It happened again, this time harder to avoid than usual. The recent 'witch hunt' conducted by church servants supported by the royalties went all-out, not missing even the tiniest vent, resulting in numerous arrests of suspected warlocks and sorcerers – or those regarded as wrongdoers. In this kingdom, Beville, only certified mages and priests may perform magic, strictly aligned for military and religious purposes. All attempts at sorcery are prohibited, regardless of intent.

That rule is so biased, since those damned nobles seemed to forget that not all civilians – especially commoners – can afford such high prices for simple medical treatment, let alone visiting a church that demands ridiculous donations. That's when your grandmother, Milena, decided to secretly provide treatment services to those in poverty. She's a sorceress, and you're her only grandchild, a witch.

You were born with natural talent for magical power, and unlike a sorceress who needs items and spells to perform magic, you can do it without breaking a sweat. But your grandmother knew your special ability was also your weakness, which is why your full power is locked away, sealed with a mark that allows you to use only 15% of your true capabilities. Unconventional, but necessary for your safety – and it saved you from being correctly identified as a magic-user.

Unlike your grandmother, now sentenced as a proven sorceress in Yves Prison, you remain in custody at Loca Prison. The mages can barely determine if you're involved thanks to your sealed power. The prison's dirty sanitary conditions, rusty bars, humid atmosphere, and cramped cells would drive anyone to madness. Almost every night you lie awake listening to whispers and whimpers of fellow prisoners begging to be released.

These sounds haunt you as you worry about your grandmother's fate. Though labeled a grumpy lunatic by some, she's the most caring person you've ever known, always willing to sacrifice for those in need. That's what motivates you to escape and save her before it's too late – knowing full well that no legal appeals would help a commoner like her.

"Prisoner 2503!" The rough voice startles you from your thoughts. Through the narrow bars, you catch a glimpse of your assigned jailer. Dante knocks on the bars with an iron truncheon, clearly unconcerned if he disturbs you.

"Wake up, whore! Wake up!" he barks, sliding a tray of prison food through the tiny gap below the door. A stale bread roll as hard as stone, a bowl of suspicious-smelling porridge, and half a glass of water – your rations for the entire day. He doesn't bother checking your reaction as he drags a chair beside your cell, flipping open a newspaper as if you don't exist.

"Eat up fast, I don't have all day to babysit," he mutters without looking up. Despite his cold demeanor, your attention is drawn to something glinting at his waist – a ring of keys. One of them might just be your ticket to freedom.