Huff… sob…
"I-it's just a b-bread…"
A young, skinny boy with pale skin, brown hair, and black eyes trembled on the platform, staring down into the yawning Chasm below. Naked, shivering, his body was etched with faint scars from head to toe, except for his face, untouched by violence.
He looked up. His parents' eyes burned with hatred.
"You've been a failure from the start," his mother spat, stepping closer. "A useless mouth to feed. Every bite you've stolen, every breath you've taken… wasted on you."
"M-Mother… please…" Silas stammered, voice trembling.
"Silence!" she snapped. "Don't speak to me like that. You bring nothing but shame. Weak. Pathetic. You can't even earn a living with your face, and now… you dare to steal from me?"
His father's hollow laugh cut through the air. "We've carried you out of… some foolish sentiment. But the world doesn't care for weaklings. You're worthless. And we won't mourn you."
"Father… please…" Silas's chest tightened, the words catching in his throat.
"You'll die," his father said casually, as if announcing the weather. "And we'll survive. Maybe even feel lighter. Thanks to you, we gained some coin. Thanks to Lord Cavelar."
"You deserve to fall," his mother added, her voice almost smiling. "To be torn apart by the creatures you've always feared. And we'll sit here, warm and fed, knowing your weakness brought you here."
Silas stared. Disbelief and pain rooted him to the spot. The people who were supposed to protect him had sold him, abandoned him.
Around him, the crowd of humans, elves, and dwarves either avoided eye contact, remained silent, or looked on with muted sympathy. No one moved. No one would save him. Slaveborns had no rights.
Today, he would be the sacrifice.
Hours earlier
Silas crouched behind a crate, hiding a small loaf of bread. The scent of warmth burned in his nose—a luxury he hadn't felt in years. Voices erupted in the next room, sharp and jagged like broken glass.
"Silas! Did you hide food again?!" his mother hissed, her voice dripping venom. "Do you think I don't notice? You greedy, worthless child! Every crumb you steal, every bite you hoard—don't think I won't see it. Don't think you can outsmart me!"
Before Silas could stammer a response, the door burst open. His father's face twisted in fury, eyes dark as coal. He shoved his mother aside as though she were nothing, and stormed into the room. His boots thudded against the floor like war drums.
"You dare steal from us?!" he bellowed, voice booming, echoing off the walls. "You dare defy us!? After everything we've done for you, you show us only disrespect? You dare claim that loaf of bread as your own?!"
He stepped closer, each measured pace a threat. His shadow stretched across Silas, swallowing him in its darkness. "Look at you! Skinny, pale, useless! Do you think the world owes you anything? Do you think you've earned even a fraction of what we've given you?"
"I—I earned it myself… in the brothel!" Silas stammered, voice shaking, barely more than a whisper, but the words rang out like defiance against a storm.
SLAP!
Pain exploded across his cheek. His head snapped to the side, vision swimming. He stumbled backward, only to be met by a vicious kick to the gut. The brittle wooden door splintered beneath him, and he crashed onto the floor, gasping for air.
"You still dare to talk back!?" his father roared, each word a hammer driving into Silas's chest. Fists and boots rained down, crushing his ribs, forcing the air from his lungs. Blood trickled from his lips, and his vision blurred.
"You think what you earn is yours?!" his father spat, leaning down until his face was inches from Silas's. "Everything, boy! Everything belongs to us! Your sweat, your pain, your life—ours! And we will take it all! You're nothing! You are nothing!"
Silas tried to cry out, tried to curl up, tried to shield himself from the relentless assault—but the world spun violently. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision. Every heartbeat was agony. Every breath was a struggle, each one rasping and wet with pain.
The Chasm
Silas woke with a start, every nerve screaming. Iron cuffs bit into his wrists, cutting deep, and blood already seeped into the cold links. Pain radiated through his arms, but it was nothing compared to the betrayal that churned in his chest. His parents had sold him without hesitation. The fragile trust he had clung to all his life was shattered, crushed beneath their greed.
Rough hands dragged him forward, the wind from the Chasm whipping at his face, carrying with it the stench of decay and death. Darkness stretched below, endless and swallowing. Eyes glinted from the shadows, teeth gnawed in the distance, and monstrous shapes shifted in the black. Here, even the strongest Awakened had fallen. Here, the world devoured those who were weak.
Fear surged like fire in Silas's chest. He twisted, struggling to wrench himself free, but a rough hand clamped onto his shoulder, unyielding. Panic flared, muscles coiled, heart pounding like a war drum, but before he could react, a powerful kick slammed into his back, driving the air from his lungs. Pain radiated through every bone, and he stumbled forward, teetering on the edge.
Below, the abyss yawned, black and infinite. Shadows shifted within, and something moved, a hulking, unnatural shape. Patient. Hungry. Watching.
Then, without warning, he fell.
The world spun. Air cut his skin like knives. Rocks clawed at him as he plummeted. Fear and pain fused into a single, all-consuming scream that tore from his throat. Jagged rocks shredded his skin. Pain screamed through every nerve.
He twisted mid-air, desperate for something to hold. The chain around his wrists caught on a sharp jutting rock. The sudden stop, combined with the velocity of the drop, his weight tore flesh, strained muscles, and shattered bones. His thin wrists could not withstand it; they tore apart, leaving the chain dangling with his hands trapped in its links and blood dripping onto the rocks below.
Agonized and battered, Silas falls further. Pain consumed him. Vision blurred. Consciousness teetered on the edge.
A fleeting dream
He dreamed of a life he had never known: a kind family, warm meals, soup that chased away the cold, and a small stuffed toy pressed against his chest. A life where he belonged.
But dreams do not last.
Silas woke, cold biting through his broken body, pain screaming in every nerve. He gasped, trying to breathe, shivering violently.
Then he felt it. Something massive is moving in the shadows, wrong in ways the world should not allow. His instincts screamed. His heart pounded.
The chain above him swayed lightly, creaking. He barely moved, but he saw it, a hulking silhouette, hunched, sharp-edged, eyes gleaming with malice. Shadows twisted with it. Each step shook the rocks beneath him.
Silas's breath caught in his throat. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, to scramble away from the edge, but his body refused. Both arms throbbed with pain, torn and useless, and every nerve felt like fire. His legs wobbled beneath him, knees weak, muscles trembling, as if the slightest movement would topple him into the waiting darkness below.
A guttural growl rolled through the shadows, low and menacing, vibrating through the stones beneath him. It was close. Too close. Each breath he drew tasted of iron and fear, and his heart hammered so violently he thought it might burst from his chest.
The wind from the Chasm clawed at him, cold and biting, carrying with it the stench of decay and teeth that waited. He could feel the presence of something massive moving, circling, patient, and he knew it was aware of him.
Silas's mind screamed for a solution, but his body betrayed him. All he could do was sway on the edge, blood dripping from raw wrists, broken bones screaming for release. Every second stretched into eternity as the growl deepened, now joined by wet, rasping sounds from the shadows.
And then, from the darkness below, two glowing eyes fixed on him, unblinking and hungry. The creature stepped closer, and the shadows around it writhed as if alive.
Tonight, he would either survive… or vanish into the abyss, and nothing could warn him which fate awaited first.