"Lucon, get up! We have a lot of work to do," called a man, already gearing up for the mining shift.
"I'll be right up, you go on, Noah," Lucon replied in a soft, sleepy tone. He pushed himself upright, walking stiffly toward a barrel of water, each step heavy as though the morning stiffness had taken hold, along with the lingering ache from his dream.
He splashed water on his face and muttered to himself, "Another day."
Grabbing his gear, he stepped out of the shabby room, only to be met by a gust of wind so strong it momentarily erased all his aches.
"Lucon, quit daydreaming," Noah said, a teasing grin spreading across his face.
"Aye, aye… I'm awake, don't worry," Lucon replied in a calm, normal tone.
They followed the other prisoners, all attached to a single shackle, moving one by one in a line. The soldier marching ahead barked in a commanding voice, "What are the three rules you must follow?"
"We must work until we are told to stop… we must not run away… and we must obey," all the prisoners said in synchrony.
"What happens if you fail?" barked the soldier again.
"We will face punishment," replied the prisoners. The prisoners were then taken to the mines to work.
They shuffled forward, the heavy iron shackle clinking with each step, the morning air biting at their skin. Some prisoners whispered under their breaths, while others trudged silently, eyes fixed on the ground.
"Another long day ahead," muttered one man, his voice hoarse. "I swear my arms feel heavier every morning."
"Quiet, or the soldier hears," hissed a younger prisoner, glancing nervously over his shoulder.
Noah leaned slightly toward Lucon, his grin faint but mischievous. "Bet you'll fall asleep by noon if you keep staring at the clouds like yesterday."
Lucon smirked faintly, keeping his voice low. "Better to dream than to think about what awaits in the tunnels."
A small group of prisoners ahead complained about the cold and the weight of their shackles, while others grumbled at the sheer distance to the mines. Every step was measured, cautious, for fear of punishment.
"Keep moving! No dawdling!" the soldier shouted from ahead, and the line of prisoners tightened, forcing their pace.
"Tell me," whispered another prisoner to Lucon as they passed a wind-swept hill, "how long have you been here?"
"Long enough to know that complaining doesn't change a thing," Lucon replied quietly, eyes forward, feeling the wind tug at his cloak.
They arrived at the mines and saw a prisoner from the night shift being dragged away for fainting as punishment.
The entrance to the mines loomed ahead, dark and cold. The prisoners went silent as they saw the man, bruised and bloody, dragged out. The soldiers pushed him roughly to his knees, shouting and swinging their batons. His weak cries echoed through the morning air, and everyone instinctively huddled closer together.
Noah muttered, "That could be any one of us… tomorrow."
Lucon said nothing. He followed the line, shuffling forward with the others. His shoulders were heavy, and his thoughts dragged him down like stones. Dreams and plans had no place here. All that mattered was surviving, doing what the soldiers said, and not drawing attention.
"Keep moving!" shouted the soldier in front. Lucon obeyed without a word, his grip tightening on the shackle as he fell into step.
Lucon stepped into the mine, the air thick with dust and the faint smell of sweat and stone. The dim light barely reached the workers bent over their pickaxes. He fell into rhythm with the others, swinging the heavy tool, striking stone after stone, feeling the sting in his arms and the ache in his back.
Each strike seemed to echo in his mind, a hollow rhythm that matched the emptiness he felt inside. He looked around at the other prisoners, their faces drawn with exhaustion and fear. They had something to fight for—survival, revenge, or escape—but Lucon had nothing.
Every day while mining, all he felt was nothingness, no purpose to live. All he did was follow orders.
One day, as the endless rhythm of pickaxes struck stone, Lucon heard Noah's cries echoing faintly through the tunnels. At first, he thought it was another prisoner, but the strained, desperate voice was unmistakable.
Frantically, Lucon crawled through the dust and swinging pickaxes, calling his friend's name. His voice caught in his throat as he reached the far corner of the mine, where a small crowd had gathered.
He parted the prisoners and froze. Noah lay on the ground, his body bruised and battered, blood staining his shirt and pooling on the stone floor. The soldiers were gone, leaving only the lifeless weight of his friend behind.
Lucon fell to his knees, gripping Noah's cold hand, shock and grief twisting inside him. The emptiness he had carried for months now flared into something sharp—anger, guilt. He felt emotion after years of being a stone.
He rushed toward the soldier but was beaten, his body already weak from exhaustion and lack of food. Thinking they both were dead, the soldiers threw them in a trench.
Lucon woke up beside his cold friend, tears burning his eyes. "I should have listened to you, my friend… you would still be alive if we had planned the escape when you urged me."
For the first time in a long while, Lucon felt something. He wanted something. He wanted revenge