Thunk.
     The guard crumpled to the ground as Epsilon withdrew her forearm, glowing with the sheen of a magically produced edge, from the cavity of his chest. With a flash she cut the heavy iron cuffs from Altan's hands, and then bent down to retrieve the keys from the soldiers belt. The key was golden and inscribed with delicate symbols that glowed faintly in the dim hall.
      "Why can't you just do that to the lock on his cell?" Altan asked, rubbing his wrists where the restrains had left sore, red marks.
       Epsilon snorted. "If you really think that they're going to lock away Prince Griffin in a cell completely vulnerable to such simple magics as this, then we are all doomed."
       "Fon Lux."
        The magic blade jutting from her forearm disappeared and in its place a small orb of bright white light hovered in her gauntleted palm. Together, they descended a damp spiralling staircase through layers of sandstone into a deeper floor of the prison. On this floor, much like the two they had cleared before it, Epsilon would deceive and subsequently kill every single prison guard she met. Every move she made was silent and with intent. She was terrifying, and yet as this trusted and high ranking member of the Black Guard approached, not a single other soldier suspected a thing until it was far too late.
       Three, four, five floors they descended, methodically clearing each one of any Black Guard scum that might mess with their plan. They did not fear that any of the countless prisoners here would snitch, either. As the prions floors extended deeper and deeper into the earth, the materials and reinforcements of the prison doors became sturdier and of higher quality, proportional to the danger of the person they contained. What was commons to each one, however, was that no window, no bars gave way into the interior of each cell. Just a solid food flush with a solid wall. Furthermore, they were magically soundproofed. The only two ways to see or access the inside of each cell was to either one, open it and enter, or two, through a very small lockable sliding door at the bottom, in which plates of grimy food could be slid through. Or not. Altan didn't get the impression that Centurion particularly cared if any prisoners starved to death.
      When they reached the reached the final floor, the end of the stairs was barred by a large, dark, metal door filled from floor to ceiling with symbols and sigils. Three intermeshed circles that could be turned say proudly on its face, bearing fragments of spells and enchantments that Altan could not decipher. Epsilon strode forward and began twisting the rings, muttering incantations as she went.
        "Behind this door lies the lowest level of the prison, where only the most dangerous and highest priority personnel are kept. Because so few are kept here, some of the space has also been converted into various torture rooms." She explained, working quickly to input the correct sequence of spell codes. "Few are given the knowledge of how to pass this door. A single mistake in the multiple series of spells required to disenchant it for passage will result in certain death of the trespasser. If that wasn't enough, the spells change every time it is opened. Past that, each individual cell requires a specific key to open it. Those keys are kept on random guards on random floors at all times."
        "That's... intense."
        "Quite. You're lucky that I decided to help you. Without me, breaking out Prince Griffin would have been impossible."
         Suddenly, the door flashed in a bright array of purples and blues, before growing dull and quite literally fading from existence. Epsilon raised a finger to her lips and walked confidently forward. Altan hung back around the corner, listening quietly. Behind him, the door reappeared.
        "Kenneth," she greeted some poor guard, "how are you enjoying your first shift on the big boy floor?"
        Altan heard the shuffle of boots. "Oh- hello, Ma'am! Good. Again, I thank you for trusting me with the opportunity to-"
Thunk.
       Just like that, Kenneth was gone.
       "It was just him Altan, you may come out now."
       Altan rounded the corner and there was Epsilon, withdrawing her literal sword arm from the lifeless corpse of Kenneth. Altan shifted uncomfortably as she wiped the fresh blood from her arm.
        "I promise you I made all of their death's swift, if that's what you're worried about. No suffering, no fear."
       "What? Oh, no... it's not that. It's just... this was so. So easy. A few days ago we were discussing this like it would be the most intense, heart racing jailbreak of all time. But we haven't had like, a single problem. At all."
        As they began walking down the dark hall, Epsilon chuckled darkly. "Oh, you sweet naïve boy. This jailbreak is life and death. And at the end of the day, when you get out of here, my neck is still on the line. This may very well be my last night in this forsaken world. Plus, you seem to be minimizing the sheer weight this action holds. The Prince's very existence is a threat to Centurion. To Xorvad. Releasing him will shift the tide of the entire war. Word is spreading that Prince Griffin is alive. People are rallying. Things are changing.
     "But the Black Guard have become complacent, and Centurion is proud. The enchantments of these prisons do most of the true guarding here. The prison itself is minimally manned as a show of power. After all, who would dare stand against the might of Centurion? All it takes is a single person on the inside to screw it all up. The more trust you place in a person, the easier it is for them to betray you, and the more damaging their betrayal can become. And I have gained a lot of trust. It is time to cash my reward."
      They stopped in front of the very last door, made of thick, reinforced metal and inscribed with so many runes it made the entry door to this floor look like a child's puzzle.
      "Besides," she added, "I like you."
       Altan blinked. Girls are confusing.
      Epsilon produced the golden key she had collected and inserted it into a small keyhole. Altan's heart began to beat hard within his chest. This was it. On the other side of this door sat Griffin, and the second he stepped foot outside of this prison, he would no longer be afforded the protection Epsilon provided. He understood in that moment that the jailbreak was never going to be the hard part. It was making out of the Scorchshield to whatever The Takeover was alive.
But, then again, on the other side of this door sat Griffin. Since that day, Altan hadn't been able to forgive himself for leaving his side to save Sophie, and it was driving him insane. He needed to make things right. His stomach churned.
      As Epsilon chanted a long spell, the runes on the door began to glow with a menacing red, before there was a soft click and the door slid smoothly to the side. Altan didn't wait for Epsilon. In that moment he didn't care about the jailbreak, or the escape, or a single other thing other than to make sure Griffin was okay. He shuffled into the dark room urgently, eyes rapidly searching the shadows for his friend. The smell inside the cold room was so putrid that he gagged, almost reeling out of the door to escape the offending stench. He could hear shallow, ragged breathing, but couldn't make anything out.
"Griffin? Griffin where are you?"
Griffin, of course, wasn't okay. As Epsilon with her bright orb of light stepped into the cell and the shadows fled to the corners of the room, Altan's heart sank.
Griffin was slumped in the furthest corner of the room, curled helplessly in on himself, and he flinched away from the noise of Altan's footsteps approaching. His wrists were bound behind him by spiked cuffs that threatened to pierce through his flesh and let him just bleed to death on the filthy floor if he put the tiniest bit of resistance against them. A thick piece of cloth riddled with runes covered his mouth, preventing his ability to cry or speak. None of the injuries he had sustained in battle nearly a week ago now had been properly attended to, and the yellow-green wounds glistened with puss and blood and reeked of infection through tears in his unchanged clothes.
There were new wounds, too. The back of his shirt was shredded and the flesh underneath scored and raw from long, ragged slashes that Altan guessed came from a whip. His gaunt skin was riddled with cuts and bruises and welts. Altan noticed with a start that his sword-arm specifically had massive mulit-coloured bruising and swelling, and laid limply at an unnatural angle across his back, oriented just so Griffin could prevent the cuffs from piercing him. It was completely broken, as were every single one of his fingers, that sat at all sorts of unnatural angles. A few of them had actual bone protruding from the blackened skin. Caked blood covered his face, and huge black welts swelled around his eyes that were so dull and void of the lively glow they usually held they were nearly grey. The only clean portions of his face were the tear streaks. He was shivering.
Altan knelt down in front of him, and his heart squeezed with guilt when Griffin flinched away from his touch. "I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry."
Griffin looked up at Altan and although some recognition flashed in his eyes for just a moment, he didn't quite seem to be fully conscious of what was happening. His dull eyes searched Altan's face for a clue, and when he found none, his head slumped back to his chest in defeat. Was he preparing to be beaten more? To be carted off to his death?
"Altan, move so I can free him. He is probably drugged, and needs immediate medical attention. Can you cast healing magic?"
"Um.. no, I-"
"It's fine. Forget it, just... step aside. You need to save your energy for what lies ahead."
Reluctantly Altan stepped away and Epsilon immediately went to work on unbinding Griffin and healing the most lethal of his wounds. As he watched her pour a vast majority of her energy into clawing Griffin from the brink of death, Altan simmered with frustration knowing he couldn't do anything to help. From experience he knew how much healing magic could hurt, and he couldn't bare to watch as Griffin writhed and cried silently in pain as Epsilon healed him. He probably doesn't understand he's being helped. He probably thinks he's still being tortured.
It felt like he was pacing around for an eternity when finally, Griffins hoarse voice, so quiet and weak it was barely a whisper, shattered the tense silence.
He was gazing at Epsilon with a pained and conflicted look. Some of the colour had returned to his face. "Who... are... you?"
"I go by Epsilon, your highness." She replied, short of breath. "You will be okay. Can you stand?"
Griffin took his time to respond, gasping an agony as he shifted into a sitting position. "I... I believe so."
Supporting his frail figure as gingerly as she could, Epsilon pulled the unsteady Prince to his feet. While this happened, Altan stood awkwardly to the side, caught between wanting to help but not wanting to make it worse. So when Griffin, leaning heavily on Epsilon, finally noticed him his entire body froze in shock. His features twisted in an odd mix of hurt and relief.
"Altan? How...?"
Altan took the opportunity to step forward, bracing Griffin from the other side to take some of the weight off of Epsilon, who was unsteady herself. He looked at Griffin then, and with the most earnest voice he could muster said, "I will not abandon you, Griffin."