Emotions are like a deep ocean... beautiful, perhaps, in their vastness, but capable of dragging one down into crushing depths. They promise solace, but deliver only drowning.
Veythor sat on the cold, grimy floor, Raika and Shimi beside him, all three clad in the same dirty, coarse garments. His mind, however, was not on their shared misery, but on the impossible task before him: escape.
He knew nothing of this world, its hidden currents, its treacherous shoals. Time was a relentless enemy, a ticking clock counting down to an unknown fate. And he was up against adults, formidable figures who likely wielded not just brute strength, but also the power of magic.
He was playing this game on an extreme difficulty, a cruel jest from the heavens. Yet, the heavens would never seal all of one's paths; there must always be a way out, a crack in the seemingly impenetrable wall.
Veythor, his mind already racing, suddenly turned to Shimi. "Do you know this place? I mean, where is the exit path, or any kind of way out? And how many guards are there?
"Shimi looked at him for a moment, her gaze holding a mixture of surprise and a faint glimmer of hope.
"I don't know," she finally admitted, her voice soft. "They brought me and Raika at the same time. We only saw one way of exit, and that's the front. We're underground. Up above, you'll only see a big red and white tent, but beneath it, it's a prison for slaves. Plus, we're in a forest, I'm sure about it."
"What about the security of this place?" Veythor pressed, his voice a low, insistent murmur.
Shimi hesitated, then replied, "I don't know exactly, but there are at least thirty to fifty guards."
"Tch."
Veythor clicked his tongue, a sound of profound irritation. The more he learned, the more frustrating this predicament became. There should be a hidden path to get out, damn it.
Suddenly, a thought, sharp and cold, pierced through his frustration. "Shimi, Raika, by any chance, do you have any kind of weapon?"
"What?" Raika's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would someone our age carry any weapons with us?"
"Wait." Shimi's voice cut through Raika's bewildered question, a sudden, unexpected clarity in her tone.Raika looked at her, surprised. "What?"
"I have weapons."
"Huh?!" Raika's exclamation was a sharp, almost comical yelp."Shhhhh." Veythor quickly hushed him, and Raika, surprisingly, immediately fell silent.
"What kind of weapon is it?" Veythor asked, his voice now laced with a keen interest. "It's airbombs."
"Airbombs?" Veythor's eyebrows furrowed, a new wave of confusion washing over him. "How do those things work?" he asked, a hint of impatience in his tone.
"They're pretty much useless in combat," Shimi explained, her voice surprisingly informative. "It's a type of metallic ball with too much loaded air in it, and someone would have to charge it with mana so that it will explode.
It takes five to six seconds to explode, but the problem is, it won't do any damage at all. At most, it can tear off some fingers or break hands or feet. Nothing else.
"Veythor and Raika were both impressed by Shimi's unexpected knowledge and informative abilities.
"But how did you get those things?" Raika asked, his curiosity now outweighing his earlier skepticism.
"My father was a blacksmith," Shimi said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He used to make these things with his own hands…"
"Oh?" Raika asked, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his tone. "Where is your father now?"
Shimi smiled, but her eyes trembled. Beneath her soft expression was a sea of grief she could barely contain.
"He died," she said at last, her voice cracking. "Killed… by the rebel forces. Personally murdered by their king.... Miral Krules."
"I… I'm sorry, Shimi. I shouldn't have asked…" Raika lowered his gaze, regret written across his face.
But Veythor stared at her flatly. No sympathy, no sorrow.
"You must learn to let go," he said, his voice cold and steady. "What good is mourning the dead? Will grief summon them back from the grave?"
Raika's eyes flared with anger. "You heartless bastard! How can you say that to her? She lost her father!"
He stepped forward. "Do you even know what it feels like to lose someone you love... truly love? Oh wait my mistake. You're nothing but a cold, feral beast. I forgot."
"You—"
But before he could finish, Shimi gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Her touch stopped him.
And then Veythor laughed... not out loud, but deep within his heart.
"The feeling of loss? Love? Betrayal?"
He had tasted them all not once but twice.In two lifetimes, he had watched those dearest to him be torn away... some by fate, others by their own treachery. Time and again, he was crushed, burned, betrayed. But what of it?
Even now fate still treated him as nothing more than a ragdoll.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was strangely soft.
"Hope will rot. Mountains will crumble and the ones you love will vanish into dust. But if anything must die last.... let it be your will."
He smiled. A rare, gentle smile Raika and Shimi stood stunned.
They had never seen him smile like that before. Veythor, always so cold, so distant... was capable of something… human?
But the moment passed, and the coldness returned.
The chapter ends here, yet their journey has only begun.
How will they escape?
What is Veythor's next plan?
And how will he fight the fate that binds him like chains of iron?
The answers remain unwritten… for now.