"Move it, old man." The guard's grip was rough as he shoved Sorah down the corridor.

Every guard in the vicinity had witnessed Warden Poahf's uncharacteristic interest in the Aerithran prisoner, and it had stirred a cauldron of jealousy and animosity within them.

Sorah stumbled, feeling aches and humiliation from the recent battle and the Warden's... attentions. He glanced around, noting the change in their surroundings. They had left behind the oppressive gloom of Sector C and were now traversing a section of the prison that felt oddly...lighter. The air was less stagnant, and a faint breeze seemed to whisper through the barred windows that lined the corridor.

As they passed by cell doors, Sorah noticed a peculiar detail - all the prisoners within bore the distinctive cloud symbol of air affinity on their foreheads. He had stumbled upon Sector B, the designated holding area for Aerithran captives.

Compared to the crowded cells of Sector C, this section was sparsely populated. Sorah counted roughly twenty-seven individuals, each with their heads hung low in despair, reflecting the lost freedom of the open skies.

"In here," the guard barked, shoving Sorah into an empty cell and slamming the door shut with a resounding clang. "Enjoy your new accommodations, old man."

Sorah leaned against the cold stone wall, taking in his surroundings. The cell was small and bare, furnished with nothing but a thin straw mat and a bucket in the corner to pass waste in. The air was stale, yet a faint trace of wind currents brushed against his skin, a comforting reminder of the Zephyrswept Waltz that danced within his spirit.

"You stupid dust eaters!" all of a sudden, a familiar voice boomed from down the hall. "For the ten thousandth time, you've got this branding wrong! My affinity is fire, not air! Remove this brand from my forehead right now! Do you hear me you sand eating bastard!?"

“Huh?” Sorah's heart leapt as he recognized the voice - Daichi, his hot-headed student, was alive and well, and apparently, quite upset.

A gruff voice retorted, "The Elemental Imprinter doesn't make mistakes, brat. Now shut up before I toss your ass into holding."

"But it's wrong!" Daichi protested vehemently. "Those machines are useless! You didn't even follow the proper ritual to determine a person's elemental affinity! You're supposed to guide the initiate through a series of meditations and trials, to help them connect with the elements, to-"

"Enough of your Aerithran mumbo jumbo!" the guard interrupted with his patience wearing thin. "One more word out of you, and you'll be spending the next three days in the dark, with nothing but your own whining and piss for company."

"But Master Sorah always said-"

Daichi's words were cut short as the guard grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him away. Sorah strained to see through the bars of his cell, he caught a glimpse of his student being hauled towards a darkened doorway at the end of the hall.

A surge of relief and hope washed over him. Daichi was alive. And if Daichi was here, then perhaps...

Sorah closed his eyes and focused his mind inwards, searching for any trace of his other students. He could sense multiple faint presences whose spiritual energies were intertwining with the swirling winds. What he was picking up on were the auras of the other Aerithrans; he wasn’t yet sure if his other students were among them. The last time they were with him, their elemental affinities were not yet awakened.

However, if they were here, he would find them. He would rescue them. And then, they would escape this hellhole together and returned to the open skies where they belonged.

***

Outside, the midday sun beat down on the dusty expanse before the Nathor Prison Camp gates. Warden Poahf hurried across the open ground, cursing under her breath as she smoothed down her uniform and adjusted her Aether Sabre.

A luxurious transport carriage with its polished wood, stood parked before the entrance. Two tall, slender figures who had their faces obscured by mirrored visors, flanked the carriage door. They were Imperial Guards, elite protectors of the Dune Empire's nobility, their presence radiated an aura of power and authority.

Thud!

A figure emerged from the carriage, stepping down onto the dusty ground with an air of arrogance and disdain. He was young, barely older than Poahf herself, with flowing blond hair and glossy blue eyes. He wore elegant garments that seemed out of place in this harsh, unforgiving environment – a silken tunic embroidered with gold thread, tight-fitting breeches that accentuated his slender legs, and polished leather boots that sank slightly into the dust with each step.

This was Duke Theodore of the Imperial Court, a man of immense wealth and influence. Though his position was primarily political, focused on matters of diplomacy and governance rather than martial prowess, Duke Theodore wielded power that rivalled even the highest-ranking military officials. His family's lineage stretched back centuries, intertwined with the very fabric of the Dune Empire's history.

Warden Poahf bowed slightly with a sense false deference. "Welcome to Nathor Prison Camp, Your Grace," she said through gritted teeth. 'That pompous ass,' she thought, recalling the numerous rumours she'd heard about the Duke's extravagant lifestyle and his penchant for cruelty. 'He probably bathes in milk and honey while my men toil away in this dustbowl.'

Duke Theodore barely spared her a glance. "Are we going to stand here in the midday sun all day?" he drawled. "I've travelled a long way, and I'm both parched and famished. Surely your… establishment has suitable refreshments and accommodations for a man of my stature?"

Poahf bit back a retort, her pride wounded by his dismissive tone. She gestured towards the prison gates. "Of course, Your Grace. Please, follow me. I shall escort you to my quarters, where you can rest and refresh yourself."

“Tsk, make sure my steeds are well fed also.” He commanded, flashing his sleeve as he followed her.

***

Creeaak—

The door to Warden Poahf's office swung open with a creak, revealing a scene of chaos and disarray. Papers were scattered across the desk, chairs were overturned, and a broken vase lay in shards on the floor. It was the aftermath of her earlier encounter with Sorah, a mess she'd been too flustered to clean up before rushing to greet the Duke.

Duke Theodore surveyed the wreckage with a raised eyebrow. "My, my, Warden Poahf," his tone was dripping with condescension. "It appears a storm has blown through your... office." He chuckled, a cold, humourless sound that grated on Poahf's nerves. "The rumours I've heard about your... proclivities seem to hold some truth."

Poahf fought the urge to slap the smirk off his face. She moved quickly behind her desk, straightening a few items and attempting to restore some semblance of order to the chaos.

"Please, Your Grace, have a seat," she gestured towards the plush sofa against the wall.

Duke Theodore wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I think not," he retorted. "Who knows what manner of... fluids might be staining that upholstery."

Immediately after, he snapped his fingers, and his two Imperial Guard escorts moved with lightning speed. They weaved intricate hand signs, their fingers blurring as they channelled Aether Steam into a swirling vortex. A moment later, a tall, ornately carved stool materialized before the Duke, its height elevating him above Poahf as he sat down.

Poahf suppressed a groan of frustration. This was clearly a deliberate power play, a way for the Duke to assert his dominance and remind her of her inferior status.

"Now then, Warden Poahf," Duke Theodore began. "Let us discuss the reason for my visit."

'Get on with it, you pompous ass,' Poahf thought impatiently.

"I have come to personally oversee the transport of the air affinity prisoners to the Capital," the Duke announced. "The Dune Directorate has… special plans for these individuals."

Poahf raised an eyebrow. "Special plans?"

“Yes.” Duke Theodore smirked. “Ultra-secret plans actually.”

He pulled out a small, baroquely decorated notepad and a golden pen from his tunic. "Now, inform me of their numbers."

Poahf retrieved her own notepad and flipped through the pages until she found the relevant section. "As of this morning, we have twenty-eight air affinity prisoners in Sector B," she reported.

Duke Theodore's eyes widened in surprise. "Twenty-eight? Is that all?" He sounded disappointed. "That's hardly enough for the… project the Dune Directorate has in progress."

Poahf cleared her throat. "Our Elemental Imprinter is currently under repair, Your Grace. We had to temporarily halt the branding operation until it is operational again."

"Incompetent," Duke Theodore spat, tossing the notepad onto the desk with a dismissive gesture. "I knew a... harlot like you couldn't be trusted with such an important task."

Poahf's face flushed with anger, and she gripped the edge of her desk tightly, putting a dent in the wood. ‘Harlot?’ She yearned to activate her Aether Sabre whip and lash out at this arrogant prick, to show him the true meaning of pain and humiliation. But she held back, knowing that any act of aggression against a Duke of the Imperial Court would have dire consequences.

"I assure you, Your Grace," she forced out through gritted teeth, "That we are doing everything in our power to expedite the repairs and resume the branding operation in this region as soon as possible."

Duke Theodore scoffed. "Excuses. This simple task would have been effectively carried  out by now had it been entrusted to someone of Vice-Marshall Commander Kahless’ ilk… I shall personally petition the court for your removal from this post upon my return to the Capital. Perhaps you would be better suited... serving drinks in a brothel somewhere."

Poahf's eyes narrowed dangerously. 'That's it,' she thought. 'This pompous ass has gone too far.'

“And one last thing,” Duke Theodore added. He tilted his head and gave Poahf a sly look. "Was it also your... undergarment I saw on the corridor while I was coming in?"

Poahf froze, her face turning crimson. It was hers, that blasted Aerithran scum must have spit it out after she’d stuffed it in his mouth. She vowed to punish Sorah later, when she was free from this pompous ass, Theodore.

Swish—

Duke Theodore rose from his high stool, towering over Poahf with a triumphant smirk. "Make arrangements for the air affinity prisoners to be loaded onto a Lava Transport Carriage by tomorrow morning," he ordered. "I shall be departing then, as I cannot bear to remain any longer in such an... uncouth environment."

He turned towards the door and added, "I shall retire to the guest quarters now. Ensure that freshly cooked food is brought up to me and my men within the hour. I refuse to consume whatever swill you feed your... prisoners."

Poahf watched as Duke Theodore and his Imperial Guard escorts strode out of her office, the door slamming shut behind them with a resounding thud.

"That arrogant prick," she muttered under her breath. "I'll show him..."

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging within her. She had to focus, to find a way to salvage this situation. Her reputation, her career, everything she had worked so hard for, was at stake.

Poahf's gaze drifted to the discarded notepad on her desk; its pages filled with meticulous notes and observations about the prisoners. A thought occurred to her, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.

"Perhaps," she thought as a sly smile appeared on her lips. "There is a way to turn this situation to my advantage."

 

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