Night fell like a curtain of black iron over the compound.
The slaves were herded back into the barracks before the sky had fully darkened. Torches lined the walls, flickering against the stone like trapped fireflies. The boy stepped inside with the others, his body moving out of habit while his mind lingered on something unfamiliar: the memory of that brief, impossible light.
He didn't understand it.
He didn't have the words for "magic."
He didn't have the permission to imagine it.
He only knew something had changed.
The barracks filled with the usual sounds of coughing, shuffling, quiet groans as sore bodies lowered to thin mats. Some whispered to themselves, praying. Some argued weakly. A few older men stared blankly into the dark, resigned to the same routine they had survived for decades.
The boy did none of these things.
He sat where he always did: near the back wall, where the shadows pooled enough that no one bothered him. His collar felt heavier tonight, as if the iron sensed something inside him it did not trust.
Across the room, the youngest hauler the boy he'd protected just kept glancing at him. Not speaking and not approaching and just staring, as if the lifeless boy had turned into something strange.
Something dangerous.
The boy curled his fingers and stared at his hand. He could still feel the echo of the warmth, like the dying glow of embers beneath ash.
It frightened him.
Not the overseer's whip, not the threat of chains or starvation or being dragged to the pit for punishment.
This.
This unknown thing inside him.
He lowered his hand and lay on his mat. The barracks quieted. The torches dimmed. The cold night air seeped through the cracks.
Eventually, the boy slept, dreamless.
***
The morning horn jolted him awake.
The chain clinked. Slaves groaned. Overseers shouted. Another day began, as identical as the last hundred before it.
Routine was a cage.
Routine kept him alive.
But routine felt different today.
As they marched toward the yard, the young hauler suddenly stepped closer and tugged on the lifeless boy's sleeve.
"You saved me," the child whispered.
"Yesterday... you saved me."
The older slaves stiffened at the break in silence. No one acknowledged each other unless forced.
The boy stared at the child, unsure what response was expected.
The hauler swallowed hard and continued, "Why? Why did you save.. me?"
A simple question it was but it was a question the boy had no answer for.
He opened his mouth trying to think of something. Why did he really do it? He never did anything like that before so why now?
"I don't know."
The child blinked. He'd expected something else an explanation, maybe even a denial. Not honesty.
"Well.. thank you," the hauler murmured, barely Audible.
An overseer's voice cut across the yard.
"Talking? Already? Do you want your tongues to be nailed to the wall like that guy over there? Get back in line now."
The child flinched and stepped back into line, The lifeless boy stared straight ahead again. But something lingered in his chest. Something warm and comfortable for once.
It was... gratitude, recognition.
Two things the boy had never received, not once in his life, ever.
It shouldn't have mattered to the boy, but it did.
***
Work was worse that morning. The overseers watched him with sharper eyes than the others. They didn't know what had happened yesterday, no one did they only saw him move. They had seen him run, to save a person. That is something they wouldn't forget.
The boy kept his head low and worked as he always had: silent, efficient, invisible.
But the warmth inside him refused to stay quiet.
Every time he lifted a stone or swung his pickaxe, he felt it pulse. It wanted something from him. Like it was listening for a command he had not yet given or learned yet.
At noon, as he carried a load of rubble up a slope, he overheard two overseers muttering.
"I swear I've seen it, the boys armed glowed. That lifeless boy's arm glowed!"
"Eh, your eyes were blinded by the sun, that's all. From where I was that arm was nothing but a regular one."
"I'm telling you Keld! Something's wrong with that one... It's scary.."
A pause.
Then, in a whisper, the guard said to the other.
"If he shows it again... we report him. Understand?"
"Yeah.. yeah.. report him.. we just have to survey him more." The guard had a heavy sigh already tired enough from what he saw yesterday to the work he already has done today.Report him.
The boy didn't know where slaves were taken when they were "reported."
Only that they never returned.
His stomach tightened, a sensation he wasn't used to. It was new and unpleasant. Was it fear? Anxiety? He didn't have a word for that either.
He only knew it meant he should not glow again. So he worked harder to stay unnoticed.
But fate had other plans.
***
During the late shift, as the sun dipped low and shadows stretched long, an overseer ordered the slaves to move a massive slab of obsidian. It required ten men pulling ropes, all moving in sync.
The boy took his place on one of the ropes without protest. For he knew the punishment if he refused.
"Pull!" the overseer shouted.
The slaves strained. Muscles tensed. Feet dug into the unfertile soil.
The stone shifted only slightly.
"Again!" the man barked.
The boy felt the warmth pulse harder with each pull, as if reacting to the stress not just he had. But from everyone combined. He clenched his jaw and focused on the rope. He needed to stay normal. He needed to stay small.
But the warmth grew hotter.
A flicker of pale light crawled just beneath the skin of his arms, invisible to most, but not to the guard on the ridge above.
"There!" the man shouted. "I saw it! He's doing it again!"
The boy's heart finally reacted, slamming once against his ribs. His heartbeat rising and rising.
It wasn't because it was numb.
Not lifeless either.
But it was fear the boy freaked out and jerked his hand.
The slab suddenly lurched, causing the line of slaves to stumble. One man ripped, and the rope snapped in the boy's hands.
The warmth surged.
Light cracked through his skin like lightning beneath glass.
The overseer screamed, "STOP HIM! STOP HIM NOW!"
He only knew one thing.
His life of this routine was now over.