An elderly man lay on the floor, breathing in slow, asured intervals. He blended so completely with the dirt and gri that, without Daylan’s sharp night vision, it would’ve been hard to tell him apart from the floor itself.
Daylan knelt beside him. A quick glance told him the man’s condition was dire—he was more dead than alive. His limbs looked completely shattered, and even in his sleep, his stomach rumbled loud and clear.
What cri did he commit to deserve this?—he let out a soft sigh.
Daylan shook the man by the shoulder and woke him up.
Daylan braced himself to silence him just in case he tried to make any noise, but he simply glanced in Daylan’s direction, pressed himself against the floor with his skeletal hands trembling and sat down, his back leaning against the wall.
Oh, he’s blind.
"What do you want?"
The man was blind, but that wasn’t the reason for his calm deanor—he simply didn’t feel threatened. He remained composed, as if he believed he was locked in a room with a harmless baby who couldn’t hurt a fly.
Daylan’s pride took a slight hit when he realized the man showed no sign of being threatened. He had just teleported into his prison cell, after all—the least the man could do was acknowledge that his peace had been disturbed.
"You know I’m in your prison cell, right?"
"Yes. What about it?" the old man replied, his voice trembling with age.
Daylan slapped his forehead in disbelief and shook his head. He had to take advantage of the old man’s gentleness before a guard showed up or sothing interrupted him.
But how was he supposed to influence soone so calm and clear-headed? It seed like a tall order—but he knew that if he could break through this man’s mind, the disturbed ones would be far easier.
Daylan sat in front of the man and locked eyes with him. For the first few minutes, he struggled to breach the man’s mind, despite his silence and focus. The old man’s blurred pupils offered nothing but resistance, making the task even harder.
Minutes stretched into hours, yet Daylan still couldn’t catch even a glimpse of his thoughts. He briefly considered moving on to another cell but quickly dismissed the idea. Breaking into this man’s mind wouldn’t just be a small victory—it would be the key to many more.
Daylan had spent the entire night with the man and hadn’t managed to hear a single word from his thoughts. The man had fallen asleep, and the morning was fast approaching—Daylan was exhausted and needed to rest himself.
Yet, at that mont, he didn’t want to be released from custody. Not yet. He needed to break through to the man before he left—and he had to do it quickly.
He teleported back to his prison cell, and, before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.
It was what he wanted—rest—but sothing didn’t feel right. Captain Rhea didn’t visit him that day, not even once. She hadn’t been seen in the hall either.
He didn’t consider it enough of a sign to draw any real conclusions, so he continued to enjoy his day. But as night fell and he returned to the old man’s cell, he was t with the sa result—no progress, no response, no luck.
He remained there for a long ti, with no clear explanation as to why—even though Rhea occasionally ca to the guardhouse, she never visited him. Neither did Astara, dora, or even Zira. Still, the guards continued to treat him with respect.
He was heartbroken that none of them had visited him, yet in a way, he was grateful. Their absence allowed him to focus on the old man—whom he later learned was nad Catel.
Over a week, Daylan ford a sowhat gentle bond with Catel—technically his only friend during that ti.
Eventually, he learned why the old man had been imprisoned: Catel had been arrested for beating up children on more than seventeen occasions.
The authorities had finally decided to leave him to rot in the cell, since every ti he was released, he ended up attacking another child.
Catel, however, insisted that all those children had harbored murderous intent. Though he never fully revealed the details of his Luck ability, he was generous enough to share one key detail—it allowed him to sense when soone had the intent to kill.
Daylan hadn’t been chatty just for the sake of it—everything he did was part of a plan to buy more ti to test his theory.
And on the third day, it finally paid off. He managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of Catel’s thoughts, and from there, little by little, he began to make progress.
It was through his enhanced abilities that he managed to bring Catel under his influence—by simply asking him to, after activating Dark Spiral, Spiral Form, and Spiral Mind simultaneously.
Although he hadn’t been able to delve deep enough to uncover the full extent of Catel’s ability, he considered it a major victory nonetheless.
That night, he would find out whether he could truly pull off a complete brainwashing.
The night was no different from the ones before it. A guard sat asleep in her chair, and the guardhouse was as silent as ever.
Daylan teleported into Catel’s cell once again, and as always, the old man was fully awake, waiting for his arrival. As part of their nightly ritual, Daylan tossed him a piece of bread.
Without a second’s hesitation, Catel dug in, devouring it like a starving animal. He hadn’t eaten all day—none of the prisoners had, except Daylan.
As soon as Catel finished eating, Daylan squatted in front of him and activated his abilities.
"Look at ," he commanded.
Issuing simple commands like that ca easily—but even so, Daylan couldn’t be sure if Catel obeyed because of the brainwashing or simply because it was he who asked.
He needed to push further—get Catel to do sothing no one in his condition would normally attempt unless a few ntal switches had truly been flipped.
He had to guide Catel into doing sothing he had longed to do for a while, but had never found the courage to attempt. If it worked, it would an Daylan’s influence was strong enough to make soone act on their own suppressed desires.
And best of all, no one—not even Captain Stanley—would suspect mind control. After all, it would seem like the idea had been theirs all along.
"These kids have no right to treat you the way they do," he said, his voice calm but piercing.
"You’re Catel. If they knew even half the man you were in your pri, they wouldn’t dare pour cold water on you—whether you were awake or not."
Though blind, Catel was completely lost in Daylan’s voice, his mouth slightly parted in a trance-like daze.
"When the sun rises," Daylan continued, his tone sharpening, "I want you to get to your feet, do whatever it takes to get a guard’s attention—and then, I want you to break a bone. Use every last ounce of strength you’ve got."
Catel simply nodded, then shook his head as if snapping out of a trance. He slipped back into reality and casually struck up a random conversation with Daylan, as if nothing unusual had just happened.
Daylan wasn’t entirely sure of what he was saying—Catel’s mind was guiding him.
After each sentence, he used the thoughts flickering at the edge of Catel’s consciousness as a path forward, letting them shape his next words.
In truth, everything he said had been Catel’s own words—he was just giving them a voice.
They spent the rest of the night chatting about things completely unrelated to the command Daylan had given, and before they knew it, the morning was fast approaching.
Daylan teleported back to his prison cell and settled in, waiting for the mont that would determine whether everything he’d worked for was a success—or a failure.
He was restless. Patience warred with nervous energy, making it impossible to sit still. For nearly two hours, he paced his cell, his body twitching with anxiety.
The sun was already up, and yet there was no sign—no sound, no signal—that Catel was acting. Doubt began to creep in, whispering that it might all have been for nothing.
A faint smile played on Daylan’s lips, and his eyes sparkled when he finally heard the sound of Catel bumping into the cell gate, prompting a guard to approach.
A surge of excitent rushed through him—but he held it back. It was too soon to celebrate. For all he knew, Catel might be trying to report everything Daylan had told him, rather than carry out the command.
Daylan rushed to his cell gate, leaning forward for a better view—ready to defend himself with a lie if things went sideways. But the mont the guard unlocked Catel’s cell, the next sound he heard was unmistakable—the sharp, sickening crack of a bone breaking.
Daylan fist-pumped in silent relief—before there was even a cry of pain. He peeked out again and saw the guard frozen in place, wide-eyed in shock, while it was Catel who let out the scream instead.
As it turned out, Catel had broken his own frail hand in the attempt to break the guard’s.
Daylan gritted his teeth. "I should’ve seen that coming."
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