Chapter 19: The Basement and Jail Cell
The casino above was a glittering palace of light and sound, a place where fortunes were made and lost in the blink of an eye. But beneath its opulent floors, deep in the bowels of the building, lay a world far removed from the laughter and clinking of coins. The basement was a place of shadows, dampness, and despair—a stark contrast to the grandeur above. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and decay, the walls lined with cracked stone and patches of moss that clung stubbornly to the damp surfaces. Water dripped from the ceiling in a slow, rhythmic cadence, pooling on the uneven dirt floor below. The only light came from a few dim lanterns hung haphazardly from rusted hooks, their flickering flames casting long, wavering shadows that danced across the walls like specters.
In the center of this grim chamber, Rilo hung suspended from the ceiling, his arms bound tightly by thick, coarse ropes that dug into his wrists. His long, flowing black hair, usually tied back, now hung loose, cascading over his face like a dark curtain. His head was bowed, his breathing shallow and labored, as if every breath was a struggle. His once-pristine black robes were torn and stained, the fabric clinging to his sweat-drenched body. The dim light caught the faint glimmer of blood on his lips and the bruises that marred his face and torso. He was a broken figure, a shadow of the confident man who had walked into the casino hours earlier.
Surrounding him were a group of men, their faces hard and unyielding. They were dressed in simple green and brown tunics, their bare feet planted firmly on the cold, dirt floor. Their expressions were a mix of amusement and disdain as they watched Rilo struggle against his bonds. One of them spat on the ground, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. Another chuckled darkly, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against a crumbling stone pillar. They were silent, waiting, their eyes occasionally flicking toward the staircase that led down to the basement.
The sound of heavy footsteps broke the silence, each thud reverberating through the room like a drumbeat. The men straightened, their postures shifting from casual to attentive as the figure of Boss Shen descended the stairs. He moved with a deliberate, almost predatory grace, his massive frame casting a long shadow that seemed to swallow the room. His shaved head gleamed in the lantern light, the deep scars on his face adding to his menacing aura. His dark robe, embroidered with golden tigers, hung loosely over his broad shoulders, the fabric swaying with each step. His presence was suffocating, a force of nature that demanded attention.
Shen's laughter echoed through the basement as he reached the bottom of the stairs, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a chill down the spines of everyone present. His cold, calculating eyes locked onto Rilo, and a cruel smile spread across his face.
"Well, well," Shen said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Look who's finally come crawling back. The prodigal son returns."
Rilo didn't raise his head, his hair still obscuring his face. His breathing was ragged, but he remained silent, refusing to give Shen the satisfaction of a response.
Shen stepped closer, his boots crunching against the dirt floor. He circled Rilo slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey. "You know, Rilo," he began, his tone laced with venom, "I always wondered what it would be like to see you like this. Humbled. Broken. You were always the better bender, weren't you? The master's favorite. The elders showered you with praise, with opportunities. And what did I get? Scraps. Leftovers."
He stopped in front of Rilo, his massive frame looming over the bound man. "But look at you now. All that supposed destiny, all that potential… and what are you? Nothing. A disappointment."
Shen's fist shot out, connecting with Rilo's ribs with a sickening thud. Rilo groaned, his body jerking against the ropes as he coughed, blood spattering the ground beneath him. Shen chuckled, the sound dark and humorless.
"You were supposed to be great," Shen continued, his voice rising with each word. "The prodigy. The one who would surpass even Kezin. But instead, you ran. You left. And for what? To wander the world like some lost soul? To play at being a gambler in my casino?"
Rilo's head finally lifted, his hair falling back to reveal his bloodied face. His eyes, though clouded with pain, burned with defiance. "The only disappointment here is you," he said, his voice hoarse but steady. "You're a disappointment to her."
Shen's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of anger crossing his scarred face. He stepped closer, his fist slamming into Rilo's ribs again, harder this time. Rilo cried out, his body convulsing as he struggled to breathe.
"Of course I am," Shen snarled, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "What else could I be to her compared to the perfect Rilo? The prodigy waterbender who was supposed to be on the same level as Kezin. But let's be honest, Rilo. You're not even close."
One of the men in the room let out a derisive laugh. "Kezin? The same level as Kezin? Don't make me laugh."
Another chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Kezin was next in line to be the grand master of the tribes. The first since the chief and the legendary Wan himself. You? You're just a washed-up has-been."
Shen's laughter joined theirs, a deep, mocking sound that filled the room. "You hear that, Rilo? Even they know the truth. You and Kezin were the same age, but he was leagues ahead of you. Always was. Always will be."
Rilo's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Shen. "I am not on the same level as Kezin," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I am better than he ever was."
The room erupted In laughter, the sound harsh and grating. Shen shook his head, his smile widening. "Better than Kezin? That's rich. Did you forget what he did to the Air Nomads? How he almost destroyed them from within, turning the youngsters against the elders? If it wasn't for that freak Monk Nara and her airbending, he would have succeeded."
Shen's fist connected with Rilo's face, the impact sending his head snapping to the side. Blood trickled from his nose, dripping onto the dirt floor. Shen didn't stop there. He delivered three more powerful punches to Rilo's ribs and sides, each blow drawing a pained groan from the bound man. Rilo's body sagged against the ropes, his breathing becoming more labored. His eyes were wet with unshed tears, his face a mask of pain and defiance.
"So he lost to Nara," Rilo managed to say through gritted teeth. "The same Nara that was trained by Wan himself. What does that say about him?"
One of the goons stepped forward, a cruel smirk on his face. "Why don't you ask your airbender friend? Oh, wait… I forgot. He was just arrested for raping Mariko."
Rilo's eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat. "What?"
Shen's fist slammed into Rilo's face again, the force of the blow causing his nose to bleed more heavily. "Wipe that look off your face, idiot," Shen sneered. "Mariko works for me. Of course I knew she slept with that airbender. In fact, it was her suggestion to sleep with him again and set him up. You'd wish I had captured him instead. After all, you know who runs Daiyo, right?"
There was a long moment of silence as the realization dawned on Rilo. His eyes flicked to Shen, the pieces falling into place. "You…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Shen's laughter filled the room, a dark, malevolent sound that sent shivers down Rilo's spine. "That's right, Rilo. He runs Daiyo. And now, he has you right where he wants you."
Shen's fists flew again, each punch landing with brutal precision. Rilo's body jerked with each impact, his cries of pain echoing through the basement. Shen didn't stop, his laughter growing louder with each blow. The goons joined in, their voices rising in a cacophony of mockery and cruelty.
Rilo's world narrowed to the pain, the laughter, and the cold, unyielding truth of his situation. He had walked into a trap, and now he was paying the price. But even as the darkness closed in around him, a spark of defiance remained. He would not break. Not yet.
And somewhere, deep within the shadows of the basement, the faint sound of dripping water continued, a steady reminder that even in the darkest places, life—and hope—persisted.
***
The air inside the prison cell was thick—stale with the scent of damp stone and the lingering traces of old sweat and blood. It was the kind of place where time stretched and twisted, where the hours bled into days without distinction. The flickering glow of a single oil lantern barely reached the far corners of the cell, leaving much of it cloaked in shadows.
Yogan sat against the cold wall, his arms crossed, his face twisted in frustration. His normally loose airbender robes were wrinkled and smeared with dirt, his hair a tangled mess from the scuffle that had landed him here. The cell was narrow, its walls lined with deep grooves where previous prisoners had scratched their desperate marks into the stone. Rusted iron bars made up the front, their corroded edges showing signs of age and neglect.
Beyond the bars, the corridor stretched into darkness, punctuated only by the occasional torch. The faint echoes of distant voices and the shuffling of boots hinted at the presence of guards, but for now, Yogan was alone.
Alone, except for the bastard in the next cell over.
"I didn't force her, dammit!" Yogan's voice echoed off the prison walls, his tone sharp with desperation. "Mariko wanted to be with me! You think I'd have to—?!"
"Shut up, air rat!" A voice snapped from another cell. The speaker's silhouette barely shifted in the dim light, his frame hunched over like a beast in its lair.
Yogan gritted his teeth. "You shut up! I didn't do anything wrong!"
The prisoner growled, the scrape of metal against stone signaling movement from within the neighboring cell. "Nobody cares! You keep yappin', and I'll make sure you do something wrong."
"Big words from someone hiding behind bars," Yogan shot back, pushing himself to his feet. "Why don't you come out here and do it?"
For a moment, the prison was silent, save for the distant drip of water seeping through old cracks in the stone. Then, a low chuckle.
"You're lucky these bars are here, airbender," the man sneered. "Sit your ass down before you make this worse for yourself."
Yogan opened his mouth for another retort, but just then, he heard footsteps approaching. A second later, a familiar voice.
"Yogan!"
His head snapped up just as two figures appeared beyond the bars—Haru and Kenshiro.
"About time!" Yogan exhaled, gripping the iron bars. "What took you guys so long?"
"Hard to move through Daiyo when you've got half the city watching your every step," Haru muttered, scanning the cell. His sharp eyes took in the state of the room, the dirt, the rust, the general stench of hopelessness. He frowned. "They threw you in a real mess, huh?"
"You think?" Yogan rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness. "Where the hell is Rilo?"
Kenshiro crossed his arms. "No idea. He was taken by Shen's men. We're working on that."
Yogan stiffened. "Shen… so he was behind this."
Haru sighed. "It's more complicated than that."
Yogan's fingers tightened around the bars. "Then explain it to me! Mariko—she was with me! She wanted to be with me! And now suddenly, I'm a criminal?"
Kenshiro scowled. "That's because she's working for them."
Yogan blinked. "What?"
"You heard me." Kenshiro leaned against the cell door. "You didn't force anything on her. But you were meant to take the fall for it. Shen doesn't play fair, and neither do the people above him."
Yogan's gut twisted. "Wait. Above him? Who the hell are we talking about?"
Kenshiro exchanged a glance with Haru before muttering, "Shen's a big name, sure. But he's just a piece on the board. There's someone else. Someone bigger."
"Who?" Yogan demanded.
Haru shook his head. "No one knows. They call him the Big Boss, but it's probably just a legend. Some shadowy figure that's been running Daiyo from the dark for decades."
"He's real," Kenshiro insisted.
Haru scoffed. "Spirits, Kenshiro, don't tell me you actually believe that crap."
"It's not crap," Kenshiro said firmly. "He's why Daiyo hasn't been taken over by any of the big kingdoms. He controls everything, from the gangs to the trade routes. Even Shen bows to him."
Haru rolled his eyes. "Come on, Kenshiro. You can't be that naïve to believe stories about some mystical guardian of the city that has spirits working for him."
Yogan's head snapped toward him, his expression shifting. "Spirits?"
Kenshiro nodded. "That's what they say. The Big Boss isn't just some ordinary crime lord—he's got connections to something beyond this world. The rumors say he doesn't just rule Daiyo; he's protected by forces that no one dares to cross."
Haru scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Spirits don't work with humans. They hate humans."
Without thinking, Yogan shot back, "Not all spirits hate humans."
The words left his lips before he even realized he had spoken. His chest tightened as the weight of them settled in the air.
Haru's brow furrowed. "What?"
Yogan hesitated, his mind racing. He had spent his entire life hiding the truth about himself. His connection to Raava, the spirit dwelling inside him, was something only a few had ever known. But in his frustration, in the heat of the moment, he had let his guard slip.
He exhaled slowly, trying to cover his tracks. "The majority don't even mind humans," he added quickly. "The elders at the temple taught us that the ancestors lived in peace with the spirits for centuries. Humans and spirits coexisting—it's not impossible."
Haru crossed his arms. "The airbenders learned to live in balance with nature and the spirits. Their enlightenment and purpose were the reason they coexisted. But it didn't last, did it?"
Yogan narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"
Haru gave him a pointed look. "If things were so peaceful between humans and spirits, why did the ancestors stay on the backs of the Great Lion Turtles? Why didn't they just live among the spirits?"
"Because of the Dark Spirits," Yogan answered, the teachings drilled into him since childhood rising to the surface. "The Great Warrior Wan saved them from the darkness."
A sharp snort came from the neighboring cell.
"You idiots need to study up on your history," the same prisoner Yogan had argued with earlier called out, his voice rasping through the dimly lit corridor. "How did Wan even rescue them when it was his fault they became dark spirits in the first place?"
Yogan's breath caught. His grip on the bars tightened. "What did you just say?"
The cell across from him remained cloaked in shadows, but he could hear the slow shuffle of feet on stone. The elderly prisoner shifted forward, his disheveled robes dragging along the filthy ground. Finally, he stepped into the dim light of the lanterns. His face was old, lined with deep wrinkles that spoke of a life long lived. His hair hung in unkempt strands around his shoulders, streaked with dirt and age. But his eyes—sharp and knowing—locked onto Yogan with an unsettling intensity.
"You seem quite interested in Wan," the old man mused, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Why is that?"
Yogan swallowed hard. "Because that's not true. Wan saved the people from the Dark Spirits. That's what we were taught.*"
The old man chuckled, slow and deliberate. "Ah, but those of us who were alive in that era remember things differently."
Silence fell over the cell.
Yogan felt his heartbeat thunder in his chest. His mind reeled at the implication.
He took a slow step forward. "Alive…? What are you saying?*"
The old man's grin widened, his teeth yellowed and crooked. "Oh, boy. What I'm saying is… I don't deal in second-hand stories. I deal in truth."
A cold chill crept down Yogan's spine.
The man leaned against the bars of his cell, his gnarled fingers curling around the rusted iron. "So tell me, boy. How much is that truth worth to you?"
"You want to charge us for information about Wan?" Yogan asked, his brow furrowing.
The elderly prisoner smirked, his yellowed teeth catching the dim lantern glow. "Information isn't free, boy. Especially when it comes from someone who lived it."
Haru scoffed. "What kind of elder are you?"
The old man tilted his head slightly, the gesture almost amused. "One who has been alive longer than you can even dream, youngsters."
Kenshiro crossed his arms. "These youngsters won't be paying you for information we can get in any library or store."
The old man chuckled again, a low, rasping sound. "Library knowledge? Bah. Second-hand information is known to be less accurate than first-hand." His sharp eyes flickered to Yogan once more. "But I won't force wisdom on the ignorant."
With that, he turned away, shuffling back to his darkened corner, his figure swallowed by shadow.
Yogan stared at the space where the old man had stood. A part of him wanted to push, to demand answers—but what good would that do? The prisoner wasn't going anywhere.
"Come on," Kenshiro muttered, shaking his head. "We've got bigger problems."
He and Haru turned back to Yogan, their expressions hardening as they refocused on their original goal.
"We still have to find Rilo," Kenshiro said. "And figure out what the hell happened after he left with Boss Shen."
Haru nodded. "And you," he turned to Yogan with a pointed glare, "need to be smart about things. You're not in the air temple anymore. You don't get to be naïve about trusting people—especially in a place like Daiyo."
Yogan clenched his jaw but said nothing.
With that, the pair exchanged brief glances and took their leave, the sound of their footsteps fading into the prison corridors.
A heavy silence settled in the cell.
Yogan exhaled slowly, lowering himself back onto the cold stone floor. The weight of Haru's words still lingered in his mind.
"Be smart about things."
He scoffed under his breath. They all thought he was some wide-eyed fool, as if he hadn't seen the ugliness of the world before. But he had.
More than they knew.
"Heed their words, young airbender," the old man's voice drifted through the darkness.
Yogan looked up, surprised to see the man still watching him, his shadowed form barely visible through the dim lantern light.
"The world is not such a nice place," the elder murmured before slipping into silence once more.
Yogan swallowed, the words striking something deep inside him.
But he already knew that.
They assumed he was still some naïve monk—but he had never fit the mold of an airbender. Never once.
His reputation at the temple had been anything but noble.
He leaned his head back against the cold wall, closing his eyes as memories began to resurface.
Even as a child, he had never belonged among the others.
The temple was supposed to be a place of serenity, a home for the enlightened. But Yogan? He had been its problem child.
He and his best friend, Yoan, had spent their youth causing endless trouble, their pranks infamous among both disciples and masters alike. They had stolen sacred scrolls just to draw crude pictures on them, swapped incense with itching powder before meditations, and once even tied strings to the temple bells, making them ring at random hours of the night.
But while Yoan had been mischievous in good fun, Yogan's reputation had darker stains.
He was lazy, refusing to wake at dawn like the others.
He was undisciplined, skipping training to lounge in the sun or sneak off to hidden spots where he could sleep undisturbed.
And worst of all—he had a roving eye.
He had been caught more than once peeping at the girls in the baths, earning not only the scorn of the other disciples but the outright wrath of the temple masters.
His brother, Renji, had been especially furious, shaming him in front of the entire temple for his disgraceful behavior.
"You are an airbender, Yogan. Not some lecherous alley rat!"
He had never been good enough.
Not to his peers, who saw him as an embarrassment.
Not to the masters, who saw him as a waste of potential.
And definitely not to the elders, whose disappointed eyes followed him wherever he went.
Monk Tenzon— one of the leaders of the temple itself—had been the one to scold him most.
"You think this world will always catch you when you fall, boy?" the elder had told him once. "Foolishness is only tolerated in childhood. But you are not a child anymore. There will come a day when your recklessness will cost you everything."
Yogan had brushed the words off then.
But now, trapped in this cell, he felt the weight of them more than ever.
He lifted his hands, staring at his palms.
They had once been calloused from training, but even now, despite his time away from the temple, the scars remained.
Had he really changed?
Or was he still that same reckless fool, pretending he had control over his life?
His fingers curled into fists.
He knew the exact moment everything had changed.
It had been at the Wind Festival.
The temple had been alive with music and dancing, the air thick with the scent of incense and festival foods. Everyone had been celebrating—except him.
Drunk on stolen wine, he had found himself facing his brother, Renji, in the temple courtyard.
"Come on, big brother," he had slurred, the crowd whispering in the background. "Let's see if those fancy tattoos make you any better than me."
Renji had refused to fight at first.
But Yogan had pushed him.
Mocked him.
Until finally—Renji snapped.
The fight had started small. A simple exchange of air strikes.
But then—Yogan had lost control.
His bending had twisted into something unnatural. The winds had howled, dark and wild, whipping around him like a living storm.
And then—it happened.
The force inside him had awakened.
A power not his own.
The temple bells had rung in alarm, disciples had screamed, and in the chaos, Yogan had barely been conscious of what he was doing.
He had only known one thing:
He was not alone inside his own body.
It had taken all the elders to restrain him that night. And when he had finally come to, he had seen the fear in their eyes.
Not just disappointment.
Fear.
And then the whispers began.
"He was possessed by a spirit."
"Something took over him."
"This is a bad omen."
He had been forced into isolation for weeks. And it wasn't until after—until the worst had passed—that he had finally learned the truth.
He wasn't possessed.
He was chosen.
He was the second incarnation of the Great Warrior Wan.
And as the vessel of the Great Spirit Raava, he was destined to master all four elements—just as Wan had before him.
Fate had already decided his path.
And yet, here he was—rotting in a jail cell, still treated like the same reckless fool he had always been.
His grip tightened.
No.
He had changed.
And he was not going to let Daiyo break him.
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]