A couple of days passed after the conversation with Peg, and the boy's birthday slowly approached. The mines remained the same as ever, but whispers had begun to circulate. The guards seemed restless, planning something—though no one knew what.
As he continued swinging his pickaxe, the weight of his situation pressed down on him, heavier than before. There wasn't much room for thought in the mines. People down here prayed to whatever god might listen, begging to be freed from this place. Others resigned themselves to the life, refusing to think beyond it.
He stood somewhere between the two.
Of course, he wanted a better life. No one wanted to live as a slave, mining until their body gave out or dying underground. But there was little anyone could do about it. Freedom was something every slave yearned for, yet it remained far beyond reach. That was simply how life was here.
A sudden movement caught his eye.
A knight was approaching one of the workers—someone who had stopped swinging.
"Keep working," the knight said coldly. "You know what happens if you stop."
The silver-clad knight stood an inch from the worker, towering over him.
The worker, a man in his forties with dark skin and black hair, was covered in grime. Blood stained his hands.
"Please," the man said weakly. "My hands—"
Crack.
The sound echoed through the tunnel.
The knight's hand moved too fast to follow. It struck the man's face, sending him crashing to the ground. Blood poured from his nose and mouth as he lay curled on the stone floor.
"Get up," the knight ordered. "And swing."
The worker didn't look at the knight. He looked at his pickaxe.
Trembling, he reached for it.
Whispers spread through the tunnel. Some workers shook their heads. Others began mining faster. Slowly, the fallen man stood, blood still dripping, and resumed swinging.
"Anyone else feel like resting?" the knight asked, wiping blood from his hand with a clean handkerchief.
No one answered.
The mine fell silent save for the sound of clanging metal.
Soon after, the horn sounded. It was time to rest—and to eat. Today was feeding day, but no one felt relieved after what they had just witnessed.
Peg and the boy sat on the floor with their portions: a piece of bread and a cup of water. They ate slowly, savouring every bite.
"Don't eat too fast," Peg said quietly. "Slow and steady."
The boy understood. Eating too quickly after two days without food could leave a man worse off than before.
After finishing, they sat in silence, staring at the ceiling. The room was heavy, though whispers still drifted through the air.
"You should've taken that pickaxe and swung it at the knight. Show him we're not so weak."
Peg glanced toward the speaker.
"Don't ever do something that stupid," he said calmly. "Trust me."
Peg had been in the mines longer than anyone. He had seen more than anyone.
"I'm not that stupid, gramps," the boy muttered.
Peg smiled, his eyes warm as he patted the boy's shoulder.
"That's good. This isn't the life anyone wants—but it's still life. Hold onto that."
Before long, it was time to return to work. The conversation lingered in the boy's mind as he swung his pickaxe.
What kind of life was this worth living? Mining day after day as a slave? Maybe he should swing his pickaxe at that shining knight's head—see if it knocked some empathy into him.
His arms burned. Muscles screamed. Then—
Thud.
A man collapsed a few meters away.
Everyone stopped.
A knight approached the fallen body, knelt, and placed two fingers on the man's neck. His other hand hovered beneath the nose.
Showing no concern, he signalled to two other knights.
They carried the body away.
It wasn't the first time. People died in the mines—from exhaustion, illness, or the knights themselves. The workers returned to their veins and continued mining.
That night, Peg sat staring at the ceiling.
"It seems it was his time," Peg said.
The boy turned to him.
"His time? You talk like his death was planned."
Peg smiled faintly.
"Death is patient, my boy. It waits until you have nothing left."
"That sounds like something those church folk say," the boy replied. "He died from exhaustion. He could've died yesterday."
Peg chuckled.
"If death wanted him yesterday, it would've taken him."
Peg's expression hardened slightly.
"Get some rest. Sleep the full five hours tomorrow too. You're turning sixteen—you need to be ready."
"I know," the boy said quietly.
He drifted into sleep.
A horn woke him.
Three knights entered the room.
"Listen up," one announced. "In a week, this mine will be abandoned. It's been drained of resources. You'll be moving east—into the forest—to a new mine."
The room fell into stunned silence.
The forest east lay far beyond the kingdom's reach.