A prison…Or a redemption? Only time will tell…

Darth was dragged into the chamber, his steps heavy with exhaustion, his mind swirling with fury. His wrists chafed beneath the shackles, but the pain only fueled his bitterness. The two guards remained silent, their grip firm as they brought him before Yagiras.

She stood there, the warden of this cursed place, a child no older than eight by appearance, with pale skin and green eyes that glowed unnaturally bright in the gloom. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her freckles stood out like stars on her complexion. And she smiled at him—warmly, kindly—as though nothing were wrong, as though he weren’t a prisoner brought here to rot.

“Welcome, Darth,” she said, her voice soft, almost gentle. “I understand—”

“You don’t understand a damn thing about me,” Darth snarled, cutting her off. His voice was thick with bitterness. “So don’t pretend you do.”

Yagiras’s smile faltered for only a moment, but the kindness in her gaze remained steady. She didn’t seem offended, which only made Darth angrier. He glared at her, his heart pounding with the rage he had carried for so long.

“You think you can help me?” he spat. “Help me with what, exactly? Being good? Obeying the rules? That’s what got me here in the first place.”

Yagiras blinked, her expression thoughtful. “I’m not here to judge you, Darth,” she said softly. “Nor to tell you how to live. I’m here to listen and help you find your own way.”

Darth let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls. “My own way? You think I didn’t try that? I did everything right. I tried to be good. I tried to obey my father. And look where it got me.”

Yagiras tilted her head slightly, her green eyes never leaving his. “Your father?” she asked, her voice gentle but probing. “Is that what this is about?”

Darth clenched his fists, his anger swelling like a wave. “Everything is about him. He’s the reason I’m here. If I had just followed his commands better—if I had been better—I wouldn’t be standing in front of you right now, would I?”

His voice rose, cracking under the weight of the anger that had been simmering inside him for so long. He could feel the pain beneath the fury, trying to push its way to the surface, but he buried it again. He wasn’t going to let her—this child, this warden—get inside his head. He had seen too much, suffered too much.

“I wasted my time being good,” he growled, his voice shaking. “And for what? For this?”

Yagiras didn’t flinch. She stepped closer, her small figure now seeming somehow larger, more imposing. Her eyes, though soft, carried something ancient and unfathomable. “Being good,” she said softly, “is not a transaction, Darth. It’s not about earning rewards or avoiding punishment.”

“Spare me the lecture,” Darth snapped, venom in his voice. “You think you can change me? You think you can make me care about ‘good’ again? I’m done with that. I’m done with all of it.”

Yagiras didn’t try to argue. She stood quietly for a moment, watching him with those impossibly deep green eyes, as though she could see right through the walls he had built. Then, she spoke, her voice calm and unshaken. “I won’t try to change you. I don’t force anything on anyone. But I will be here, and I will listen.”

Her words cut through him like a blade, and he hated it. He glared at her, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t need you to listen! I need to get out of here!”

“You’re angry,” Yagiras acknowledged, her voice unwavering. “And you have every right to be. What happened to you—it wasn’t fair. But holding onto that anger will only keep you in chains, Darth. And I think you’ve worn those long enough.”

Her words struck a nerve, one he had tried to keep buried for years. But he wasn’t about to let her see that. “Chains or not,” he spat through gritted teeth, “I’ll never forgive him. I’ll never forgive any of them.”

Yagiras’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, Darth saw something in her eyes—something like sadness, or maybe even hope. “Forgiveness isn’t for them,” she whispered. “It’s for you.”

Darth paused. Something about the way she said it, so quiet and without judgment, made him hesitate. He stared at her—this child, this strange little girl with the weight of the universe in her eyes. His voice was low, laced with sarcasm. “Oh? And I suppose you just happen to know everything about forgiveness and what I need, right? Bet you know it all.”

There was a long silence, and Darth could feel her gaze on him, like she was peering into his very soul. He scowled, preparing to hurl another bitter remark at her, but before he could speak, Yagiras responded.

“You’re right,” she said, her voice calm but thoughtful. “I’m not an expert. Besides…” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes softening. “I hate that word. Expert. It’s just a title people use to make themselves feel superior. I don’t know everything, Darth. No one does. Not even the gods can claim that.”

Darth found himself silenced, but not in the way he was used to. It wasn’t the harsh discipline or the cold authority he had known all his life. This was different. He was trying to process what this little girl—this warden—had just said.

“You… are not like most children,” Darth muttered, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative.

Yagiras smiled softly, a gentle laugh escaping her. “I’m aware. But it would be strange if a normal child were talking like this, wouldn’t it?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Darth felt a small, almost imperceptible smile forming on his face. It was fleeting, barely there, but it surprised even him. “I… I suppose,” he said, his voice gruff but less venomous than before.

Yagiras’s green eyes sparkled as she took a step back, giving him space. “You don’t have to figure everything out today, Darth. You have time. And when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”

Darth didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to. He had spent so long in bitterness, so long drowning in his anger, that this moment of calm, of… understanding, felt foreign. Yet something about Yagiras, about the way she spoke, lingered in his mind. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to let go of his anger—of his need for vengeance—but for the first time, he didn’t feel so alone in it.

And that terrified him.