Under the scorching sun, the quarry resounds with the rhythmic clinks of human slaves hammering against rocks. Each strike of their pickaxes reverberates through the air. Amidst the dusty haze, an old man stops swinging the pickaxe and staring at the distant mountains. Sweat pours down his furrowed brows, mingling with the dust that hangs thick in the area.
"What are you doing, gramps?!" a young man beside him whispering urgently. "You'll get us into trouble if you just stand there doing nothing."
The old man remains still, his eyes fixed on the horizon, as if lost in contemplation. "Do you know how many years I've spent at this?" he murmurs, his voice carrying the weight of decades of toil. "Thirty years, Kael. Thirty years of aching muscles and weary bones. And for what?"
The young man named Kael looks at him, puzzled. "To survive, gramps," he replies. "To make it through another day."
The old man's gaze softens, a flicker of resignation crossing his weathered features. "Survival," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, lad, survival indeed. But for what?". With a heavy sigh, he sinks to the ground, his tired body finding solace in the coolness of the earth as he curls up.
Kael watches him with a mixture of concern and curiosity, unsure of what to make of the elder's sudden introspection.
"For what?" the old man continues, his hoarse voice barely more than a whisper carried away by the wind. "To spend a lifetime in servitude, chained to this accursed quarry, while the world passes us by?"
Kael shifts uncomfortably, his gaze darting nervously between the old man and the elves overseers, who prowl the perimeter of the quarry like hungry beasts. "Gramps, we must keep working now!" he urges, his voice tinged with fear. "We cannot afford to draw attention to ourselves."
But the old man pays him no mind, lost in the depths of his own thoughts. "There must be more to life than this," his eyes staring at the world beyond the horizon.
"Hey, you two!!, What are you doing, How dare you stop working on my watch" Said the elf overseer.
The old man's gaze snaps back to the present, meeting the stern glare of the elf overseer. "This old man is merely taking a moment's respite, sir," the old man replies evenly, his voice carrying an air of quiet defiance.
The overseer's lip curls in disdain, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Respite? You dare to defy me, lowly human!?" he sneers, his tone laced with contempt. "You forget your place here. You are nothing but a lowly slave, and your only purpose is to serve."
Kael shifts uneasily beside the old man, his eyes darting nervously between the overseer and the old man. He knows the consequences of defiance all too well.
The overseer's face contorted with rage, his hand reaching for the whip that hangs at his side. But before he can act, a voice cuts through the tension.
"What is the meaning of this?" The sudden arrival of another elf, tall and imposing, brings a momentary pause to the confrontation. His gaze sweeps over the scene with a cool detachment, his expression unreadable.
"We were just taking a moment's rest, Master Elondil," the old man explains, his voice steady despite the tension that hangs in the air. "Surely you can understand the need for respite in such oppressive heat."
Elondil's gaze lingers on the old man for a moment, a flicker of recognition passing through his eyes. Then, with a nod of acknowledgment, he turns to the overseer.
"I see, it seems like this one needs an adequate break," he commands, his tone brooking no argument.
As the tension dissipates, the old man exhales a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping with relief. Beside him, Kael lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, a sense of relief washing over him for the small mercy granted by Elondil's intervention.
And in that fleeting moment amidst the dust and heat of the quarry, there is a feeling of uneasiness. Suddenly the elf overseer makes a whistle sound and the old man beside him falls to his back. The young man's heart sinks as he watches the cruel act unfold before him. An arrow flying out from nowhere suddenly stuck in the old man's forehead killed him instantly.
Master Elondil's expression remains impassive as he observes the scene without a hint of remorse. "Dispose of the body," he commands, his voice devoid of emotion. "What is your name human?.
Kael kept silent, staring blankly at the old man corpse who was still alive a moment ago, dragged away by other slaves.
"Should I repeat what I just asked, human?.
Kael mind races as he grip the pickaxe strongly till his hand bleeds because of the shock of the old man's sudden demise. Fear and anger intertwine within him, a storm raging in his chest. With a deep breath, he gathers his wits and responds to Master Elondil's inquiry.
"Kael, sir," he replies, his voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within him.
Elondil gaze piercing through Kael's facade. "So, what are you going to do with that pickaxe of yours, Kael?"
As Kael's hand tightens around the pickaxe, his thoughts swirl with a desperate urge to lash out at Master Elondil. But before he can act, a sudden, deafening roar fills the air, drowning out his racing heartbeat. Kael's gaze darts skyward, his eyes widening looking at the rain of fire falling down from the sky.
The thousands fire rain down from the sky with a terrifying intensity, each impact accompanied by a deafening roar and a blinding flash of light. The earth trembles beneath Kael's feet as the fiery projectiles strike the ground, sending plumes of smoke and debris into the air.
Elondil's expression darkens as he watches the phenomenon, his features betraying a hint of unease. "Contact the Headquarter," he orders the overseer, his voice tight with urgency.