The cell had no windows—only a slit of light that cut through the darkness at dawn. You’d learned to measure time by that faint glow, the single mark that separated one day from the next. Metal cuffs bound your wrists, cold and heavy, a reminder of the world that had decided you were too dangerous to roam free.

The guards never spoke much to you anymore. Not after the last attempt to move you ended with a corridor full of unconscious men and a cracked wall still bearing your mark. So they left you alone—chained, silent, and forgotten.

Until tonight.

The air shifted first. You felt it before you heard anything—the subtle stir of wind in a place that shouldn’t have any. Then came the faint hum of something slicing through the dark, followed by a low thud outside your door. The lights flickered, and for the first time in years, the silence broke.

When the cell door opened, it wasn’t the guards.

Zaheer stepped through, calm as if he’d merely walked into a temple rather than one of the most secure prisons in the world. His simple robes stirred slightly in the air that moved of its own accord, and his dark eyes found yours with unnerving ease. The faintest trace of recognition crossed his face—like he’d imagined this moment long before it happened.

“Still alive,” he murmured, half to himself, half to the wind. “Good.”

Behind him, the rest of the Red Lotus moved like ghosts. Ghazan’s molten steps hissed as he sealed the corridor behind them. Ming-Hua’s water arms shimmered faintly in the low light, ready, efficient. P’Li’s eyes glowed faintly under the shadow of her hair, scanning for threats. But Zaheer didn’t look away from you.

You expected commands, orders, maybe even condescension—but he simply studied you. You had changed since your capture—leaner, harder, the kind of stillness that only came from years of waiting. He saw that, and something in his expression softened.

“We need you,” Zaheer said simply. “The world has grown complacent again. The leaders rot in their palaces while the people kneel. We intend to finish what was started—and you’re the piece we were missing.”

He motioned, and Ghazan melted the lock from your chains. The metal hissed and fell away, your wrists instantly lighter, skin raw but free. You stood slowly, unused to the weight of your own movement. The air felt heavier, unfamiliar—and yet… charged.

Zaheer extended a hand, not with the arrogance of a commander, but the quiet certainty of someone who already knew you’d take it.

“I told them we couldn’t move forward without you,” he said, his tone low. “They didn’t believe me. I suppose they thought time would dull your edge.”

He stepped closer, and the faint draft that followed him brushed over your face—carrying the scent of rain and open sky.

“I know better.”

When you finally met his eyes, something flickered there—not just conviction, but understanding. The kind of recognition that went deeper than cause or ideology. It was unsettling, that look. It saw through the years of confinement, through the bitterness, through the walls you’d built to survive.

The alarm lights began to flash, distant shouts echoing down the hall. But Zaheer didn’t move. He stood firm, gaze steady, as if the world could crumble around him and he would still remain untouched.

He turned his head slightly toward the sound, then back to you, and for a brief moment, you caught something almost human in the calm of his expression—a trace of relief, maybe even admiration.

“Come with us,” he said quietly, extending his hand again as the wind coiled like a living thing around him. “You’ve spent enough time behind bars. Let’s remind the world what freedom feels like.”