Bruno sat on the cold, stone floor of his cell, gazing at one of the large, solid rocks nestled between his bent legs. The stone was meticulously swept clean, save for a few grains of sand, barely visible in the surrounding shadows. Shadows that danced to the rhythm of the flickering candle flames further ahead, down the corridor.

Alone and patient, Bruno waited. Every piece of his new plan had been meticulously thought through. Thanks to the fact that he was left mostly to his own devices, disturbed only by the brief visits of guards delivering his meals, he had all the time he needed. In these quiet moments, he revisited the events of the past few days. His hopes for the future, as well as potential obstacles.

The door groaned open, catching his attention. The slow footsteps, produced by shoes slightly dragged on the floor, hinted at the arrival of an older visitor. It was Bahir, entering the prison.

"Good morning, old man. Or is it good evening?" Bruno inquired, his eyes still fixed on the grains of sand.

"Good evening," responded the treasurer. He stood in front of the cell, clutching Bruno’s precious book of notes against his chest. In his other hand, he held a bowl of steaming soup with a piece of protruding bread. Bahir knelt to place the bowl on the ground before retreating a few steps, leaning against the iron bars of an adjacent cell.

Bruno smiled, finally lifting his eyes to rest on the well-illuminated figure of Bahir. The contrast between the well-lit body of the treasurer and the shadows enveloping Bruno, in his underground abode, was stark.

"Why did you come, old man? Are you perhaps ready to negotiate?" Bruno asked, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"Yes," confirmed Bahir, slowly nodding. "Yes, I am. You are going to tell me everything I want to know; otherwise, your two friends are going to be hanged in the morning."

"They are safe with Brish. Now that he has them, he is not going to let you do whatever you want with them. But if you give me your word that you leave them alone, I’ll tell you how to find what is missing in the notes," a smirk of confidence appeared on Bruno’s lips. "There is no reason for us to not cooperate. After all, we both want the same. The prosperity of this kingdom."

"Your lies might work on fools you’ve dealt with this far, but I’m different. We don’t want the same. You came to seize the crown for the pirates, while I want the prosperity of Zoulan. But I’ll give you my word," the old man said without hesitation, "if this is what it will cost me."

Bruno laughed. "Good. Now… If you want to find what’s missing, you need to read the pages over fire. I use an ink that is only visible when it’s hot. Just be careful to not burn the whole thing," another chuckle escaped the young alchemist’s mouth.

Bahir stared at him for a minute, then rushed out of the dungeon, clearly eager to find out if what the young man said was true.

"Good luck! Don’t forget I’m here, waiting eagerly to cooperate further!" The young alchemist called after him. Another chuckle erupted when the prison door closed, and the locking mechanism clicked.

Bruno waited for a long moment before he got up, took the bowl with soup, and placed it slowly in the corner of his cell. Then he approached the part of the wall where he hid the lockpick. With that precious item in his fingers, he went to the door of his cell.

In the blink of an eye, he picked the mechanism, slowly pushing the door open to prevent any loud sounds. It moaned quietly, but that was all — a faint noise that would never reach the ears of the guard.

He looked carefully around, scrutinizing the corridor before approaching the next door, which separated him from one of the guards. It was heavy, made of sturdy wood, and marked by time. He pressed his ear against it. Then the waiting game began. Time stretched out into infinity, but he was patient and focused on finding the sound he was looking for.

Eventually, it came. At first, it was faint, barely audible, but after a few more minutes the snoring became louder. That was the signal.

Quietly, Bruno began working on the lock, soon besting it so he could slowly open the door. A crack was enough for him to have a look at a dimly illuminated corridor, leading straight toward a staircase shrouded in darkness. On the way, there were other doors — doors he couldn’t see but remembered perfectly from the time he was dragged into his cell.

He widened the crack enough to slide through, then glanced at the guard. The man was sitting on a chair, sleeping, with a barrel right next to him. On top of it was a candle, the only source of light present on this side of the underground space. He took it, only to continue his walk down the corridor.

This marked the beginning of the first step — of looking around to find what he was searching for. One by one, he opened other doors until he reached the correct place: a storage room. A massive space filled with barrels, crates, and bags, all containing food, from grains and vegetables to salted, smoked, and dried meats, fish, and plenty of alcohol. There were even dried herbs and spices. He quickly scanned through everything, walking around a little before placing the candle in a good spot, providing illumination in the place so he could start his work.

„Now… If I were a corrupt guard, where would I put it?” he mumbled to himself, as he began walking among the piles of gods.

Not too long later, he left, holding a bottle in his hand. With this bottle, he slowly moved toward the end of the corridor, only to begin climbing the stairs. He had to be quiet, ready to extinguish the candle flame at any moment.