The Sixteenth Day

“Haa…”

I let out a long, heavy breath. My throat burned with the intensity of an open flame.

It took a good while for me to realize I was actually awake. When you open your eyes only to see the same pitch-black cage ceiling every day, your body’s sensitivity to time tends to dull.

“It’s burning up… cough, cough.”

Since my hands were tied, I could only press the back of my thumbs against my forehead, but the heat there was enough to confirm the reality of the fever.

It’s worse than yesterday. Dammit…

Now that I was awake, I wouldn’t let my body slip back into sleep. Even if I was sick—no, precisely because I was sick—I couldn’t afford to let my body rest at will.

My time to act is running out; I have to escape this place as soon as possible… or so I tell myself.

I turned my head, peering into the darkness outside the cage. The daytime clamor was gone, replaced by a heavy silence, save for the various snores echoing around me. I had fallen asleep earlier than usual last night, so it was likely around the early hours of the morning, give or take.

It’s… not a big deal. At this hour, everyone is asleep.

After confirming the warehouse was quiet, I braced myself and sat up, grasping my long braid with both hands. I didn’t need my eyes; I felt for the hair tie at the back of my head, and my fingers slipped inside to meet a cold, metallic touch.

A hairclip.

I untied the thin string threaded through the small hole of the clip and pulled it from my braid, holding it in my palm. Its slender body held a dull luster with flecks of rust, silently testifying to the passage of time. This set of detachable, overlapping hairclips was a treasure that had been with me for years.

Master…

The image of the man who had guided me while I crafted this clip flashed through my mind, and I stared at it blankly for a moment. But with a shake of my head, I quickly snapped my consciousness back.

Now is not the time for sentiment.

I turned around to face the wall behind the cage, my gaze landing on the rows of tallies.

Then—

Scritch, scritch, scritch…

The sixteenth mark.

Recalling every day I had carved into that wall, I told myself…

—The sixteenth day has begun.

After a final check to ensure my cellmates were fast asleep, I cautiously used the wall for support to slowly push my body up, making sure not to produce a sound. Because my feet were bound, it took a significant amount of time despite my experience—and that was before accounting for my physical state.

This was the exact reason why I always stayed near the cage door.

The lock outside the cage came into view. Once I found my balance, I gripped the hairclip and reached my hand out through the bars.

I have no magic circuits and no talent for combat. The only thing I can rely on is my craft.

It is a profession that stands in direct opposition to the rising popularity of Magic Engineering—a trade being abandoned by time in our human society: the Artisan. It fits my identity perfectly.

After all, even though I had studied and understood the principles of most magic techniques, I was still spat upon because I lacked the circuits to use them.

“Cough, cough…”

I endured it, refusing to let my throat cough out loud. I carefully used my left hand to lift the lock and used the thumb and index finger of my right hand to pinch the hairclip, probing the internal mechanism of the keyhole.

This is the only force I can wield, if one could even call it that.

My feverish body was harder to control than I imagined. Every breath irritated my throat, threatening to ruin my progress at any second. And even though my brain had planned out every subsequent step, my physical movements were a half-beat behind—as if there were a lag between the command and the execution.

However.

Click!

With a crisp sound, the lock was picked open.

I must escape soon… Yes. If I delay any longer, I might truly die on this ship.