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The letter sat on the table for three days. Mash hadn’t opened it at first. Not because he was scared, he just forgot. Papers tended to do that around him.
Domina noticed immediately. “You’re avoiding it,” he said on the third day.
Mash stared at the envelope like it might bite him. “I was gonna open it.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
“It looks official. Also, it’s addressed to us both.”
Domina sighed and picked it up. The seal was unmistakable, the Hecatrice Prison Administration.
“They’re allowing supervised visits,” Domina read. “Limited time. Voluntary.”
Mash leaned closer. “Voluntary for who?”
“For us.”
Mash sat down heavily. “Oh.”
Silence settled. Domina placed the letter back on the table, carefully aligning it with the edge. His fingers lingered there longer than necessary.
“They didn’t ask us directly,” he said. “They assumed we would want to go.”
Mash looked up. “Do you?”
Domina opened his mouth, then closed it. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
Mash nodded. “That’s allowed.”
Domina glanced at him. “You don’t have to come.”
Mash shrugged. “Probably.”
Domina frowned. “That wasn’t an answer.”
Mash leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “If you go alone, you’ll overthink everything. If I go with you, I won’t.”
“That’s your logic?”
“Yeah.”
Domina considered that. “You don’t hate them?” he asked quietly.
Mash thought for a long time. “I don’t like what they did,” he said. “But I don’t feel heavy when I think about them.”
Domina’s grip tightened on the table. “I do.”
Mash met his eyes. “Then that’s probably why you should go.”
Domina exhaled slowly. “And if I can’t say anything?”
“Then don’t,” Mash said. “You don’t owe anyone closure speeches.”
Domina looked back at the letter. “What if seeing them changes nothing?”
Mash stood, walked over, and picked up the envelope, turning it over in his hands. “Then you’ll know,” he said. “And knowing’s better than guessing forever.”
Domina swallowed. “Will you really walk in with me?” he asked.
Mash smiled faintly. “Yeah.”
Domina nodded once, decisive. “Then let’s go.”
Mash blinked. “Now?”
“No,” Domina said, folding the letter neatly. “Tomorrow.”
Mash relaxed. “Good. I need snacks first.”
Domina paused at the door, hand resting on the frame. “Thank you,” he said again, softer this time.
Mash waved it off. “That’s what friends… what brothers are for.”
___Tomorrow____________________________________________
The first cell was set apart from the others. Not because Doom demanded it, he never asked for special treatment, but because no ordinary containment had been enough at first.
Doom sat on the floor. Not pacing. Not meditating. Simply waiting. His back rested against the wall, broad shoulders relaxed, hands placed on his knees like a knight long after the war had ended.
Without Caladbolg, without the surge of magic constantly feeding his muscles, he looked stripped down to his essence. A warrior with nowhere to go.
When Mash and Domina stopped before the bars, Doom sensed them instantly.
“Mash Burnedead.” His voice was lower than Domina remembered, less sharp, less eager.
Mash lifted a hand. “Hi.”
Doom’s eyes shifted, slowly, deliberately, until they rested on Domina. For a moment, nothing else existed.
“You survived,” Doom said.
Domina met his gaze. “So did you.”
Doom’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Barely.”
Silence followed, not uncomfortable, but heavy. The kind of silence that only existed between people who had tried to kill each other with everything they had.
Mash broke it first. “You’re not chained.”
Doom glanced down at his wrists. “They tried.”
“And?” Mash asked.
“They learned restraint does not require cruelty.”
Mash nodded approvingly. “Good system.”
Doom exhaled through his nose, a quiet laugh. “You are strange.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Doom’s gaze hardened, not with anger, but reflection. “You defeated Father.”
Mash didn’t boast. “Yeah.”
Doom leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closing. “When we were children, he told us strength was proof of worth. That love followed victory.”
Domina’s fingers curled unconsciously.
“I believed him,” Doom continued. “I believed if I became the strongest, the rest would fall into place.” He opened his eyes and looked directly at Mash. “But you stood before him with nothing he valued.”
“No magic,” Mash said.
“No ambition,” Doom added.
“Just muscles,” Mash said helpfully.
Doom let out a real laugh this time, low, rough, unguarded. “Yes,” he admitted. “Just muscles.” He shifted, posture loosening further. “And yet, you were immovable.”
Domina stepped closer to the bars. “You didn’t have to follow him, Doom.”
Doom’s gaze softened, not toward Mash, but toward Domina. “I know,” he said. “But someone had to stand at the front. To take the blows first.”
Domina swallowed. “That shouldn’t have been you.”
Doom shook his head. “I chose it. Just as you chose differently.”
Domina nodded.
“Do you regret it?” Doom asked quietly.
Domina thought of nights where rage had kept him awake. Of the way Mash had stood in front of him without judgment.
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
Doom nodded once, decisively. “Then you are stronger than me.”
Mash blinked. “Wait, really?”
“Yes.”
Mash frowned. “I don’t feel stronger.”
“That,” Doom said, “is why you are.”
He shifted his gaze back to Mash. “If the world ever demands my strength again, I hope it is under a banner like yours.”
Mash smiled, small but sincere. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The guard at the end of the hall cleared his throat.
Mash turned toward the exit. “We’re heading out.”
Doom pushed himself to his feet, towering even without magic. He placed one hand over his chest, not in loyalty, not in submission. In respect. “Walk forward,” he said to Domina. “Without looking back.”
Domina nodded.
As they left, Doom returned to the wall, but the weight on his shoulders felt lighter.
For the first time, he was not waiting for orders. He was waiting for peace.
Famin’s cell was smaller than Doom’s, not because he was weaker, but because he was contained.
Every inch of the space was layered with illusion-dispelling seals, perception anchors, and anti-transparency arrays. Even the light felt deliberately dull, refusing to let shadows play.
Famin leaned against the bars, smiling.
“Well,” he purred, fingers drumming idly against the metal, “if it isn’t the prodigal disappointment and Father’s greatest failure.”
Mash squinted at the markings. “That’s a lot of seals.”
Famin’s eyes flicked to him. “You noticed. How flattering.”
Domina didn’t respond to the insult. He stepped closer, studying his brother carefully. The smile was the same. The posture was the same. But the timing was off.
“You look thinner,” Domina said.
Famin laughed lightly. “Ah, straight to observation. Have you been spending time with him too long?”
Mash shrugged. “He’s good at noticing things.”
“How dreadful,” Famin sighed.
He tilted his head, grin widening. “So. You came to gawk? To confirm I’ve finally been declawed?”
“We came to check,” Mash said simply.
Famin’s eyes sharpened. “Check what?”
“If you’re still you,” Mash replied.
For a split second, just one, the smile faltered. Then it snapped back into place, brighter than before.
“Still me,” Famin said. “Still clever. Still bored. Still superior to the insects crawling outside these walls.”
Domina folded his arms. “Then why are you smiling like that?”
Famin froze. “What do you mean?”
“You always smiled after people screamed,” Domina said calmly. “This one’s early.”
Mash nodded. “Feels nervous.”
Famin laughed too loudly. “Nervous? Me? Please. I simply enjoy an audience.”
He leaned closer to the bars, voice dropping to a whisper. “Did you enjoy beating Father?”
Mash didn’t answer immediately. “No,” he said. “I enjoyed stopping him.”
The words hit harder than a punch.
Famin recoiled half a step, eyes narrowing. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” Mash said. “I don’t like hurting people.”
Famin stared at him like he was incomprehensible. “Then why do you keep winning?”
Mash tilted his head. “Because I don’t stop when it hurts.”
Something cracked. Famin looked away, just briefly, but Domina caught it, the tightening of fingers, the shallow breath.
“You know,” Famin said lightly, “Father used to tell me I was the most honest of us all.”
Domina frowned. “Honest?”
“He said I didn’t pretend strength was kindness,” Famin continued. “That I understood the world was built on cruelty.”
Mash shook his head. “He told you what you wanted to hear.”
Famin snapped back toward him. “And what did he tell you, monster?”
“That I shouldn’t exist,” Mash said plainly.
Silence.
Famin stared at him, smile gone now, replaced by something raw and uncertain.
“And you proved him wrong,” Famin said slowly.
Mash nodded. “Yeah.”
Domina stepped forward. “You don’t have to keep proving him right.”
Famin scoffed. “By rotting here?”
“By choosing not to hurt people anymore,” Domina said.
Famin laughed again, but this time, it broke halfway through. “You think I don’t know any other way?” he snapped. “Pain is the only language that ever worked.”
Mash met his eyes. “It stopped working.”
Famin clenched his jaw. For the first time since they entered, he didn’t have a clever response.
The guard’s footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.
“Well,” Famin said finally, voice softer, forced back into playfulness, “do come again. It’s dreadfully lonely being a villain without an audience.”
Mash turned toward the exit.
Domina lingered. “I’ll come back,” he said.
Famin blinked. “Why?”
“Because you’re still my brother,” Domina replied.
Famin looked away, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he muttered.
As the door closed, the smile finally faded completely.
And in its place, for the first time, was silence.
Epidem’s cell was immaculate, not merely clean, curated.
The bed was made with hospital precision. The desk was aligned to the millimeter. Even the magic-suppressing seals looked less like restraints and more like annotations in a textbook.
Epidem sat at the desk, hands folded, posture perfect. He looked up as Mash and Domina approached, smiling as if welcoming guests into a drawing room.
“You’re punctual,” Epidem said. “That suggests intention.”
Mash glanced around. “You’ve got a pudding cup.”
“Yes,” Epidem replied pleasantly. “The guards appreciate cooperation.”
Domina’s eyes lingered on the pudding. “You still like it.”
“It is consistent,” Epidem said. “Comforting, even.”
Mash frowned. “That’s a weird reason.”
Epidem chuckled softly. “Everything is strange if you examine it closely.”
He gestured toward the chair that didn’t exist. “Please, stand.”
Domina didn’t sit. “Why are you so calm?”
Epidem tilted his head. “Because panic is inefficient.”
Mash nodded like that tracked. “Fair.”
Epidem’s eyes flicked toward Domina, sharper now. “You chose to leave.”
“Yes.”
“And yet you came back,” Epidem noted. “That implies unresolved variables.”
Mash crossed his arms. “We’re checking on people.”
“How thoughtful,” Epidem said. “You always did have… principles.”
Domina’s jaw tightened. “You talk like this absolves you.”
Epidem’s smile didn’t falter. “On the contrary. It condemns me.”
That earned a pause.
“I understood Father,” Epidem continued. “His methodology. His madness. His inevitable failure.”
Mash blinked. “Then why follow him?”
Epidem’s gaze dropped to the pudding cup. “Because it worked,” he said quietly. “Until it didn’t.”
Domina felt a chill. “That’s it?”
“Yes.” No dramatics. No excuses. “I calculated outcomes,” Epidem went on. “Pain produced results. Fear accelerated obedience. Sacrifice improved efficiency.”
Mash stared at him. “You’re talking about people.”
Epidem nodded. “That was my error.”
He looked up, eyes clear and unblinking. “I knew they were people. I simply prioritized success.”
Domina clenched his fists. “That’s worse.”
“I agree,” Epidem said gently. “You know,” he added, “Doom believes strength is purpose. Famin believes cruelty is truth. Delisaster believes chaos is freedom.”
“And you?” Mash asked.
“I believed understanding was enough,” Epidem replied. “That knowing a thing excused participating in it.”
Mash shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t.”
“No,” Epidem said. “It doesn’t.”
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes, not fear, not anger. Shame.
“What happens now?” Domina asked.
Epidem folded his hands tighter. “I remain here. I think. I catalog every moment where I could have chosen differently.”
Mash grimaced. “That sounds rough.”
“It should be,” Epidem replied. “Punishment is only meaningful if it teaches.”
He glanced at Domina. “You found something better.”
Domina nodded. “I did.”
“Good,” Epidem said. “Then at least one variable changed.”
The guard’s steps echoed closer.
Mash turned toward the door. “You’re not what I expected.”
Epidem smiled faintly. “That is the most unsettling compliment I have received.”
As they left, Epidem lifted the pudding cup, staring at its smooth surface.
For the first time, it tasted like nothing.
Delisaster’s cell was loud, not because of noise, but because it shouldn’t have been.
The space was reinforced, layered in weapon-summoning suppression sigils, anti-projection arrays, and impact-nullification fields. It was a room designed for someone whose magic had once turned battlefields into juggling acts of death.
Delisaster was hanging upside down from the bedframe, boots hooked casually over the metal, hands folded behind his head.
“Hey!” he chirped the moment Mash and Domina stepped into view. “You’re late. I was starting to think you chickened out.”
Mash stopped walking. “Why are you doing that?”
“Core strength,” Delisaster said proudly. “Also boredom.”
Domina rubbed his temple. “You’re not allowed to do that.”
“Correction,” Delisaster replied, swinging slightly. “I wasn’t allowed. The guard left.”
Mash squinted. “That tracks.”
Delisaster dropped to the floor with a flourish, bowing deeply. “Welcome, welcome. Prison’s newest attraction. Admission is free, but emotional baggage is encouraged.”
Domina studied him carefully. “You’re trying too hard.”
Delisaster’s grin widened. “Oh? You think so?”
“Yes,” Domina said flatly. “You never joked this much in battle.”
Mash nodded. “You joked when you were winning.”
Delisaster blinked.“Ouch,” he said. “Direct hit.”
He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “So. You here to lecture me? Or just admire the acoustics?”
Mash looked around. “Echo’s nice.”
Delisaster laughed. “See? He gets it.”
But the laugh didn’t last.
“You staying with him?” Delisaster asked Domina suddenly, nodding at Mash.
“Yes.”
Delisaster tilted his head. “No cult? No grand destiny?”
“No,” Domina replied. “Just living.”
Delisaster exhaled slowly. “That sounds terrifying.”
Mash frowned. “Why?”
“Because when everything’s quiet,” Delisaster said lightly, “you start hearing things.”
Domina stiffened. “Like what?”
Delisaster shrugged. “Regret. Fear. All the stuff noise keeps out.”
Mash crossed his arms. “You’re scared.”
Delisaster laughed, then stopped.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “A little.”
Domina stepped closer. “Of what?”
Delisaster stared at the floor. “That without chaos, there’s nothing left. That if I stop joking, I’ll have to sit with what I did.”
Mash considered that. “You could try.”
Delisaster looked up sharply. “You’re insane.”
“People tell me that,” Mash said.
Silence stretched.
Delisaster rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, Father hated my jokes.”
Domina frowned. “Really?”
“He said they made me unpredictable,” Delisaster said. “That unpredictability was inefficient.”
Mash blinked. “Sounds like a compliment.”
Delisaster smiled faintly. “I thought so too.”
He leaned back, arms spread. “Guess I wasn’t just a weapon after all.”
The guard’s footsteps echoed closer.
“Well,” Delisaster said brightly, forcing the grin back into place, “come again sometime. I’ll work on my stand-up.”
Mash turned to leave. “You don’t have to be funny.”
Delisaster froze. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Maybe someday.”
As the door closed, the room fell quiet. No laughter. Just breathing.
And for the first time, Delisaster let the silence stay.
The deepest cell did not look like a prison. It looked like a tomb.
Layers of magic-canceling sigils overlapped in fractal patterns, each one designed to negate not only power but possibility. Time itself felt sluggish here, as if the world refused to move too quickly in his presence.
Innocent Zero sat at the center. No throne. No restraints he could test. Just silence.
His robes were replaced with plain gray cloth. His hair, once flowing with arrogant carelessness, hung loose around his face. His eyes were open, staring at nothing in particular.
He did not turn when Mash and Domina entered. “So,” he said softly, “you came.”
Domina stopped breathing for a heartbeat.
Mash tilted his head. “You knew.”
“I always know,” Innocent Zero replied. “Or rather, I used to.”
He slowly turned his head toward them. The gaze that once bent rooms around itself now barely disturbed the air.
“You look well, Domina.”
Domina’s fists clenched. “You don’t get to say my name like that.”
Innocent Zero smiled faintly. “Still angry. Good. Anger meant you wanted something from me.”
“I wanted a father,” Domina said.
The smile wavered.
Mash stepped forward, stopping just short of the barrier. “You don’t look scary anymore.”
Innocent Zero regarded him with quiet fascination. “And you never looked impressive. Yet here we are.”
Mash nodded. “Guess appearances don’t matter.”
A long silence followed.
“You broke my theory,” Innocent Zero said at last.
Domina stiffened. “Theory?”
“That perfection could be engineered,” Innocent Zero continued. “That love, loyalty, even meaning would emerge from optimized strength.”
Mash frowned. “That’s dumb.”
Innocent Zero laughed weakly. “Yes. It was.”
Domina swallowed. “Then why keep going?”
“Because stopping would mean admitting I had already failed,” Innocent Zero said. “As a mage. As a person. As a father.”
The word “father" echoed strangely in the cell.
“You were never our father,” Domina said. “You were our warden.”
Innocent Zero closed his eyes. “I know.”
Mash shifted his weight. “You told me I shouldn’t exist.”
“Yes,” Innocent Zero said. “And you proved that wrong too.”
His gaze lifted, sharp for just a moment. “Do you know why I hated you the most?”
Mash shrugged. “No magic?”
“No,” Innocent Zero replied. “No excuse.” He exhaled slowly. “You were free in a way I never allowed myself to be.”
Domina stepped closer. “You could have chosen differently.”
“I did,” Innocent Zero said softly. “Every day. I chose control.”
Silence fell again.
“You didn’t come for forgiveness,” Innocent Zero said.
“No,” Domina replied.
Mash nodded. “Just closure.”
Innocent Zero smiled, no grandeur, no menace. “Then take it,” he said. “I have nothing left to defend.”
Domina hesitated. His voice shook, just slightly.
“You were wrong,” he said. “About strength. About love. About us.”
Innocent Zero bowed his head. “Yes.”
The guard’s presence pressed in, signaling time.
Mash turned first. “Let’s go.”
Domina lingered at the threshold. “Goodbye… Father,” he said.
Innocent Zero did not look up, but when the door sealed and time finally moved on without him, a single truth remained.
For the first time in his life, Innocent Zero was not planning. He was simply alone with the consequences of his choices.
The prison gates sealed behind them with a sound that felt final. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just done.
Mash walked ahead a few steps, hands in his pockets, boots crunching against the gravel path that led away from the complex. The sky was wide and blue in a way that almost felt rude after all that stone.
Domina followed more slowly. His chest felt tight. Not painful, just full. Like water pressing against a dam that no longer needed to hold.
Mash stopped walking.
“You okay?” he asked, not turning around.
Domina blinked. “You noticed.”
Mash shrugged. “You’re quieter.”
Domina exhaled, long and controlled. “I thought I would feel… relieved.”
“And?”
“I feel tired.”
Mash nodded like that made perfect sense. “That happens after punching big problems.”
Domina huffed despite himself. “You didn’t punch anyone.”
“Mentally,” Mash corrected. “Very exhausting.”
They resumed walking. The farther they got from the prison, the lighter the air became. The magic-suppressing pressure faded, replaced by wind and the faint smell of grass.
Domina flexed his fingers, feeling his water magic respond again, calm, obedient, no longer frantic.
“I used to think,” Domina said slowly, “that if I saw him like that, it would fix something.”
Mash glanced at him. “Did it?”
Domina considered. “No.”
“Is that bad?”
Domina shook his head. “No. I think it’s honest.”
Mash smiled faintly. “Honest is good.”
They reached a small hill overlooking the road. Mash dropped onto the grass without ceremony, lying flat on his back and staring up at the sky.
Domina hesitated, then sat beside him.
For a while, neither spoke. The clouds drifted. Birds passed overhead, unconcerned with bloodlines or magic or ruined ideologies.
“You know,” Mash said suddenly, “you don’t have to keep checking on them.”
Domina looked down. “I know.”
“But you probably will,” Mash added.
“Yes.”
Mash nodded. “That’s fine.”
Domina turned his head. “Why?”
Mash shrugged. “Because it means you care. And because you’re not doing it for them.”
Domina’s throat tightened. “Then… who?”
“For you,” Mash said simply.
Domina lay back beside him, staring at the sky.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be now,” he admitted.
Mash closed his eyes. “Student. Brother. Guy who owes me snacks.”
Domina blinked. “Snacks?”
“You promised,” Mash said.
“I did,” Domina murmured.
Mash smiled. “See? Future plans.”
Domina let out a soft laugh, quiet, real. “Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For walking with me,” Domina replied. “And not asking me to be different.”
Mash cracked one eye open. “You’re already different.”
Domina frowned. “How?”
“You chose to leave the prison,” Mash said. “That’s enough.”
Domina stared at the sky again. The past was still there. The brothers were still there. The father was still there.
The wounds hadn’t vanished, but none of it was pulling him backward.
Mash sat up. “So… cream puffs?”
Domina smiled. “Yes.”
They stood, turned toward the road, and walked on, not toward redemption,not toward forgiveness, just forward. Together.