Time had no meaning here. The rituals began again, bringing in more children. Their cries filled the air—high-pitched, broken, desperate. Some clung to each other. Some sat frozen, eyes wide, shaking.
One boy was forced to kneel at the center of the stone hall. A masked figure held him still while another traced intricate symbols along the walls with a cold, sharp instrument. The symbols glimmered faintly, glowing in the torchlight. The child whimpered, and I saw the faint tilt of the torturer's head—a small, satisfied movement.
They thrived on every sound, every shiver, every pleading word.
I pressed my face against the wall, trying not to look directly. I could hear the other children whispering, crying, begging for mercy:
"Please… please stop…"
"Don't let them hurt us…"
Their voices were music to the masked figures, feeding their twisted satisfaction. They moved with precision, calm, and deliberate cruelty, each act measured to terrify and humiliate.
I forced myself to memorize everything: the order of the chants, the symbols, the tilt of every mask, the children's reactions, the way the torturers communicated silently with glances.
Then came acts that made my stomach twist with revulsion. Some children were stripped and humiliated. Others were forced to endure demeaning gestures and positions while the torturers circled them like predators. I didn't need to see the details to know the horror; the shadows and cries etched everything into my memory.
One child fell silent.
Another whimpered softly, shaking. I could taste the blood in my mouth from a scratch on my lip, my heart pounding. And still, I memorized. Every movement, every word, every subtle sigh of satisfaction from the torturers.
Even in my fear, a spark of determination burned. If I survived, Daniel had to know. Someone had to know. And if I didn't… I would leave a trace in my mind, a map of the horror, so that eventually the truth would be seen.
I pressed my forehead to the wall and counted the seconds between each act, embedding the sequence of rituals into my memory. Somehow… I would endure. Somehow… the world would see what was happening here.