Marcus marched at the head of a silent army, three hundred freed slaves, gaunt and pale, their bodies little more than barely any meat attached to bone.
The clanking of iron rang out with every step, the unbroken shackles on their ankles scraping against the dirt.
The crisp air outside greeted them like an old friend long forgotten.
The sun, which most of them had only seen when going over the horizon , though now still low and fading, spilled over their faces, warming the grime-caked skin. And despite the soreness in their limbs, despite the hunger gnawing in their bellies, they stood straighter.
They breathed deeper.
They were out.
And soon they were to be free.
Marcus could barely believe it had worked. Even now, standing on the slope above the mine's entrance, it still felt like a dream, one he hadn't dared to entertain too seriously when they started.
