability, having never broken a promise, and Scurlock was determined not to break that now.

But this is an awful long way down for a cell. What kind of prisoner is this?

The stairs seemed to stretch on forever, each clack of hoof and scrap of claw sounding off like a scream as the noise of the world faded to nothingness in the distance. This far down, the lantern at the Pouflon Captain’s side seemed more like an alarm flame than a comforting light. Its light made the darkness beyond even deeper, and Scurlock felt his brother’s ears pin down, tail twitching with fear.
The air tasted of dust, thick and cloying on the roof of Scurlock’s mouth.

“Aaaaand… here we are!” the Captain announced cheerfully as they landed at the bottom of the stairs, finding themselves in a pitch dark room, save for the faint, magical glow of runes etched onto the cell bar at the back. The Captain reached his lantern up and hooked it onto the ceiling, revealing a bored-looking Pouflon who nodded at the Captain, ignoring the two Vespires.

“Let’s get going,” she said, casting one look back at the cell with a scoff. The Captain and the relieved guard started walking back up the winding stairs.

“Oh! And don’t forget, boys,” the Captain said over his shoulder as he left. “Don’t say a single word to that prisoner in there.”

With that, the brothers were left alone in the room, save for the occasional, quiet clink of chain from beyond the cell doors. Bryon stared at the cell bars, his brow furling in thought as his eyes traced the runes.

“These are… old,” he finally said. “Esoteric, even. And strong. The amount of magic this would need could…”

“Bryon?”

“Sorry. I’m just thinking out loud. It's creepy down here,” Bryon confessed.

He’s not wrong.

“Well, one on each side, I suppose. If the magic is strong, this should be an easy night, right?” Scurlock said, almost hopefully, but Bryon didn’t reply. Instead, he sat down on the right side of the cell bars, eyes flickering in small motions. Scurlock knew that face: his brother was lost deep in thought, and there wasn’t much he could do to snap him out of it. Shrugging, Scurlock took up the right side, and silence wrapped around them.

For a time.

A much louder clank from a heavy shackle snapped Scurlock out of his daydreaming, and he looked over to see Bryon also staring back at him. He turned his head even further, studying the darkness beyond the bars. Something moved in there, but he couldn’t quite make out a shape, at least not one identifiable. He frowned, though, as something about the form seemed…

Familiar?

“Hello… Could you tell me your names?” a voice seeped out from the cell bars, interrupted by a crackling cough. The voice itself sounded almost distorted, reminding Scurlock of the few times he and Bryon had climbed too high into the atmosphere while flying, and their ears would pop any noises they tried to make out.

“And perhaps… some water if I am lucky…?”

No water? Even for a prisoner, that’s…

“Scurlock,” Bryon whispered urgently at his side. “Stairs. Now.”

Following his brother over, Scurlock noticed a water barrel over in the corner. He took a mental note of it, and unfurled his wings to block out their conversation from the prisoner.

“Scurlock, he sounds like-”

“Dad?”

Bryon nodded grimly.

“I know. Not like a doppelganger, like… a brother. A relative?”

“I’m not sure, but those runes- Scur, the amount of magic in them could kill a mage if anything went wrong with the spell.”

“So they definitely don’t want that thing getting out,” Scurlock concluded, looking back briefly at the cell. “Well, if the magic is as strong as you say, it should hold steadfast. I won’t talk to them, but I’ll give them a little water-”

“No!” Bryon’s eyes widened in shock. “If they’re keeping them weak for a reason, I don’t want to find out why.”

Scurlock felt his head start to pound, something in the air felt wrong to him.
But his gut also told him it was inhumane to treat a prisoner so poorly.

“Look, a little water won’t do anything,” he said, letting his wings dissipate. “Just a bit. And then we go back to watching the cell in silence.”

“No, no, this is madness!”

“I’m doing it, Bry, and you can’t stop me,” Scurlock said, suddenly determined. “I’m pulling the older brother card here.”

Bryon watched nervously as Scurlock padded over to the water barrel, popping off the top and pulling up the ladle using his minute magic. The ladle glowed in a marbled swirl of black and yellow magic, dipping into the water and coming back out with a full scoop on its own. Focusing on his magic, Scurlock delicately made his way over to the cell to make sure not a drop splashed onto the stone flooring.

“Just a ladleful,” he said back to Bryon, and pushed the water into the cell for the prisoner to lap up.

“Just a ladleful…” repeated the prisoner, heavy chains shifting and dragging against the stone.