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Instead, I channeled my energies into ensuring that those around me had the tools to face their emotions head-on.
As the session neared its end, I initiated the final meditation. “Close your eyes. Visualize your inner self as a ship. The emotional storms might rock you, but with adaptability and understanding, you can navigate through the roughest waters.”
The energy in the room shifted.
Even the most restless souls seemed to find a moment of tranquility.
In this harmonious silence, every being, no matter their crime, found a touch of redemption.
After a few moments of serene silence, I gently brought them back. “Remember, change isn’t to be feared. Embrace it, adapt, and let it mold you into a better version of yourself.”
With a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility and the pride of witnessing small transformations, I concluded:
“Thank you for today’s journey. Keep the lessons close to your heart and let them guide you.”
Little did I know that within minutes I would face a greater challenge to my sense of self-control than anything Ikmal had ever managed to throw at me.
* * *
The air in the corridor was thick, a typical sign that the prison’s atmosphere generators were overworking.
The distant hum of the generators echoed as I walked, replaying the successes of today’s meditation session in my mind.
Suddenly, a voice broke my reverie. “Kuana! Wait up!”
Turning, I saw Arctook, a scaled being from Drakos-5, his blue scales reflecting the artificial light.
Arctook had been attending my sessions for a month now, seeking peace after a series of smuggling misadventures.
“Hey, Arctook,” I greeted him, noting the genuine smile on his face.
“Kuana,” he began, clasping my forearm in a customary Drakonian greeting, “today’s session… it was transformative. I felt connected, like I was understanding myself for the first time. Thank you.”
His sincerity warmed me. “It’s not me, Arctook. It’s you. You’re allowing yourself to evolve, to find the peace you deserve.”
Before we could continue our conversation, the unmistakable presence of a Champion disrupted the energy of the corridor.
A hushed silence followed, marking the respect — or more accurately, the fear — that the Champion commanded.
Dressed in gleaming armor, its surface shimmering with every step, the Norixian Champion I’d heard about walked down the hall.
Every inch of him radiated dominance, a living testament to his victories in the pits.
His slender, bioluminescent body was the beacon in the dim corridor, demanding attention.
Though I didn’t like him — there was an arrogance, a cruelty in his eyes that didn’t sit well with me — I couldn’t help but acknowledge his power.
It was no surprise that he had Claimed a Prize.
Champions of his caliber were almost always successful in the pits.
But it was the figure walking beside him that truly captured my attention.
She looked almost Norixian, with her subtle glow and elongated form.
But there was something… familiar about her.
A spark in her eyes, the subtle curve of her lips, the graceful way she moved.
