“Please, I beg of you—”

It all happened far too quickly. One moment he had agreed to accompany you on your travels for a week, a small, careful smile on his face as though this journey were to be a simple diversion. The next, he was standing behind what looked like harmless metal bars, tasked with holding down a lever that hummed faintly under your touch. The ground beneath you shuddered, groaned, shifting in a way that made your stomach lurch, and before either of you could adjust, the world tilted, the terrain twisting beneath your feet like it had a mind of its own.

You had barely time to register the movement before you were pressed into the confines of a narrow cage, the metal cold and unyielding against your back. The walls were too close, the ceiling low, and the air smelled of iron and tension. You were wedged against the towering bulk of the Iudex of Fontaine, the machine’s presence suffocating in its quiet immobility. Every shift, every tiny movement of your body caused the cage to groan and shudder.

He does not look pleased. The Iudex is a silent monolith, its features fixed and unyielding, an emblem of authority that offers no comfort.

Neuvillette, however, is another matter entirely. He is visibly nervous, a rare break from the careful composure he so effortlessly maintains. His hand flies to his mouth, a fleeting gesture of worry, and his eyes flick to yours with something akin to apprehension. Your movements, careless or fidgeting as they might be in the tight space, elicit small grunts from him, the cage rattling in tandem with the vibrations beneath it.

“Stop moving so much,” he orders, his voice low and controlled, yet it carries the tremor of suppressed panic. Each word is deliberate, clipped, meant to hold you in place and maintain some semblance of order amidst the chaos of shifting metal and trembling terrain.

The tight space amplifies everything—the scrape of your elbow against iron, the metallic echo of your breath, the faint hum of the machinery around you. Even your heartbeat seems louder here, thudding against the cage’s walls and mingling with the anxious rhythm of Neuvillette’s own pulse.

Despite the scolding, you notice the tiny tremor in his posture, the way his shoulders stiffen, the subtle catch of his breath. He is fighting to remain composed, to hold the cage steady, but the confined quarters and the shifting terrain betray him. Every second stretches longer, every movement becomes heavier, and you can almost feel the tension hanging in the air like a living thing, pressing in from all sides, daring you to make a misstep.