Chapter Six — Captured
Lucien's eyes fluttered open, the dim light of the cave no longer soft and comforting but sharp and unwelcome.
His muscles ached deeply from exhaustion, but something else — a cold weight settled in his chest.
He wasn't alone.
Slowly, he became aware of a ring of shadows standing around him.
Metal gleamed in the low light.
Swords and spears, pointed directly at his chest, glinted with an unforgiving edge.
The men who held the weapons wore clothes unlike anything Lucien had seen — rough tunics dyed in deep reds and greens, patched with leather and worn cloth, their faces hard and unfamiliar.
They spoke quickly, their voices harsh and clipped in a language Lucien had never heard before.
It wasn't a roar or a scream, but a steady barrage of sounds that rattled like dry leaves in a storm.
Lucien's heart slammed against his ribs.
Panic clawed through his throat like a living thing.
He tried to speak, to call out in the only language he knew — but his voice failed him, cracking and broken.
One of the men stepped forward, eyes cold and sharp like flint.
He raised a hand, palm open, and barked something in their strange tongue.
The circle tightened.
Lucien scrambled backward instinctively but found himself pinned by the cold stone floor behind him and the sharp points of blades inches from his face.
His breath came in ragged bursts.
Fear rose like a storm inside him — but it was quickly swallowed by something worse: confusion.
Why was he here?
What had he done?
The men exchanged looks, voices rising in a harsh argument.
Then, without warning, one of them lunged forward.
Lucien barely had time to flinch before a hard fist crashed into his ribs.
The breath exploded from his lungs in a painful rush.
He collapsed onto his side, coughing, the air burning in his chest.
Before he could recover, another fist struck his jaw, then another slammed into his stomach.
Pain blossomed in sharp, fiery bursts — each blow knocking the wind from him, twisting his vision into dizzying blurs.
He tried to curl into a ball, to protect his fragile body, but they were too many and too fast.
The ground beneath him felt unforgiving and cruel.
Tears burned behind his eyes — not from the pain but from helplessness.
He was just a boy, thirteen years old, trapped in a body that wasn't his own.
A body that was bigger, stronger, but he felt nothing close to powerful.
He was terrified — more than anything, terrified that this was the end.
His parents, his life before, the safety he'd known — all felt impossibly distant, like memories from another world.
He tried to push the pain from his mind, to focus on breathing, but each hit broke through his will like a hammer through glass.
The blows didn't stop.
One man grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat.
Lucien choked back a scream as a rough hand gripped his collar, dragging him to his feet.
His legs wobbled, knees buckling under the sudden weight of his broken body.
The men didn't say a word to him anymore.
They dragged him like an animal, hands tight on his arms, muscles straining with effort.
Lucien's mind reeled — the cave, the water, the food — all vanished like smoke in the wind.
His thoughts became fragmented, scattered between the burning pain in his body and the raw, raw fear rising in his chest.
He saw the harsh sunlight outside the cave, blinding and hot.
The men pushed him forward, across the rocky ridge, toward something hidden beyond the stones.
He stumbled, falling onto his knees once, twice, but each time a boot shoved him up again.
His mouth was dry, the taste of blood thick on his tongue.
His skin was bruised, his body aching in every joint.
And still, the men did not stop.
At last, they reached a crude structure — a small stone building with no windows, a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands.
The stench of decay and dampness seeped through the cracks.
One man shoved the door open and yanked Lucien inside.
The room was small, dark, and empty except for a rough cot against the far wall.
The floor was cold stone, rough and unyielding against his bare feet.
They shoved him inside and slammed the door shut behind him with a final, echoing bang.
Lucien collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath, every muscle trembling.
His head lolled to the side, eyes wide and searching the darkness.
The pain throbbed in slow pulses throughout his body — a relentless reminder of his helplessness.
His heart pounded wildly, a desperate rhythm that refused to slow.
Tears slipped down his cheeks, hot and bitter.
He was alone.
Completely, utterly alone.
No parents. No safety. No answers.
Only the cruel reality of this strange world — where everything he thought he knew had been torn away in a single moment.
And yet, beneath the fear and pain, a faint ember of something else flickered in Lucien's chest.
A stubborn, burning defiance.
He would survive this Trial.
He didn't know how — but he would.
He had to.
Because the world he came from was waiting — and he wasn't ready to give up on it yet.