The cell rang with the sound of knuckles meeting stone.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Tomora slammed his fists into the wall until his skin split and his bones screamed back at him. The stone didn't even flinch. Cold bit into his hands, crept up his arms, and settled deep in his chest where his anger lived.
"Damn it—!" His shout cracked against the ceiling and fell apart.
Instinct took over. Panic-fed, desperate.
Water surged from him in a wild burst, rippling the air, rushing outward like a breaking wave—
And died.
The glow around his hands sputtered, then vanished, leaving nothing but damp stone and the sting of humiliation. The chains around his wrists shimmered faintly, runes pulsing once before fading, like the cell itself was laughing at him.
Tomora stared at his hands.
Nothing.
His breath came fast, sharp, ugly. "No… no, no, no—"
A sound drifted from the far corner of the cell.
A lazy clap.
"Well," a familiar voice said, casual as a man commenting on the weather, "that was embarrassing."
Tomora spun so fast the chains rattled violently. His heart jumped straight into his throat.
The hooded figure sat cross-legged in the shadows, back against the wall, arms folded like he'd been there the whole time. The darkness swallowed his face, but Tomora could hear the grin in his voice.
"Yo," the man added. "You good? You look like you tried really hard just now."
For half a second, relief hit Tomora so hard his knees nearly buckled.
Then rage followed it like a knife.
"You—!" His voice shook. "You absolute— I swear, I'm going to kill you. Slowly. Painfully. I'll—"
"Yeah, yeah," the hooded figure waved him off. "You've said that. You say that a lot. It's kind of your thing."
Tomora yanked at the chains, metal biting into his wrists. "You Tortured me for a full year," he snapped, every word sharp, "and you expect me to forgive you for vanishing like that?!"
The hooded figure leaned his head back against the wall. "First of all, rude. Second, training isn't torture."
Tomora barked out a humorless laugh. "That wasn't training. That was an old man bullying a kid for a year."
"Oh, come on," the man said lightly. "I only tried to kill you… what, twice a day? Builds character."
Tomora glared at him. "What are you even doing here?" he demanded. "Seriously. Give me one honest answer."
The hooded figure scratched the back of his head. "Uh… funny story. I got caught trying to steal information."
Tomora's eyes narrowed. He waited.
"…Yeah," the man sighed. "Okay, even a kid could tell that's a bad lie."
"Shocking," Tomora muttered.
Silence settled between them, thick but not empty. Somewhere beyond the walls, footsteps echoed. Voices murmured. The city breathed.
Tomora exhaled slowly and looked away. "So," he said flatly, "you got a plan or what?"
The hooded figure leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His voice dropped, just a little. "Yeah. I got a plan—"
"But?" Tomora snapped.
"But," the man continued, completely unfazed, "you're gonna think of it."
Tomora blinked. "What."
"Yep."
"You—what?"
The hooded figure stretched his arms overhead, joints popping. "I'm gonna take a nap. You figure out the escape. Make it quick."
Tomora stared at him like he'd finally lost his mind. "While you do what?"
"Napping," the man repeated cheerfully.
"No," Tomora said flatly. "Absolutely not. I'm not doing that."
The hooded figure was already lowering himself onto the stone floor. "Hey, it's just training. But like… mental training."
"This is insane."
"C'mon, kid," the man said, settling comfortably. "Get to work."
Tomora turned away, jaw tight, arms crossed as best as the chains allowed. "I'm done," he growled. "I'm not playing your games anymore."
The hooded figure yawned. "You don't really get a choice."
Tomora shot him a glare.
"If you want out of this hellhole," the man added lazily, "you're gonna have to find a way. And fast."
Something shifted in Tomora's chest.
Not anger.
Focus.
He closed his eyes.
Stone beneath him. Iron around him. Runes meant to suppress, to bind, to erase power. He'd seen them before—slave collars, prison cells, tools of control. They didn't just block energy.
They demanded obedience.
Tomora breathed in slowly. Counted it. Let it out.
He couldn't force his way through.
Fine.
He'd learned that the hard way.
His mind wandered—not outward, but inward. Past water. Past lightning. Past the versions of himself he'd worn without understanding.
Mimic.
Not copying power.
Copying existence.
The chains were cold. Heavy. Real.
So was the stone.
So was the silence.
Tomora tilted his head slightly, listening—not with his ears, but with that quiet sense he'd been sharpening on Fuji. The way the cell hummed. The way the air pressed differently near the door. The faint vibration beneath his feet when guards passed.
Patterns.
Rules.
He smiled faintly.
Across the cell, the hooded figure snored softly.
Tomora opened one eye and glanced over. The man was sprawled out shamelessly, hood still pulled low, one leg thrown over the other like he was sleeping in an inn instead of a government dungeon.
"Unbelievable," Tomora muttered.
The snoring stopped.
"…You thinking yet?" came the sleepy voice.
Tomora smirked despite himself. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I am."
The hooded figure grinned in the dark.