The morning air carried an unsettling chill as Kaelen and Tenny approached their section of the labor fields. The usual quiet hum of the early workday was replaced by murmurs of confusion and fear.
It wasn't until they turned the final bend that they understood why.
A crowd had gathered—workers pressed shoulder to shoulder, their faces drawn tight with worry. Soldiers stood at the center, towering over opened crates with their contents scattered across the dirt. The stolen goods. Planted right where Kaelen and Tenny worked.
Kaelen's heart thudded painfully. His mind reeled back to the night before, to the quiet hours spent waiting for a crime they never witnessed.
"This can't be," Kaelen whispered, his breath catching.
Tenny stood frozen beside him, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "But we waited. We waited until midnight. How...?"
Before they could process the shock, a voice split the air. "You two. Step forward."
The command was sharp, undeniable. Kaelen's pulse quickened as he and Tenny stepped into the clearing, every eye on them.
A soldier stood tall, his gaze hard and unwavering. "These stolen goods were found hidden in your section," he stated flatly. His voice was a blade, cutting through the tension. "Explain yourselves."
Kaelen's mouth opened, but another soldier interrupted. "Silence," he ordered, his voice calm but threatening. "You'll speak when asked. If you're given the chance."
The weight of fear pressed on Kaelen's chest. He remembered the last time—how a simple protest had led to chaos. How discipline had turned into bloodshed. How a soldier's life had been lost.
It wasn't just about stolen goods anymore. It was about fear. About power. About control.
A third soldier stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "We take them to the camp," he said firmly. "The punishment will be decided there."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, uneasy and questioning. The first soldier's gaze swept over them, sharp as steel. "You all know why," he said.
The meaning was clear. The soldiers were no longer willing to risk their authority unraveling in front of the workers. They wouldn't let discipline spark defiance, or worse, another death that might raise suspicion about their control.
"They'll be dealt with in the camp," the soldier continued.
Kaelen felt a chill trace down his spine. The camp. Where whispers turned into silence. Where punishments were final, and often, unseen.
Tenny's voice cracked in a low whisper, "Kaelen, we should—"
Kaelen shook his head slightly, his gaze steady but grim. "Not here," he murmured. "Not now."
The soldier's eyes lingered on them, as if sensing the unspoken words. Then he gave the command. "Take them."
Rough hands gripped their arms. The soldiers' hold was firm, cold. The crowd stood silent, the weight of helplessness pressing on every face. No one moved. No one dared speak.
Tenny glanced back once, his eyes flicking over the workers, his lips parted as though to say something—but he bit it back. He walked in step with Kaelen, his jaw clenched.
As they were led away, Kaelen's mind raced. Whoever had framed them had planned well, knowing fear would seal their fate. Knowing that silence could kill just as surely as any blade.
And now, in the dark unknown of the camp, that silence would be deadly.
The path to the soldiers' camp was rough, winding through uneven trails and jagged stones that tore at Kaelen's soles. Dust clung to the air, dry and suffocating, settling on skin like a second layer of dirt.
Soldiers flanked them on either side, hands gripping their shoulders with cold authority. The silence between Kaelen and Tenny was heavy, filled with things unsaid. Their eyes met briefly—fear, confusion, and anger passing between them in a silent exchange. But neither spoke.
Not yet.
Tenny's jaw twitched, his steps uneven. Kaelen could feel the tension radiating from him. He could almost hear the questions brimming beneath the surface: Why did this happen? Why didn't we catch them? Why us?
But it wasn't until they were deeper into the woods, away from the eyes of the laborers, that Tenny broke.
"This is madness," Tenny hissed under his breath, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the soldiers weren't close enough to hear. "We waited, Kaelen. We waited for hours. How could they still—how could they plant it without us knowing?"
Kaelen's throat felt dry, raw. "I don't know." His voice was low, rough. "I don't know how they did it. I don't even know if what I heard was real anymore."
"You heard it," Tenny snapped, though his voice was tight with uncertainty. "You heard them say they'd plant it in our section. We waited! So how? How did we miss it?"
Kaelen shook his head. His mind had been spinning with the same question. What had gone wrong? Was it a trick of his senses? Was it his mind betraying him—or had someone seen them waiting and changed their plan?
"We have to tell them," Tenny said, glancing again at the soldiers. "We have to tell them what we know."
Kaelen's eyes hardened. "And say what? That I heard whispers from across the field? That my ears are sharper than anyone else's? You think they'll believe that?"
Tenny fell silent, his lips pressed into a hard line. He knew Kaelen was right. In this world, truth meant nothing without power. And they had none.
A soldier's voice cracked through the silence. "Quiet."
Kaelen flinched, but his face remained still. He caught Tenny's eye and shook his head slightly. Not here. Not yet.
The camp loomed into view as they crossed the final bend. It wasn't a place of safety—it was a place that swallowed secrets and spat out silence. A shadowed fortress of stone and iron, with towering walls and cold, sharp gates that waited like the open jaws of a beast.
As they approached, a heavy metal gate creaked open. The ground beneath their feet felt colder here, as though the soil itself had been drained of warmth and hope.
Kaelen's heart hammered. He didn't know what awaited them beyond those walls. But he could feel it—this wasn't a place for questions. This was a place where words died, where truth twisted into whatever shape the soldiers wanted.
The guard at the gate stared them down, his expression empty. He gave a short nod, and the soldiers shoved Kaelen and Tenny through.
They were led down a narrow path, past silent cells lined with bars that caught the light like sharpened blades. Some cells were empty. Others were not. But there was no sound. Only the rustle of clothes, the heavy steps of boots, the rattle of chains.
Kaelen caught sight of faces behind the bars—faces shadowed, hollow, as if the life had been drained from them long ago. Eyes that watched, but didn't see.
And suddenly, Kaelen understood why the soldiers had brought them here. Why they had not punished them in front of the crowd?
Because here, there were no crowds. No witnesses. No one heard the screams. No one to remember.
Here, the punishment would be quiet.
The cell they were thrown into was small, damp, the air thick with rot. The metal door clanged shut behind them, sealing the silence.
Tenny stumbled but caught himself, his hand pressed against the cold stone wall. He turned, his face pale.
"This...this isn't just about the stolen goods," Tenny whispered. "They brought us here to erase us."
Kaelen said nothing. The realization weighed heavily, pressing into his chest like a stone.
"Kaelen," Tenny's voice was low, desperate. "We have to survive this."
Kaelen's eyes burned, but he nodded. "We will."
He didn't know how.
But they would.
Because in the heart of the silence, Kaelen could feel it—a pulse of something deeper. Something stronger.
And somehow, he knew that surviving meant more than just enduring the soldiers' punishment. It meant unraveling the lie that had trapped them here.
And finding whoever had decided to bury them beneath it.
---
The dim glow of the oil lamp cast trembling shadows across the rough walls of their modest home. Jara sat hunched over on a low stool, her hands tightly clasped as if her grip alone could hold her world together. But her world was already unraveling.
The messenger's words still echoed in her ears.
Kaelen. Taken. Accused of theft.
It felt as if the ground had crumbled beneath her feet. Her breath hitched, and her body trembled as she pressed a hand to her mouth, holding back the sob that clawed at her throat.
Orin stood by the doorway, his hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white. His jaw worked as though grinding stone, his face shadowed by helplessness and barely restrained fury.
"But… but Kaelen wouldn't… he wouldn't steal," Jara's voice broke, hoarse and brittle. "He's a good boy. He wouldn't..." Her words faltered, drowned beneath the weight of fear.
Orin's face twisted, though he forced his voice to be calm. "I know." He swallowed hard, stepping closer. "But it doesn't matter what we know, Jara. To them, he's already guilty."
Tears welled in her eyes, falling in heavy drops onto her lap. "We have to do something. We have to go to him." Her voice cracked, desperation bleeding through.
Orin crouched beside her, his hand wrapping around hers, his grip firm though his own fingers trembled. "Go where?" His voice was low, bitter. "To the soldiers' camp? To beg for mercy? You know what that would mean."
Jara shook her head violently. "But he's our son! He's just a boy!" Her sobs came harder, shoulders shaking. "And Tenny too. They're innocent!"
Orin's jaw tightened. "And innocence means nothing to them. You know that." He dragged a hand down his face, his voice rough with frustration. "Walking into that camp would only give them more power over us. Over him."
"But I can't just sit here!" Jara cried, her voice breaking into a wail. "I can't just wait for them to… to kill him! To tear him from me!" Her body trembled as she broke into quiet sobs, rocking herself in place.
Orin pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her tightly, though his own pain threatened to split him apart. "I know," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. "I know. But there's nothing we can do. Not now."
Jara sobbed harder, her fingers clutching at Orin's shirt. "He's my child, Orin. My baby."
"And mine." His voice cracked, his eyes glistening. "But if we go there, if we make noise, they'll hurt him worse. Maybe worse than that." His voice faltered, and he pressed his lips together hard.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by Jara's muffled cries.
Orin closed his eyes, his voice low and raw. "All we can do is hope. Pray that they see the truth. Pray that he comes back to us."
Jara's voice dropped to a whisper. "I just want him back. I just want my son back."
Orin held her tighter, though his heart felt hollow. "He will come back."
But his words felt like ash on his tongue
---
The afternoon sun hung heavy over the open field, its heat pressing down on Kaelen and Tenny like an unseen hand. They sat behind the cold, iron bars of the prison cage—an exposed cell in the heart of the soldiers' camp. The ground was dry, cracked, and unforgiving, much like the men who guarded it.
Kaelen's gaze was distant, but it snapped back when he noticed the shift in the soldiers' formation. A circle was forming—tight, rigid, and brimming with tension. In the center, a man knelt. His face was bruised, his hands bound behind his back, and though his body trembled, his eyes remained defiant.
It was one of the soldiers.
The whispers among the others were sharp and uneasy. No one dared say aloud what he had done, but whatever his crime, it was enough to bring him to this moment. Enough to bring him face-to-face with punishment.
Kaelen felt a chill coil in his gut. This wasn't going to be a simple beating.
From between the gathered soldiers, a figure stepped forward—Commander Rygar. His presence alone sent a hush over the field. He was a man of authority, his face carved in stone, his eyes sharp as blades. But it wasn't his presence that made the air heavy.
It was what he carried.
In his right hand, cradled with a reverence that struck fear into every onlooker, was the Cryostone. A jagged, obsidian-like shard that pulsed with a soft blue glow, as though it contained a heartbeat of its own. The stone's shimmer was cold, unnatural.
Kaelen's stomach twisted. He had heard of the Cryostone. Stories whispered in fear, tales of soldiers who met a death not of flesh, but of the soul. The stone didn't just freeze the body—it froze the very essence of a person, drawing out their pain in an agonizing melody known as the Cry Song.
But stories were nothing like seeing it with his own eyes.
Tenny's voice was a whisper, dry and tight. "That's... that's the Cryostone, isn't it?