Kresos woke slowly.
Each breath came slow. Thick. Heavy. His head throbbed with a deep, muffled pain—like someone pounding on the inside of his skull with a hammer. Cold air bit at his skin. When he shifted, the sharp ache in his ribs answered first.
Then came the rest.
He opened his eyes.
Light blurred into color. Shapes sharpened. Bars—twisted, rusted, uneven. A cage. The sky above was pale and bloated with clouds, the kind that promised rain before long. Around the cage, jagged stone walls jutted like broken teeth—ruins of something that had once been proud. A fortress, maybe.
Now it was just rot and moss.
He tried to sit up.
That's when it hit him.
He was naked.
Nothing. Not even a strip of cloth.
His stomach clenched. He curled forward on instinct, arms crossing over himself as heat flushed across his face.
Then he noticed the others.
Two pairs of eyes. Watching.
One cautious. One curious.
A boy—no older than ten—sat in the far corner, thin, arms wrapped around his knees like a shield. Dark eyes, hollow and alert. Beside him, a girl maybe two years older than Kresos. Thick, curly brown hair that tumbles in lively spirals around her face. Freckles across her cheeks. A very beautiful girl. She leaned against the bars with tired posture, but sharp eyes.
She was naked too.
So was the boy.
Kresos looked away fast, face burning. He shifted his position to hide everything he could.
The girl let out a short chuckle. Dry. Not cruel. Just exhausted.
"You've been out for hours. Trust me—there's nothing I haven't seen."
Her voice held a crackle. Like something once smooth, now chipped at the edges.
Kresos didn't answer right away. His throat was dry, mouth worse. He swallowed, then looked at her, before turning his head quickly, looking the other way.
"I... I didn't mean—"
"Relax," she cut in, waving a hand. "We're a little past shame, don't you think?"
The boy said nothing. Just stared. Silent as stone.
The girl shifted, brushing mud off her leg like it mattered.
"I'm Rhea," she said. "This is my brother, Tommy."
Kresos nodded once. Still stiff. Still curled tight.
"Kresos."
Silence lingered. Then—
"Do you know where we are?"
Rhea's face shifted. The humor vanished.
"No," she said quietly. "Not exactly."
She looked down at her hands. Rubbed at a bruise on her arm.
"Three days ago—maybe four—we were headed to Mirkull. Me, Tommy, our dad, and my uncle. We're from a little fishing village on the coast. Nothing special."
Her voice cracked on the word dad.
"They hit us on the road. Bandits. Just... came out of nowhere. My dad and uncle fought. Tried to buy us time..."
She didn't finish. Didn't have to.
The look in her eyes said the rest—like she'd watched it happen again every night since.
Kresos sat still, jaw tight, heart sinking.
"The bandits kept us alive. For better or worse," she said after a moment. "Said we'd sell better that way. Dragged us here. There's a lot of them—I've seen at least two dozens different faces. This place…" She glanced around the ruins. "Feels like a nest. Like they've been using it for a while."
Her eyes found his. Harder now. Focused.
"They're going to sell us. Slavery, if we're lucky."
Tommy flinched, shrinking deeper into himself.
Kresos clenched his fists in the dirt.
He had run. Escaped. Had finally felt in control of his destiny.
And landed in another cage.
Another prison.
Just colder. Crueler. Stripped of even the illusion of safety.
*****
The sun sank lower, bleeding rust-orange into the shattered walls around them. The wind cut sharp through the stones. It carried the scent of old fire. Mold. Death.
Kresos didn't move.
He sat with knees pulled tight to his chest, arms wrapped around them. He hadn't spoken since Rhea's story. Neither had she. The quiet wasn't heavy.
It was hollow.
Tommy had cried himself to sleep against her leg. She stroked his hair gently, whispering something too soft to hear. A lullaby, maybe. Or just a memory.
Then came the rain.
It began as a whisper.
Then a patter.
Then a downpour.
Cold water slipped between the bars, slid down his skin, turned the dirt to soup. Kresos flinched. He hadn't realized how cold he was until the rain made it worse.
Across the cage, Rhea looked up.
"You'll freeze over there," she said. Voice quiet. Even. "Come over here, we can keep each other warm."
He shook his head. "I'm fine."
She gave him a look. Raised an eyebrow. "That's not what your teeth are saying."
He blinked. Realized he was clenching his jaw hard enough to hurt.
"Still fine," he muttered.
She didn't push it. Just shifted a bit to shelter her brother more with her body.
The silence returned, softened now by the sound of rain.
Then—
"You from the capital?"
Kresos didn't answer at first. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was how she asked—no judgment, no prying. Just... human.
"Yeah," he said finally.
"What were you doing out here?"
"Leaving."
"Running away?"
He almost smiled. Almost.
"No. Running toward something. I just don't know what yet."
She laughed once, the smallest sound.
"That sounds like someone pretending they kinda know what they're doing."
He looked up. Expected mockery. Found none.
Just tired humor. Shared weight.
"You're not wrong."
Rhea nodded.
"You don't have to tell me. Not unless you want to."
He hesitated.
Then—
"She died. My mother."
Rhea's face softened.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he said. "It was a long time ago. She was the only one who ever believed in me. Believed I could be something more than… this."
"You loved her, and she loved you."
Kresos nodded.
"Yeah."
Then he blinked, looked away.
"I shouldn't be complaining. You've been through worse. I'm sorry."
She shook her head.
"Don't be. Everyone's got demons. Doesn't matter if they're old or new."
The rain kept falling. The cage didn't feel any bigger.
But the silence between them changed.
Kresos shifted.
Inched closer.
Said nothing.
Didn't need to.
He sat beside them—close enough to share warmth, close enough to feel the beat of another heart. Tommy stirred, reaching in his sleep. His small hand brushed Kresos' arm.
Kresos didn't move.
Rhea looked over.
No pity. No fear.
Just understanding.
The storm passed.
And when it did, the silence left behind was no longer empty.
It was shared.