Aetherios System: Whirlwind

Book 3: Chapter 65: The Brig

Chapter 65: The Brig

Alex woke with the taste of blood in his mouth. His head throbbed, his chest felt like it had been caved in, and the cold weight of aether-disrupting manacles gnawed against his skin.

It wasn’t just him, either. Groans and mutters echoed faintly around the brig. As his vision cleared, he made out the huddled forms of people, and not just his squad, but others too.

Holly cradled her head, her face pale between her hands. Henry was propped against the wall, his thigh bound in a makeshift wrap, his breathing shallow but constant. Doran and Sarson whispered between themselves. Peter, Cole, Ghrukk, Zach, even Rynel; all trapped and shackled, staring bleakly at the bars.

The sight of it nearly hollowed him out then and there.

“I…sorry,” Alex muttered, his mouth dry. The words tore out from his throat before he could stop them. “I should’ve… I should’ve done more. Should’ve—”

“Don’t,” Holly said. She met his eyes, shaking her head. “Stop doing that. You kept them off us. You gave us a chance to get out. This isn’t your fault, Alex.”

Others murmured in agreement, though exhaustion colored every word.

The guilt didn’t ease. If anything, it twisted deeper. Deja vu pricked at the edge of his mind, visions of bars, cages, dark stone walls, kobolds leering through the gaps while he sat helpless. Back then, he’d barely clawed his way out of being sacrificed to Doudra’s death ritual. And now… here they were again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the memory down. Its not the same. Not the same.

When he opened them again, the brig wasn’t anything like the dank dungeon he expected. The air smelled faintly of polished oil and cedarwood. The floor’s planks gleamed with care, each fitted perfectly. The guard station outside their cells wasn’t rough benches and rusted nails. It was solid oak chairs, polished brass fittings, arcane lamp-light casting a soft glow from overhead. The place felt more like an officer’s lounge than a prison.

This wasn’t some pirate hovel. This was something Alex remembered as military discipline, a room with walls mopped, and ceiling swept. Detailed sorta stuff, Alex knew this, it was familiar to some degree from back home.

He raised his head, calling out to one of the guards posted nearby. “Hey! You gonna keep us locked up without so much as a word? Don’t even get to hear the charges?”

The guard didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink. He just stood there, his eyes glassy with his gaze fixed straight ahead.

A chill worked its way down Alex’s spine. He narrowed his eyes, letting [Aether Sight] unfurl, though he felt a twinge along his wrists. He looked down to find his hands chained. The manacles bit into him, dampening his senses, fighting his aether energy circulation. The disruption was strong, but his Imprints burned faintly against it, letting him push through the effect to a moderate degree.

The guard’s aura glowed with a steady, controlled flow. [Aether Sight] was showing Alex that the man was Adept Tier, early gaseous stage. Early, but with a good foundation. The kind of foundation that took time and resources to cultivate. On the battlefield, this man would’ve been dangerous with good items, strong spells, and a pool of energy large enough to tip smaller battles on his own.

Alex let out a low exhale. So, the Urhara Empire didn’t just fill its ships with fodder. They invested in true fighters.

“Guess they treat their soldiers well,” Alex muttered under his breath, his tone bitter. “At least there’s that.”

He shifted against the manacles, holding back a hiss as metal scraped along his skin. His gaze drifted past his squad, past Ghrukk’s grim silence, and out across the brig.

The under-level of the ship was broad, making it hard to tell if they were in the belly of the ship or somewhere higher up near the deck. But he could feel the mass of it above them, pressing down like a cathedral's roof. From the outside, the vessel looked like it could hold four, maybe five decks. Plenty of room for supplies, weapons, and… people.

Because that’s what they were now; cargo.

Across from their cell, three other prisoners sat behind thick bars. Alex studied them one by one, his [Aether Sight] still crawling sluggishly through the fog of his restraints, his Meridian Imprints burning hot to keep the link alive.

The first person he saw was a child. Or at least… it looked like one. They were thin, with delicate limbs, maybe twelve years old. But their aura burned with the density of a middle-stage Adept, liquid core shimmering quietly.

Alex’s eyes widened at this. To reach that point while so young meant monstrous talent, or something worse. And when his eyes lingered too long, the sensation rose again, an eerie wrongness. Not danger, exactly, but like staring at broken code in a perfect program. A glitch that shouldn’t exist, and yet there it was, pulsing at the corner of reality.

Beside the child sat a mountain of a man. Dark skin, head shaved clean, shoulders broad enough to take a battering ram. But his eyes were sunken pits, hollow with exhaustion, the spark of ambition long since burned out. Alex could imagine what he must have been once—unyielding, terrifying—but perhaps the weight of sleepless months and too many defeats had ground him down to a husk. A fighter without a fight. Still, if that spark returned, even for a moment… he would be formidable.

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And then there was the third man. A slender figure, strawberry-blonde hair, dusty like it hadn’t seen water in weeks. Yet his eyes shone a shocking, ice-cut blue, clear and sharp. He sat in the corner like the cell was a lounge, one leg folded over the other, posture loose and easy. When he noticed Alex watching, a sly grin tugged his lips and he gave a slow, deliberate wink.

Alex’s gut twisted. Confidence like that was either earned… or a mask stretched over madness.

He dragged his gaze back to his own situation, flexing against the manacles, his wrists buzzing with a faint thrum of pain. All three people across from him radiated strength, real strength. Adept Tier mages, every one of them with liquid cores, heavy with refinement. Each dangerous in their own way.

And yet here they were, shackled.

Whoever they were, it was a wild mix. A child, a broken giant, and a smirking snake. Alex’s thoughts churned, unease pressing into the cracks of his mind at who the prisoners might be, what they might have done. The dungeon was one thing. The Heavens, the tribulation—he could grit his teeth through that.

But people? People like this? He didn’t know if they were salvation waiting in chains, or just more chaos ready to spill into the world.

He leaned forward against the bars, ignoring the bite of iron from his restraints. If he was going to get anything out of this situation, he had to start somewhere, and the smirking one across from him seemed the type to enjoy

being asked questions.“You going to keep winking at me, or do you actually talk?” he asked.

The man chuckled, light and lilting, like someone enjoying a private joke. “Ahhh, he does have a tongue. Good, I was worried they’d cut it out. Would’ve been such a shame. So… words. Yes. We can trade those.”

The man leaned forward, elbows resting lazily on his knees, and dipped his head in an almost theatrical bow. “Symon. Just Symon. No title, though I deserve a dozen. And you?”

“Alex.”

“Ah, Alexander Pierce,” Symon crooned, the name rolling off his tongue like a line of poetry. “The little stormcaller. The lightning rod. The one who made the sky burn orange.” His grin stretched wider, teeth white in the lamplight. “I saw it, you know. Through the slats, through the bindings. Deliciously reckless. I knew you’d be fun the moment they shoved you down here.”

Alex’s jaw tightened at his words. He didn’t like being read so easily like that. Still, he pressed, “Where exactly is ‘down here’?”

Symon spread his arms as if presenting a stage. “Why, the brig of the Andreia, of course. An Arcani Siege-Craft. Lovely vessel, isn’t she? Oiled wood, shimmering sails, runes that hum lullabies if you listen close enough. Empire-built, Empire-owned, Empire-ruled.” His tone mocked reverence, like a priest reciting a prayer he didn’t believe.

He leaned back, eyes glinting. “I was first aboard, of course. Best room, softest seat, cleanest cell. They picked up poor Aburi next.” Symon flicked a finger toward the hulking man slumped in his corner. “Then the little puzzle came last.” His head tilted toward the child, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked in minutes.

“You know the kid’s name?” Alex asked.

Symon’s lips twisted in amusement. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Secrets are too sweet to give away for free.” He tapped his temple. “But no, I don’t. Doesn’t speak, doesn’t share. Just… is.” His voice softened, and for the first time, something like unease touched his expression. “And that, my dear new friend, is the strangest part.”

Alex’s skin prickled, the code-glitch-feeling crawling back up his spine. He forced the topic forward. “So where are they taking us?”

“Oh-ho, straight to the point.” Symon grinned again, back in his rhythm. “Athrastas City. Jewel of the Urhara Empire. Spires that touch the sky, and chains that touch every throat. From there…” He lifted a hand, waggling his fingers like dice rolling across a table. “Who knows? The Empire does what the Empire wants. And we—” he rattled his shackles dramatically—“are theirs to want.”

Alex stared at him, trying to parse truth from theater. Symon just smiled back, eyes shining with the kind of dangerous amusement that said he knew more than he’d ever admit. He shifted his weight and turned toward the hulking man across the way. “What about you?” he asked. “You got a name, or do I just keep calling you ‘the big guy’ in my head?”

The man raised his gaze, dark eyes ringed with exhaustion. “Aburi,” he said at last. His voice was gravel, low and strained.

Alex nodded. “Aburi. Good to meet you.” He leaned against the bars, searching the man’s expression for any spark of motivation. “You’ve got the build of someone who should’ve broken through these cages already.”

Aburi gave only a grunt.

“Not much of a talker, huh?” Alex quirked a grin, forcing levity into the air. “Guess what Henry, I think we’ve finally found your equal.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, just heavy. Aburi didn’t so much as twitch, eyes slipping back down to the floor as if the conversation had drained what little energy he’d bothered to muster.

Alex exhaled and turned his attention to the smallest prisoner. The child. The one who shouldn’t have been in Adept Tier at all, let alone Middle Stage. When his gaze met child’s, Alex flinched.

The boy was watching him, unblinking. His eyes were too sharp, too knowing, like he was pulling threads out of Alex’s soul and weighing them against something else.

“Hey, kid,” he said softly, voice pitched the same way he might talk to a recruit too young for their post. “I’m Alex. What’s your name?”

For a long moment, the child did nothing. Then the boy shook his head, one simple, decisive motion—and turned away, tucking his chin against his knees.

A chill prickled Alex’s skin. He couldn’t say why, but it felt like the rejection wasn’t just refusal to answer, but refusal to be known, like the kid just didn’t want to be scene by existence.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered.

Symon chuckled from his corner. “Oh, he likes you. Don’t let that cold shoulder fool you, Alexander Pierce. If he didn’t, you’d know.”

Alex ignored him, though the words only made the knot in his gut tighten.

He leaned back against the wall, letting his eyes sweep over the brig again. The air smelled faintly of oiled wood and incense, no rot, no mildew. It was cleaner than most barracks he’d slept in. The guards still hadn’t moved, their stares locked ahead as though they had been carved from stone. His shackles hummed faintly, a constant low disruption gnawing at his aether channels.

And the ship… it wasn’t moving. He felt no sway, no hum of wind through the sails above. It meant they were still near the mountain, probably circling the dungeon grounds. Which made sense. Half his squad wasn’t here. If they hadn’t been captured, then the Empire’s dogs were still out there hunting.

Alex clenched his fists against the manacles, ignoring the sting. Hold on, he thought, eyes closing for a heartbeat. Eric. Kate. All of you. Just hold on.

The large door of the brig’s room suddenly swung open. There was little to no creak of the large doors, as if even the hinges were oiled and cared for. Looked as though the ship was better treated than the prisoners, if Aburi was anything to go by.

Alex’s gaze swept to the doorway as a figure broaching the threshold. Then man entered and deftly walked across the floor without the guards so much and flickering their eyes. Boots halted at the cell in front of Alex. He had a visitor.

“Hello again, Alexander.”

“Hello, Malric.”