The night in the Obsidian mines was so deathly still, the only sound was the CRACKLE of torches.
In the other Slave Camps, the corrupted Believers Kane had secretly contacted were now waiting anxiously.
They huddled in their cold shacks, enduring the hunger in their bellies, their eyes filled with a desperate longing for an illusory hope.
"What Kane said… could it be true?" a man, so thin he was skeletal, asked his companion in a hushed whisper.
His voice was weak from hunger.
As one of the oldest slaves in the mines, he had seen countless others go. Barring any surprises, he probably wouldn't make it through the year, let alone the summer.
Maybe it would be better to just die… But then Kane, their so-called first corrupted disciple, had brought him hope—news of food.
But that just made tonight all the more agonizing.
"I don't know… But even if it's fake, what do we have to lose?"
