“Hmm. That gotta feel bad, huh.”

  Ayn crossed his arms, trying to keep up his smirk in front of Jacob's words. The expression on the Tribefolk's face was a grave one, hatred still glimmering in his eyes.

  He felt like he could now understand why Jacob hated Sol so much, even if his explanation amounted to ‘he conquered my homeland’. He didn't talk too much, but he said more than enough for Ayn to empathize with him.

  Ayn grimaced. Teiws was revered by its citizens and its soldiers as a kind Empire, conquering many lands but showing mercy to their inhabitants, so long as they didn't fight back. That was what got Tiwez the title of ‘Kind King’.

  A kind Empire, and yet the conquered ones burned with hatred towards their jailers.

  “What, you mocking me, now?” Jacob's finger twitched. Ayn placed his hands in front of himself.

  “No, no. I mean it.” He sighed, he wasn't good at speaking with people truthfully. Although he himself recognized that he shared some similarities with Sol in that regard, they were very different.

  Sol was a shrewd man, and Ayn recognized his intelligence, but more than that, his ability to manipulate anyone he needed, to move them as their pawns. In that regard, Ayn fell short.

  He couldn't bring himself to use Jacob's hatred for that man as a tool to manipulate him, even if he wanted to. He was far too humane to do that. It would be more of his style to offer Jacob an honest partnership, working towards a common goal.

  However, even if he understood that Jacob's desire was a genuine, and strong one, as well as acknowledging the potential of his Gift, he still had a doubt in his mind. A question which, depending on the answer, could change his views on the Tribefolk boy.

  “But, anyway… Why are you here? If Sol raised you, shouldn't you be in the military academy?”

  Jacob was taken aback by that question. He let out an exasperated sigh, before dropping backwards slightly, using his hands as support, with his palms touching the ground.

  “Do you want to hear the short version, or the long version?”

  Ayn thought about it for a second. “Short version.”

  “I socked Sol in the face.”

  Silence ensued. Ayn's gaze had a mixture of surprise, disappointment, and amusement, it was unreadable by Jacob. Then, he broke the silence, trying to hold back a laugh.

  “Ok, I might have to hear the long version. Oh, this isn't to, uh, ‘evaluate’ you, I just know it's gonna be a funny story.”

  Jacob glared at him, it was clearly more serious than it sounded. Then, his face went back to a more relaxed one, the focus of his eyes shifting to the air, as if he was trying to envision the scene in his mind.

  “The worst thing about that bastard is that he knows how you think. He really knows how to get under your bloody skin. I hate to praise him like this, but I don't think I've ever met a fella as shrewd as him.” He looked at Ayn up and down, opening his mouth to say something, before stopping and shaking his head.

  “Well, it's the thought that counts…” Ayn muttered under his breath, faking being offended by the unspoken comment. Jacob shook his head once again, the elf's antics were starting to exasperate him.

  He looked up, his gaze getting lost as he kept recounting the reason he was there as a prisoner. Jacob stayed silent for a few seconds, looking for the right words to explain the situation to Ayn without any opportunities for bad jokes.

  “Even during my childhood, he knew how I felt about him. He knew I hated him, and he knew why. Despite that, he never did anything about me, but treated me the same as my brother. He's a smart lad, my brother, smart but shameless. He treated Sol like a bloody father, as if he didn't kill our actual parents.

  “Once I was of age, he sent me to the military academy, to train as a cadet. That was some years ago now. Even if most of it was indoctrination to grow to love the Empire, and want to join the army, it was better than living with that bloody bastard, so I didn't complain.”

  Ayn agreed internally. If he were in the same situation as Jacob, he'd much rather going off to what was basically a private school and ignore the propaganda, rather than keep living with Sol. He'd probably prefer becoming a prisoner, than staying with Sol.

  He nodded at the Tribefolk boy to continue, and Jacob nodded back at him.

  “For a few years, I was actually a bloody good student. One of the top students of my year, mate. By the way, I was in my third year, before getting sent here.”

  Ayn was most familiar with the schools of the Kingdom of Goetia, however he wasn't unfamiliar with the schooling system in Teiws. If he remembered correctly, the school years didn't depend on age, but on experience.

  Usually, when someone had just been accepted into the military academy, age equaled experience, but there were some exceptions. For example, prodigies skipping the first few years, or particularly untalented individuals staying in the same year for long amounts of time.

  If Jacob was an average, but brilliant, student, and he was in his third year, he should be around thirteen years of age, Ayn deduced. Not much older than himself, and the body of Arthur. In only two years, he would've been out of the military academy.

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  “Even in the academy, many lecturers and instructors disliked Sol, even if they were forced to respect him, superior and all. Still, it was a bloody nice place to stay at. I could even talk shit behind his arse, sometimes even with instructors.” A faint smile appeared on his face.

  “Then, one day, Sol and my brother came to the academy for a special lesson. It was combat training, with my brother fighting any students who wanted to try.”

  Jacob stopped talking for a second, catching his breath and grimacing. He didn't like talking about that day. He could still remember every moment of it perfectly.

  He remembered how he felt when he heard that annoying, shrill voice announcing his presence to the class. He remembered the anger he felt, seeing his brother in full Teiwesian uniform, standing idly besides Sol.

  During those years at the academy, more than anything else, Jacob trained specific magic spells to counter his brother's and Sol's specialties. He knew what they were, and he knew what he would need.

  His brother, Wilhelm Grimm. Jacob had potential in his own right, but Wilhelm was a true prodigy, almost a superhuman. His reserves of Ark seemed to never end, and despite his lack of complex magic, he could even dominate battlefields.

  That was the reason Sol picked him as his right hand man. That was, most likely, the reason they were taken in by that man at all, even if Jacob didn't like to admit it.

  Wilhelm was a master of Water-Type magic. Magic of that category allowed its users to generate and control fluid or solid matter, such as creating pillars of stone and earth, or shooting water bullets.

  Their mother had taught them how to use Water-Type magic in various ways, and that was the magic she used to protect them from the fire. A dome of earth, keeping the flames and heat from reaching them.

  However, she couldn't save herself. Jacob didn't know whether that was the reason, to avoid ending up like their mother, but his studies on Water-Type magic brought him to learn a number of defensive spells.

  And in turn, Jacob started creating spells of his own, to counter Wilhelm's near impenetrable defenses. And when the day came, where he could finally but put against his brother,

  “He beat me to a bloody pulp. That's an exaggeration, but he beat me. I couldn't land even an attack on him.”

  Jacob lifted his hand, the circuits shining dimly under his skin. Normally, it would be impossible to see Archê or Ley Lines with the naked eye, the only exception being when Ark was flowing through them.

  Sparks crackled in the air, small explosions, barely strong enough to be annoying, bright lights rather than a danger, appeared from the crevices between his fingers.

  “I lost my temper, and shot at his back. Let me tell you mate, I got a good Gift, but it's hard to control sometime. I misfired, and the spell blew up in that bastard's face.”

  Ayn nodded, starting to understand the situation. Misfire or not, harming, or attempting to harm, someone as important as Sol, was an offense of incredible degree.

  The elf's gaze lowered, onto Jacob's hand, and the shifting circuits. By now, he figured out somewhat the nature of the Tribefolk's Gift.

  It allowed him to cast spells from a longer range than most people, with ease. Anyone could technically learn how to do the same, as that was the nature of Gifts, but he did it as naturally as breathing.

  Ayn moved his index in front of his lips for a few seconds, thinking. A misfire of that magnitude was hard to imagine, especially considering it was his Gift, rather than a skill he had trained.

  For him to misfire like that, the defeat must have been a considerably crushing one. But, since it was combat training, that most likely wasn't the case. Rather, something shocking, enough to throw off his accuracy, must have underwent.

  Jacob seemed to be quite proud of his Gift. Even in the scuffle earlier, he was mostly using long-range cast spells, rather than normal spells. It was his ability, and his alone. Slowly, a thought appeared in Ayn's mind.

  “Did your brother…?”

  Jacob nodded with a grave expression, realizing Ayn had also realized it.

  “My brother was a genius, a prodigy. And of course, during those years, he didn't stop training.” He waited for a moment, before adding.

  “He copied my Gift. Sure, I knew that, technically, anyone could, but…”

  He lowered his hand, closing it into a tight fist. The sparks of Ark kept flying in the air, but Jacob managed to control his own Ley Lines, to avoid accidentally letting explosions out.

  It was a matter of pride. Not only had he been defeated, but he was defeated with his own ability. And as if adding salt to the wound, he was most likely spared the actual punishment that would have come with harming Sol.

  Bested by his brother, with tainted pride, and thrown into prison. Ayn couldn't imagine how that felt. ‘…No, I can, somewhat.’

  He snickered to himself, before speaking to Jacob.

  “Well, look at the silver lining.”

  “…?”

  “At least you got to sock Sol in the face with a spell!”

  Ayn pumped his fist in the air with a smirk, waiting for a reaction. A second passed, then two, then three, with Jacob looking at him with an expression of mixed exasperation and expectation. Then, he caved in.

  “…Tch. Hah, you're right, at least I got to sock him in the face.”

  A slight smile appeared on the Tribefolk's cold face, lighting up Ayn's own expression. He moved his arms back towards the ground, to sustain him.

  “So, how long is your sentence, anyways?” He leaned in towards Jacob.

  “Hm… Well, it's way less than it should be. I'm three months in, and it's a twelve months sentence. Bloody hell, I probably would have been put to death, or sentenced for life, if it weren't for that bastard…”

  He still had to be in prison for nine months. Ayn winced, it was a lot longer than he thought it would be. Still, it was quite short, for the offense of striking someone of the caliber of Sol.

  What stung the most, for Jacob, was probably that act of mercy from Sol, shortening his sentence by a noticeable amount. Even that, was nothing more than an attempt to get Jacob on his side. Ayn clicked his tongue.

  “Nine months, huh… Looks like we'll be together for a loooong time, then. You're free to show your happiness now!”

  Jacob sighed.

  “But, well, on a more serious note.” Ayn placed a finger in front of his lips, in a shushing motion. “We're basically friends now, right? I'll have some outside help soon, so how about scheming together? I wouldn't be against bringing down that bastard.”

  He winked at Jacob, before moving the hand from his lips towards the other, to enact another handshake. The Tribefolk was a good person, compared to most other prisoners in there. He was probably a better person than Ayn himself, and they both knew that.

  However, there lied the difference between Ayn and Sol. The elf didn't worry about revealing his motives, nor did he mind being honest, if Jacob asked.

  The Tribefolk stood gazing at the hand in front of him for a few moments, before shaking his head and sighing once again.

  “Seriously, what are you even talking about, mate? Sure, we're friends, now.”

  With a smirk on his face, he firmly grasped the handshake.

  “I'd even make a deal with the devil, if it's to kill that bloody bastard.”

  Ayn smiled.

  “Well, that's not too far from your current situation.” Jacob tilted his head, before slowly retracting his hand, his gaze quickly shifting between his own hand and Ayn's face.

  “What, you're the son of a Demon, or is that just a bad pun?”

  Ayn replied with an innocent smile on his face. “Something like that.”