The morning light crept through the narrow slit of Elias' chamber, glinting against the rough stone walls. Straw shifted beneath his weight as he sat cross-legged, tracing his finger along the edge of a small wooden bowl. Beside him, Kael leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching quietly. The guard remained outside, dutiful but distant, leaving the room almost unnervingly silent.
"Cup," Kael said, pointing. Elias repeated it, his pronunciation clumsy but deliberate. Then, instead of waiting for the next prompt, he lifted the bowl, tilted it slightly, and asked in Orravian, "Water here?" His voice carried a rough rhythm, hesitant yet intentional.
Kael's eyes widened. That was new. Not only was Elias repeating words — he was combining them to form a question. He scribbled a quick note on the edge of his parchment, the tip of his quill pausing mid-air.
"You…" Kael murmured, adjusting his stance, uncertain if he should intervene. Elias' mind was clearly not just memorizing sounds; it was reasoning.
Elias, meanwhile, frowned at the bowl. The word "cup" was simple. The object existed in both form and function. His mind ran faster than his tongue: cup, drink, hold, water, thirst — each concept linked like nodes in a chain. He tried another combination, pointing to the straw bed, muttering, "Sit… now?" The words were imperfect, jagged, but Kael understood.
Kael's quill scratched furiously across the parchment. "This… this is…" he muttered under his breath.
"Look," Elias said, pointing to the bowl again. "I… drink?" His attempt at the verb came out broken, but he paired it with the object correctly. Kael blinked, forcing himself to maintain composure.
How is he doing this? Kael thought. I've never seen a mind adjust so quickly… not even among the most studious of scribes.
Elias leaned back against the stone wall, catching his breath. Sweat dampened the coarse linen tunic they had provided him, but his eyes were bright, scanning the room like it was a map. Every corner, every object was now a word waiting to be learned, a piece of this strange world he could claim through understanding.
Kael decided to push him further. He pointed to the floor, to his own chest, and then gestured at Elias' head. "Body… parts," he said slowly, enunciating clearly. Elias repeated each word, his tongue fumbling at first, then gaining rhythm. Then, without instruction, he began pointing at himself: chest… head… hands. He even corrected his own hesitation, glancing at Kael for approval.
Kael almost dropped his quill. He is… noticing patterns without prompting. Calculating… testing…
Minutes passed. Elias began forming mini-statements, combining words with gestures. "Sit… bed," "Water… drink," "Hands… wash." Each combination was a small triumph, a demonstration that comprehension was dawning. And yet, the boy's eyes held a quiet caution, as though measuring Kael, judging his reactions as much as learning the language.
Kael made a careful note at the bottom of his parchment. Exceptionally fast learner. Independent reasoning observed. Mental acuity beyond ordinary prisoner. He hesitated. Was this curiosity, or suspicion? Either way, it deserved reporting.
Elias, noticing the quill and parchment, paused. His mind, ever restless, wondered how Kael would convey these lessons. Words written on a page were fixed; speech could bend, nuance, and mislead. Perhaps this would be the first time his thoughts traveled beyond the chamber. He wondered if the lord, whoever he was, might ever comprehend how quickly he learned, or if it would seem ordinary from afar.
Kael finally broke the silence. "I will prepare another report," he said slowly, choosing words carefully. "Document today's exercises, progress… your independence. It will be sent to the lord."
Elias tilted his head. "Hadrien… read it?" he asked, testing his newfound skills.
Kael nodded. "Yes. He will… when he can." His voice betrayed a trace of disbelief. Even he, a trained observer, struggled to process the speed and precision of Elias' learning.
Alone again, Elias reflected silently. The pit was gone. The endless toil, the whip, the exhaustion that had clouded his mind — all behind him. Now, confined yet free in this small chamber, he could think, experiment, and act. Every word learned was a small victory. Every gesture a claim of understanding. The world outside might still be alien, chaotic, and brutal, but here he could carve a foothold.
And Kael's astonishment was proof enough that he was not ordinary.
By midday, Elias was forming short questions, experimenting with slight grammar shifts, testing responses, and observing Kael's reactions as carefully as Kael observed him. Each success strengthened his confidence; each failure honed his mind.
Kael scribbled again, this time more urgently: The prisoner's rate of comprehension exceeds expectations. Further observation recommended. Potential unknown. Continue daily lessons. He paused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Who is this man?
Outside, the guard shifted on his feet, unaware of the quiet revolution happening within the chamber. Inside, Elias smiled faintly to himself, savoring the thrill of understanding a language that was not his own. A small victory, but a powerful one.