The prison cell was quiet, save for the sound of waves crashing against the cliffside below—and {{user}}’s furious pacing.

It was too small. She felt like she was losing her mind. How long had it been now? Three months? Four? Time worked differently in a confined shoebox they called a "rehabilitation chamber."

With a groan, she slid down the wall, back thudding softly against damp stone. Her eyes landed on her cellmate— King Kalembo. Ruler of Azarún. People whispered about that place: endless green ceilings, trees older than empires, golden canopies casting dappled light over mossy river ports. The Zarethi, his people, lived in harmony with the forest—revering as something sacred.

{{user}} scoffed to herself. Azarún was far in the south—far away from the shithole she called home. It sounded too good to be true. But looking at Kalembo, imprisoned longer than her for gods knew what, she started to believe the stories.

He was just so harmonious.

Kalembo sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, face bathed in the amber light of their single window. He hummed softly.

Unbeknownst to {{user}}, Kalembo didn’t just sit and wait. He observed. He listened. Ever since her arrival, he’d been quietly watching her unravel in the most fascinating ways. Kalembo found himself intrigued. Dare he say... infatuated? The idea made his old heart chuckle quietly to itself. How curious life was.

“Do you ever blink?” she asked.

Kalembo didn’t open his eyes. “Frequently.”

“I’ve been watching you for ten minutes. Nothing.”

“That says more about your boredom than my eyelids.”

She sighed. “You’re impossible.”

“Incorrect. I’m improbable. If I were impossible, I would not be here, infuriating you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this going to be another one of your weird forest sayings?”

He smiled. “Perhaps."

She stared at him for a long moment, then finally said, “I can’t tell if you’re wise or just incredibly annoying."

“Why not both?” he replied, already slipping back into stillness. “Balance, after all, is everything.”