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Set during
Keys to the Demon Prison
⟢ Bracken ⟣
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He was a unicorn. He just didn't feel like one.

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Bracken hadn't known much about socialization during his early life. The small talk, the social etiquette. Unicorns, in general, were averse to such things.

After so many centuries in the dungeon, however, he knew how to make conversation. Comforting words came out when someone was hurting. He wasn't the best by any means, but he tried.

It meant so much that he tried.

When Bracken had given up his third horn, he had known on some level he wouldn't fit completely with his people—the unicorns—anymore. He had made peace with that. It was his sacrifice, and he would be fine. He would.

Was he still fine? Being imprisoned had taken a toll on him; his people no longer surrounded him. Was he even a unicorn anymore?

He didn't remember doing unicorn things. The Fairy Kingdom was a fuzzy snapshot in his mind. Even his mother's voice and its feeling of warmth had faded.

He did do human things. He socialized. He knew how to play foosball.

Nonetheless, in some hidden compartment of his psyche, memories of being a true unicorn must exist. Memories of the wind ruffling his mane and his hoofs beating away at grass turf.

Even though he couldn't reach the memories, he knew they must exist. He was a unicorn.

He just didn't feel like one.

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Days in the dungeon were long and unstructured. There was no clock counting minutes and hours in your cell. It was up to you, your imagination, and the twice-a-day meal times to make sense of time.

This amalgamation of cues produced the cyclic time structure Bracken followed.

It all started when the meal came. He'd close his eyes and swallow the meat before he could taste it, washing it down with the tinny water. Metallic ickiness persisted in his mouth afterward.

Sometime after the meal drop-off, he would visit the dungeon rec center. Prisoners always crowded the room right after meals with some troopers even bringing the horrid food with them.

Bracken would first scan the high scores on each game and ensure he still held the top spot.

A high score wasn't much, but it was practically part of his identity at this point. Something to preserve his sense of self in the silent, stone hallways—he was Bracken, the not-really-a-unicorn unicorn who was great at pinball.

Wow. His life really had taken a turn for the worst.

Besides the games, one thing that piqued his interest was the rec room's TV—he had learned a lot about humans through that outlet. The prisoners also had a fun game of guessing which disasters were magic-induced. Whoever made up the most outlandish—but plausible—story won.

The TV also allowed Bracken to pick up several languages. Turkish, Kurdish, English, and Arabic were all under his belt now due to the TV. And with the prisoners who would tutor him in their language, he had mastered hundreds more of the Earthly world's dialects. Easily.

However, one bad thing about learning languages from the prisoners was that most of his teachers had been locked up for a long time. For example, the Old English an ancient satyr had taught him didn't match the modern English he spoke now.

Nonetheless, he'd rather keep his tedious practice of learning new, updated languages than become isolated in his communication.

He already knew the solitude of the unicorn lifestyle. That isolation no longer appealed to him.

Once his ears had grown weary of the radio crackle and gossip, he'd leave the rec room and move into the walls. He'd check on the people too weak to make the trek to the rec room and ensure their health. He was Bracken, the nice, will-check-on-you guy.

As of two weeks ago, his list of check-ins included a new guy—Maddox.

Maddox was a delight. The broken fairy trader always had a life and death story from preserves and sanctuaries to share. The TV may catch Bracken up on the comings and goings of the mortal world, but it was nothing compared to the news of the magical world.

A lot had happened since Bracken had been locked up. Maddox told him of the Society of the Evening Star's plans and how the Knights were collecting artifacts. Maddox also mentioned two kids who happened to be involved in many of the expeditions. Apparently the demon prison was the closest to being opened than it ever was before.

The information burdened Bracken. He was supposed to be helping the war effort.

Would he have felt that conviction to help before prison time?

He had only come to Living Mirage because the iron dome had disrupted his home's portals, not because of all the prisoners of war locked up.

Would the old Bracken have cared if distant, faceless mortals were caught in a Earthly battle?

Time muddled your memories and obscured your past iterations; stretching and twisting your past selves to fit your current morality. Bracken had no clear answer to his question.

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The prison tunnels were a mindless maze. Bracken would spend his time searching for new prisoners or hiding in empty cells to catch the guards' gossip. If he was feeling brave, he'd even venture down old tunnels.

He'd do anything to pass the time.

Except languish in his cell.

He did enough of that already; his back laid on a rough cot, his eyes closing to the heartbeat of his guilty conscience.

No, he wouldn't go back to his cell. He'd go back to where the people were.

People and their stories kept him alive.

They might not be his people, but they were people. They were interesting and complex; harboring the ability to change and adapt.

They kept him alive.

"Yo, Bracken."

One of the long-time prisoners waved him over.

Mara was sat on the couch next to the guy, watching Bracken approach. Mara hadn't been here long, but she'd already made an impression with her uncanny navigation of the tunnels.

Bracken stopped next to the foosball table. The murmur of the rec room's TV filled the silence. "Yeah?"

"Did you hear? The Sphinx just imprisoned a shadow charmer."

"No kidding." Bracken had seen enough of the old man's ruses to be able to spot one a mile away. The Sphinx must think he's dumb. A shadow charmer for a spy?

"Yeah, and he's just a kid."

Mara straightened at the information, showing the most interest in prison gossip she had yet. He'd have to ask her about that later.

Bracken tapped his fingers against the foosball wood. "I'll have to check him out."

"Yeah. Tell us how it goes."

Bracken knew how it would go. It would be a spy; another bad actor.

Oh, well. It was something to break the monotony.

"I will."

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the end