You're trying to learn something useful from this... fellow in misery...

Your knees feel the cold stone floor...

Despite the tears streaming from your eyes and the shock in your mind, you sense that the cruel and mocking words of this stranger-prisoner contain a rational message.

"Tears and pleas won't help... I need to think of something... Or else I'll just die in this damp, stinking dungeon, and my corpse will lie here like the withered remains of that guy by the wall..." - your thoughts are dark, but they contain a logic that urges you to action.

Overcoming the sharp pain pulsing through your bloody, injured fingers, you slowly rise.

"I need at least some information... Where have I ended up? What kind of horrible hole is this?!" - you think.

You crawl toward the bars...

"Hey... This prison... It's located in the underground section of the Big Market's Quarter barracks?" - your words seem to dissolve in the semi-darkness.

Ten seconds of silence drag on painfully slowly...

Finally, your invisible interlocutor responds... with a quiet laugh!

"Fuck... You're a droll dummy! Ha! Ha! Ha! Do you really think they just dragged you to a place where are imprisoned common thieves, thugs, smugglers, swindlers, drunken idiots who've stabbed someone, and other such rag-tag?! Remind me, why exactly did you end up here, guy? What caused you to end up in such a mess?" - the sarcastic, grating timbre of the invisible interlocutor's voice is clearly not pleasant.

"The reason... I... The reason is that I used magic... Carelessly used magic for something illegal..." - you answer, listening anxiously for the patrol guard returning down the hall.

"Hm... Judging by the sound of your speech, are you one of the plebs?" - you hear the unexpected question.

"Yes..." - you say, not understanding the significance of this.

"Bad luck for you... That means you've created problems not only for yourself but for all your relatives as well... And you clearly don't have the money or influential acquaintances to mitigate the consequences..." - words reach your ears from the dim light.

"Can you just explain to me what kind of shitty place this is?!" - you ask, frightened and impatient.

"This is a secret underground prison located in the Citadel Quarter... This place is designed to house prisoners with magical abilities... If you don't believe me, try using one of your stupid 'tricks' now, guy..." - stranger tells you.

Your mind immediately races with thoughts about where you ended up...

Years of living in the capital allow you to recall some information about the layout of city blocks and the area surrounding the capital's walls.

Alas, the interim conclusions are disappointing...

It seems you've now found yourself in a highly guarded prison, located in the very center of the capital...

This is not at all the outlying slums you're used to walking through...

Unless, of course, this stranger isn't lying to you now...

You flinch nervously and extend your palm toward that same small, overturned wooden bucket, clearly intended for excrement.

You strain your senses to the limit, trying to sense the invisible threads of magical energy flowing in the air...

You whisper words of the spell...

For a moment, you think you'll succeed...

But one second passes...

Two seconds...

Ten seconds!

No result!

A simple short-range telekinesis spell!

What could be simpler?!

Alas, fail...

No magic...

It's as if you've lost all your magical abilities...

A sly chuckle reaches your ears again: "I hope you're not going to start crying like a hurt little girl again? Ouch! The trick failed! What a fucking surprise! Don't think you're the first to try... Magic doesn't work in these underground corridors - walls have some kind of blocking elements... And, in case you haven't noticed, every guard here wears a protective amulet around their neck, increasing their resistance to any magical influence..."

Wearily, you lean forehead against the cold metal grate and say exhausted: "What... What do they want from me? I haven't committed a serious crime... I haven't killed anyone..."

"Your crime is of secondary importance in the current situation... You're a pleb with a magical talent. You can be used. For those who dictate the laws, you're just a useful resource. Oh, guy... The smartest thing you could have done in the past was to hide as much as possible any signs that you could practice magic... But it's too late to talk about that now..." - your interlocutor's voice sounds quiet.

You listen...

The sound of boots tramping on stone floor tiles!

It seems the guard is walking down the corridor again!

You jump back from the bars in fear and crawl back into your prison cell.

Waiting for the guard to move on down the corridor, you try to consider your situation...