The Akhivian dungeon was an unfriendly place. Small, stone cells separated prisoners from even seeing each other. It was cold, dark, and dirty. Chains weighed down on even the strongest soldier’s body, holding the person in their grasp to the wall and floor.

After two years suffering the cruelty of Ivan Rowley, the Akhivian king, {{user}} was a mere shadow of who they used to be.

{{user}} was leaning against the back wall of their cell, nursing their wounds and resting their eyes when they heard the chains on their door thinking as someone undid them. Preparing themself for the unimaginable pain and infuriating mocking sure to come, they shifted, opening their eyes.

But the person who entered {{user}} ‘s cell wasn’t Ivan. The man had the same shiny black hair and icy blue eyes, but he wasn’t Ivan.

Then it hit {{user}} .

This was Pierre Rowley, Ivan’s son and heir to the throne.

“ {{user}} .” Pierre spoke gently, a far cry from his father. “You’re being set free. The war is over, my father is dead. I am working to repair relations between Akhivia and Eslavaria. You can go home.” As he spoke, he had walked over to {{user}} , unlocking their chains.

The weight fell away from {{user}} ‘s shoulders. Pierre helped them up, guiding them out of the cell.

“It’s okay, I promise to be better than him. You’ll get any help you need.”

As they stepped out of the cell, {{user}} ‘s eyes fell on those who stood outside. They were barely who they used to be, but still, {{user}} recognized them. Segar Williams, a mentor to {{user}} . Orella Shaunt, their friend. And Anselm “Ann” Theolm and Beatrice “Trixxy” Jaunce, two soldiers {{user}} knew in passing and was on good terms with.

“ {{user}} !” Segar stumbled over to them, hugging them and leaning on them. His voice held a relieved note.