Prison

Marcus sat behind the iron bars of his cell, on a painfully stiff bed that he had been assured was the highest quality the prison provided. There was nothing to decorate the walls. No way of telling time, or seeing what time of year it was, or even what year it was. Anything he could have used to mark the walls with had been taken from him, and he was frequently searched to make sure he wasn't trying to smuggle anything into his cell. He wanted to say it was about five months since he had been put away, but he wasn't entirely sure. But if he was right, it was getting close to time to get out.

He had been sealed away for his involvement in a political uprising to overthrow the currently racist government. The government officials had frequently passed laws that were detrimental to those of the populace that had magical powers or backgrounds, and while Marcus himself was a non-magical individual, he had several friends and distant family members whom he had witnessed disappear over the years as more and more of such laws were passed. There were always excuses of some law they had broken, that magic was mystifying and deluding so as not to be clear, but Marcus was growing ever frustrated with the laws, and became increasingly certain that it was merely a matter of race. So when the rebellion group had formed, he had proudly been one of the non-magical individuals to join it.

It had been established early on that any of the rebels that were caught would serve some sentence, so as to make it appear to the government as though they were successfully squashing the rebellion. This would allow those still in the streets to move more freely, and gather more members with which to succeed in their uprising. But most of the captured were sentenced to death by heart impalement, which would distill any magic the person possessed and free it, unable to be passed on to another. That was less than desirable. So, in secret, most of the rebellious prisoners were rescued, replaced with a lifeless doppelgänger in the night that would deteriorate over time, making it appear as though the prisoners had died before their sentence could be set out.

Marcus knew that that night was coming, and he had begun staying up later in the nights, waiting to be freed. It made the days more difficult, and it meant that he was harassed and punished by the guards more frequently, but he would have time to recover. He wanted to be ready when the time came.

He was almost ready to give up and go to sleep when he heard soft footsteps coming down the hall. It was certainly not a guard - their steps were heavy, metallic. He stood up from the bed and approached the bars, trying to look down through the darkness to see who was approaching. A face appeared in front of him the moment the footsteps stopped. He had expected to see one of the soldiers, ready to fight their way to freedom and tear the bars away. He had not expected a single, frail looking girl with bright green eyes.

"Get back from the bars," she whispered, no patience in her voice, and no introduction or pleasantries. Marcus did as he was told, and he could see the girl reach out her hand as a small, glowing orb appeared between her fingers. Silently, the iron bars began to disassemble themselves and disappear, shrinking and flying into the orb. It was only a matter of seconds before the bars were simply gone. The girl urged Marcus forward, the orb still in her hands, and he shuffled past her and into the hallway. The bars flung back out of the orb, rebuilding themselves, and after only a few short moments, it was as though they had never been gone.

"Let's get moving. We don't have time."