The clanking of chains made Jyoti's chest jump, like when a door suddenly slams in silence. Each sharp echo crawled under her skin. She had been bound in iron before—dragged, pulled, bruised—but this noise felt different. It was heavier, restless, and it drew her closer to the rubble, tempting her to climb, to clutch the chain, to run.
For a moment the idea shone bright: climb the chain, swing free, breathe air again. But as soon as it lit her mind, it dimmed. Those who dropped the boxes into this pit weren't careless. A chain that looked like a ladder was most likely bait. These boxes came down full, and the beasts came with them. If she tried to climb too soon, she would only deliver herself into waiting jaws.
So she studied instead. The chain's movements were like ripples across water—small shifts carrying hidden meanings to anyone patient enough to notice. It groaned under strain, each vibration speaking to her in ways her eyes could not. Near her hiding place, the metal's tone changed, like a whisper breaking through silence. She felt the lives inside the box: five steady pulses, and one quicker, lighter beat. Five grown bodies and one thin, fragile boy, pressed together in suffocating closeness. His aura was so still it could barely be felt—cool, calm, collected—like the moon, bright in truth but eclipsed for now. She could almost picture their hollow frames, the weak rise and fall of their chests dulled by hunger. Only the boy stirred, a faint flicker like a candle struggling against the dark.
The truth hit her hard. They were worse than her—emptied out, barely holding on. Starvation had sunk its teeth into them. If nothing changed, they would fade away long before any beast touched them. Jyoti wanted to help, to pry open the iron, to drag them out—but she knew it would mean her death. The box wasn't a prison by mistake. It was a lure, She could only wait.
Waiting became its own strain. She pressed herself against the jagged edges, body held tight. Drops of water fell at intervals, claws scraped faintly in the distance, and the chain whined as it shifted. She marked each sound, noting the changes, the pauses, the weight in the air. Time moved slowly, each moment stretching into the next, and the cavern revealed itself less as silence and more as a pattern she had to read.
Then came the grind of machinery. She froze. A deep, heavy groan rolled down from above, metal grinding, an engine coughing. The chain moaned as the box descended. Suddenly, the line unhooked from the box. It recoiled upward with a scream, snapping back so quickly it cut through the air. The end whipped through the dark, spinning wildly, like something running from danger.
Movement erupted on the far side. Fast, heavy steps echoed like drums, followed by a shriek that made the floor shake under her feet. Jyoti flattened herself deeper into the rubble. Shapes burst into view—monsters racing together, their claws scraping, their mouths spilling high-pitched cries. One leapt, slammed into the box, then hurled itself upward, snapping at the chain as it swung away. Another caught the chain for a moment, dragging itself upwards with it before its grip failed. It tumbled, hitting the ground with a crack that rattled bones.
Inside the box, the people screamed—muffled and broken.They scared to their cores from the unseen commotions. The beasts scrambled, claws slipping. Two fell hard, crashing into the cavern floor. The sound of their bodies hitting echoed like rocks dropped into a dry well. They groaned but did not die.
Jyoti watched with dread. These beasts weren't just attacking. They were trying to master the machine. If they learned to climb the chains, no one would be safe. A new fear pressed down on her chest—the pit itself wasn't just a prison for her but to these monstrosities alike.
Three of the creatures remained near the pile. Two were smaller, lean and quick like wild dogs snapping at scraps. The third loomed taller, heavier, and Jyoti's stomach dropped. She knew that one. It was the same beast she had escaped before—bigger, stronger, its eyes colder. It walked with slow confidence, each step claiming the ground.
The smaller beasts circled with restless energy, letting out short, sharp cries as though expecting commands. The larger one dragged its snout along the boxes, inhaling in long, deliberate breaths. Suddenly, one of the smaller creatures snapped its head toward Jyoti's hiding place. Its gaze cut across the rubble, landing where she crouched. Her lungs seized. For a heartbeat she was certain its eyes had locked onto hers. Then, as if uninterested, it turned away. The moment passed, but the terror stayed—her chest throbbed, each pulse so loud she feared it would draw them closer.
She wanted to vanish into the shadows, these creatures' presence pressed on jyoti like claws gripping around her neck. Breathless, sweating, gasping for air.
The leader raised its arm and struck a box with a blow so strong the iron bent inward. The vibration shuddered up through the rubble and into Jyoti's hands. The beast was testing, like someone pressing a wall to find its weakness.
The smaller beasts growled low, eager. The leader struck again. First a dent, then a crack, then a final blow that tore the box apart. The sound of rending metal split the cavern. A sour stench spilled into the air, the smell of sweat, breath, and decay trapped too long.
Silence followed. Jyoti's ears rang. Two things reached her in that pause: the faint whine of the chain still spinning above, and the soft cries coming from the broken box. Then the large beast pushed its snout into the gap. Inside, hands moved weakly, pushing at the torn metal.
All of them slumped into visibility. Their bodies gaunt and fragile, covered with minimal rags barely clinging to them. They were chained together, shivering, weak, too drained to resist or cry out. The boy, thin and fragile beyond all others, pressed behind them, like a hidden moon—cool, calm, collected, visible only to those who could sense it . Even among the suffering, he radiated a quiet, unshakable calm, his composure distinct from the hopelessness of the others, as if the fear around him could not touch his steady core.
The boy was not sitting plainly in the open. He had pressed himself behind the weakest of the half-dead, hiding his thin frame in their shadow as if to erase himself. Jyoti could not see him, but she felt him—his presence undeniable, heavy in the air though his body was slight. She was not even sure if it was a boy or girl, but the figure moved with a nimble caution, using the dying as a cover so the beasts would not catch his outline.
Jyoti's body tensed. Every part of her ached to spring forward, to tear the box open, to reach the hidden figure. She couldn't bear seeing it, but she had to. Not wanting to risk saving them foolishly, her mind focused on escaping, to see and take as much from this as possible. One wrong move would make her the next victim. She reminded herself of the hard lesson she had already learned here: survive by moving only when the world permitted it. Otherwise, remain invisible.
The large beast sniffed the cluster, brushing its snout over their frightened faces, not yet biting. It was like a cruel game, drawing out fear. The smaller beasts whined, pacing, their teeth flashing as they waited for their chance.
Jyoti understood then. The monsters weren't only feeding. They were learning—studying how boxes broke, how chains moved, how far prey could last. The pit wasn't only a trap for humans. It was teaching the beasts as well. And that made it more dangerous than ever.
The low growls of the beasts rumbled like an argument, but Jyoti pressed lower, shutting her eyes. Her body ached with hunger, her ears still buzzed from the screeches, but under all of it something steadier formed. She now knew how the chain sang when heavy, how it shifted under strain, where the breaks might come. Knowledge wouldn't feed her, but it could keep her alive.
A faint movement caught her attention.
She froze in disbelief.