Long before this night, long before whispers of freedom slithered through the tunnels, the mines had been the same.
The stone had not softened.
The dust still clung to skin and breath alike.
Chains still whispered against ankles, a constant reminder that even silence belonged to someone else.
Back then, another batch of slaves had been dragged into the depths—new ones, fresh from the outside. Their eyes still held the sky in them. Their hands still remembered soil instead of stone.
They worked without complaint at first. They believed this was simply how life would be now—days spent mining, nights spent sleeping on cold ground, waiting for tomorrow to be no different.
Until one night, when one of them spoke.
He gathered them quietly, pulling them close beneath the broken shadow of a collapsed wall. Faces leaned in, hollow-cheeked and hopeful, waiting.
"There's an exit," he whispered.
The word alone was dangerous.
"Behind the overseers' restrooms," he continued. "A crack. A tunnel. I felt air."
Silence followed.
Then breathing quickened. Eyes widened. Hands shook.
Hope—raw and reckless—spread between them.
They talked in hushed voices, planning, imagining the sun, the wind, freedom. Some laughed quietly. Others cried. A few prayed.
But one among them shook his head.
"No," he said softly. "I won't go."
They stared at him.
"You're afraid," someone spat.
"A fool," another sneered. "You've already given up."
He didn't argue. He simply lay down and turned away, pressing his face to the stone. Behind him, the others whispered excitedly, promising to come back for him once they were free.
That night, they left.
They laughed as they went. Danced quietly in the dark. Freedom was close enough to taste.
Morning came.
They were dragged out before the others. Forced to their knees. Overseers stood tall, voices calm as they spoke of obedience, of order, of what awaited those who stepped out of line.
No mercy followed.
The one who stayed watched from the side, frozen, unable to look away. His heart shattered with every scream he swallowed. His eyes burned as life spilled onto stone where hope had stood only hours before.
He learned something that day.
Hope was a weapon.
And the overseers loved using it.
—
The memory snapped back into the present.
The elder's eyes widened as he watched the boy sprint past him, breath ragged, desperation carved into his face.
Not again, he thought.
Please… not again.
His hands trembled as he whispered a prayer he no longer believed in—that this time, the children would not meet the same fate.
That this time, the story would end differently.
The tunnel swallowed them whole.
Stone pressed in from every side, damp and uneven, the ceiling low enough that the taller boy had to hunch as they moved forward. Their breaths echoed too loudly, each inhale sounding like a betrayal. The girl clutched her sleeve, fingers white, eyes darting between shadows that seemed to shift with every step.
"Slowly," the taller boy whispered, though his voice trembled.
The air changed as they went deeper.
It wasn't freedom yet—but it was different. Cooler. Thinner. It brushed against their faces like a promise that didn't dare speak its name. The girl noticed it first, her steps faltering.
"Do you feel that?" she whispered.
He nodded. "Yeah… air."
Hope surged again, dangerous and intoxicating. Their pace quickened despite themselves, bare feet slipping against stone worn smooth by time and lies. Water dripped somewhere ahead, each drop counting the seconds they had left.
The tunnel narrowed.
Their shoulders brushed the walls now, skin scraping against rock. The girl winced but didn't cry out. She refused to make a sound—not now, not when they were this close.
"I'm scared," she admitted, barely audible.
The taller boy glanced back, forcing a smile he didn't feel. "Me too. But we're still going."
They turned a bend—
And light appeared.
Faint at first. A dull glow dancing against stone, flickering like a heartbeat. The girl gasped, covering her mouth. Tears welled instantly, unbidden.
"Is that…?" she started.
"The sun," he said without thinking. "It has to be."
They ran.
Bare feet slapped against the ground, hearts pounding, laughter threatening to break free. Freedom was right there—just a little further, just past the curve—
But as they drew closer, something felt wrong.
The light didn't warm.
It crackled.
And then the taller boy slowed, dread flooding his chest.
"Wait… is it morning already?" the taller boy whispered, dread creeping in as the light flickered unnaturally, too cold, too steady, nothing like the sun. And the shadows behind it moved.
Laughter echoed down the tunnel.
"Well, well," a familiar voice drawled. "Look what wandered into my nest."
Crass stepped forward, torchlight painting his grin in gold. Overseers flanked him, eyes sharp, weapons resting easily in their hands.
The girl stumbled back.
"No…" she whispered. "No, no, no—"
"Run!" the taller boy shouted.
They turned.
Too late.
The girl's foot caught on uneven stone. She fell hard, pain screaming through her knee. She cried out, scrambling to rise—but her leg refused.
The taller boy stopped.
For one terrible moment, he hesitated.
"No!" she screamed at him, tears streaming down her face. "Please—NO!"
Crass laughed louder.
"Smart girl," he said. "Shame."
The taller boy clenched his fists, shaking, then turned and ran, sobbing as his footsteps faded into the dark.
The girl pressed herself against the stone, heart pounding as shadows closed in.
Crass approached slowly.
"This," he said cheerfully, "is why rules exist."
She squeezed her eyes ping.
Crass licked his lips slowly, eyes gleaming as he stepped forward. "Let's have some fun," he said. Laughter rippled behind him, cruel and eager, the overseers grinning like hunters who had already cornered their prey.
Something struck Crass square in the face.
The impact was sharp enough to make him stumble back, torch wavering as he cursed, clutching his nose.
"What the—"
The overseers froze.
Crass lowered his hand slowly, eyes blazing.
And there he stood.
The boy.
Purple hair dusted white, chest heaving, hands trembling—but planted firmly between Crass and the girl.
The girl's eyes flew open.
"You—" she gasped. "Why are you here?! Run! You'll die!"
The boy didn't move.
"If we run," he said quietly, "they'll catch us. If we hide, they'll hunt us."
He swallowed.
"So… we fight."
Crass stared at him for a long second.
Then he laughed.
"Oh, this is rich."
He reached to his belt and drew a dagger—not rushing, not angry—just amused. He tossed it forward. It clattered against stone, stopping at the boy's feet.
"Pick it up," Crass said. "Let's see how brave you really are."
The overseers shifted uneasily.
"Boss," one muttered, "why bother—"
"Quiet," Crass snapped without looking away. "This one's interesting."
The boy didn't pick up the dagger.
His eyes locked onto something else.
Around another overseer's neck.
A purple bead.
His bead.
"You," the boy breathed. "You took it."
The overseer stiffened, instinctively covering it. "It's nothing—"
Crass turned slowly.
"…You hiding things from me?"
Before the overseer could speak, Crass struck him across the head. The man fell back with a grunt as Crass tore the bead free.
He examined it, turning it between thick fingers.
"Huh," he muttered. "Shiny."
Then, deliberately, he slipped it around his own neck.
The boy's heart stopped.
Crass leaned down until they were eye level, grin wide and cruel.
"You grew attached to this, didn't you?" he said softly. "Funny thing about attachments."
He tapped the bead once.
"You want it back, kid?"
The boy nodded, fists clenched.
Crass smiled wider.
"Then take it."
His finger traced slowly across his own throat.
"You know where it is."
The tunnel went silent.
The boy stood frozen, breath shallow, the weight of every choice crushing down on him.
Behind him, the girl whispered his name.
Ahead of him, Crass waited.
Smiling.
To be continued.....