"What do you mean… an exit?"
The boy's voice was low, confused, his violet eyes fixed on the girl and the taller boy standing before him. They were huddled near a dirt-caked wall deep within the tunnels, bodies pressed close, breathing slowed to avoid drawing attention. The air was thick with dust and sweat, yet something else lingered—anticipation.
The taller boy spoke first. "We found it."
The boy tilted his head. For a moment, the crushing exhaustion in his limbs seemed to fade. Dust clung to his arms, his fingers trembling faintly. Beside him, the girl nodded, her hands twitching nervously as if she couldn't keep still.
"Behind the overseers' rest room," she whispered. "There's a crack in the wall. Not just a crack—a tunnel."
The boy's eyes widened. "Behind the rest room…?" His voice rose despite himself. "Are you serious? How did you even find something like that?"
"We stumbled on it by accident," the taller boy said. His tone was steady, firm—too firm. "But I'm sure. That's the way out."
Confidence surged from his words, as if certainty alone could make it true.
The boy frowned. "And what makes you so sure?"
The taller boy answered with a single word.
"Fresh air."
Silence fell.
Fresh air.
Something the boy barely remembered anymore. Something that didn't stink of rot, sweat, and despair. His chest tightened. That alone made it sound real—made it dangerous to doubt.
The girl swallowed hard. "We saw it. And the overseers don't guard that area at night."
The boy exhaled slowly, his breath shaky. Freedom—real freedom—was suddenly within reach. He looked down at his hands, still filthy from a full day of mining, knuckles raw and split.
Escape.
The word felt unreal.
"We go tonight," the taller boy said quietly. "After everyone's asleep."
The girl looked between them, fear and hope warring in her eyes. "Together."
The boy hesitated.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
Footsteps.
The sound sliced through the tunnel like a blade.
All three of them froze.
Before they could even turn, a whip cracked through the air, snapping stone where their heads had been moments ago. They staggered back, hearts hammering, breath caught in their throats.
A torch flared.
An overseer stood there, his face twisted into a cruel smile, eyes gleaming with amusement rather than anger.
The boy's blood turned cold.
Did he hear us?
If he had… this wasn't punishment. This was death. His skin slicked with sweat as his thoughts spiraled, every escape dream shattering in an instant.
But the overseer only scoffed.
"What're you brats doing awake?" he said lazily. "Get to sleep. You'll need your strength tomorrow, gotta mine your life away, remember?"
Relief hit them like a collapsing wall.
They lowered their heads immediately and retreated toward the sleeping area, careful not to make a sound. As they passed one another, they exchanged quick glances—silent understanding. Tonight.
The overseer turned to leave.
Then he stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
"What's that?"
The boy felt it before he understood it—the faint warmth at his chest, the dull purple glow slipping free from beneath his torn shirt.
The overseer moved fast.
Rough hands seized the cord around the boy's neck and yanked. Pain flared as the bead tore free, the string biting into skin.
"No—!" The boy reached out, panic flooding his chest.
He was shoved back without effort, thrown to the ground like discarded scrap. The impact rattled his bones, breath ripped from his lungs.
The overseer laughed, rolling the bead between his fingers. "Didn't know trash carried jewelry."
"Give it back," the boy choked, scrambling forward. "Please—give it back."
The overseer didn't answer.
Still laughing, he turned and walked away, the purple glow vanishing into the dark.
The boy lay there, shaking, fingers clawing uselessly at the stone.
The bead was gone.
And with it, something deeper—something that felt like his last promise.
The night passed without rest.
The girl knelt beside him, her hands shaking as she cleaned the blood from his split lip with a torn scrap of cloth. She tried to be gentle, but every touch made him flinch. The taller boy stood nearby, back to the wall, jaw clenched, eyes sharp, watching the darkness like it might move.
"We still go," the taller boy said quietly. "Tomorrow."
The boy didn't answer. He just stared at his empty hand, fingers curling as if something should still be there.
Morning came.
They worked.
Stone shattered beneath picks. Dust filled lungs. Whips cracked. Hours bled together until pain became dull and thought became distant. Then, at last, night returned—heavy, silent, waiting.
This was it.
One by one, the overseers drifted away to other posts. Laughter faded. Footsteps disappeared. The restroom stood unguarded, just as they'd said. Behind it, hidden in shadow, the narrow crack yawned open like a promise.
This time, they were careful.
The girl went first, breathing shallow. The taller boy followed. The boy walked last—until he stopped.
"Go," he said suddenly.
They turned, confused.
"Aren't you coming?" the taller boy whispered.
The girl's eyes widened. "Don't joke. Come with us."
The boy shook his head slowly. "No."
"But why?" the taller boy asked, urgency creeping into his voice.
The girl grabbed his arm. "Please."
He swallowed. His mother's face flashed in his mind—tired, smiling, trusting. Keep it with you. For my sake.
"They took it," he said quietly. "And… I can't leave the others. Not like this."
"You'll die here," the girl whispered, tears breaking free.
"Maybe," he replied. "But I'm not running."
They stared at him in silence.
Finally, the taller boy exhaled and nodded. "Very well."
They clasped hands—tight, brief, final.
"Good luck," he said.
With one last, bitter smile, they turned and slipped into the tunnel, believing that freedom waited just ahead.
The boy returned to the sleeping quarters alone.
He lowered himself onto the thin strip of cloth that passed for his bed, the cold stone pressing through it. His chest felt tight. (Did I make the wrong choice?) His eyes drifted to the darkness where the tunnel lay hidden. For a moment, he thought about standing up, about running back, about calling their names.
He didn't.
A soft shuffle sounded nearby. The old elder emerged from the shadows, leaning on his stick, eyes sharp despite his age.
"What are you doing up so late, boy?" he asked.
"I was just… going to sleep," the boy replied, forcing his voice steady.
The elder hummed, then glanced around. "Funny. That girl and the tall one aren't here. Maybe they're out there having fun, eh?" He chuckled quietly. "Love birds, perhaps."
The boy stiffened. "Don't tell anyone," he whispered. "But… they're escaping."
"Haaaa—escape!" the elder blurted out, his voice rising with sudden excitement.
"Shh!" the boy hissed, panic flashing in his eyes.
The elder blinked, then leaned closer. "Escaping? How? And why didn't you go?"
The boy looked down. "I don't think escaping alone will change much. They found an exit...do.. you wanted to go too?"
The elder laughed softly, shaking his head. "Me? An old timer like me? There's nothing out there for me anymore."
Then his smile faded. "Still… where is this exit?"
"Behind the restroom," the boy said. "A tunnel. It leads to fresh air."
The elder froze.
His grip tightened on the stick. "Fools," he muttered. "That's no exit."
The boy's heart dropped. "What?"
"I've seen this before," the elder said grimly. "Years ago. Those bastards did the same thing. A fake hope. A trap."
Sweat ran down the boy's spine.
"Go," the elder snapped suddenly. "Go and stop them!"
The boy bolted.
Inside the tunnel, the girl and the taller boy moved forward, breath quickening as cool air brushed their faces.
"Finally," the taller boy whispered, relief breaking through. "Just a little more."
The girl hesitated, glancing back into the darkness. "We left him behind," she said softly. "I'm worried."
He smiled, gentle and sure. "Once we're free, we'll come back for him."
She nodded, forcing a smile of her own as they stepped forward.
They didn't see the shadows shift.
They didn't see Crass and his men watching silently, their forms swallowed by darkness—only their smiles visible, sharp and patient, like predators waiting to strike.
To be confinued.....