Mike's POV
In the abandoned quarry, Matthew chose to stay behind with Deborah to tend to her, while John, Alex, Jac, Jim, and I made our way to the Falshi Quarry.
The place was all too familiar, its oppressive atmosphere weighing heavily upon us.
The air was thick with the relentless roar of machinery and the coarse shouts of laborers calling over the din, all coated in a thick, suffocating layer of dust that settled over every surface and clung to our clothes and skin.
Every werewolf here wore the same look of deep exhaustion, faces lined with fatigue and expressions dulled by the years of unending labor.
Their eyes, once filled with the fire of life, now reflected only a hollow numbness—the result of enduring too many days without hope, too many nights resigned to their fate, and too many reminders that they were bound to this existence.
We stood in the center of the quarry, trying to project our voices above the cacophony, to share a truth they'd never been told.
John spoke first, his voice steady yet resonant. "Listen up! We're here to tell you the truth. That so-called 'slave bloodline' is a lie. Every one of you with golden eyes possesses powerful blood—you're werewolves!"
As his words hung in the air, they were met almost instantly with snickers.
A brawny man, his face covered in dust, scoffed and raised his chin defiantly, a sneer on his face. "Werewolves? Hah! Has this guy lost his mind? Talking about werewolves like it's some fairy tale. You're out of your mind if you think we're anything but unlucky scum born to be slaves."
An older werewolf lifted a dirt-smeared sleeve to wipe his brow, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. "What a load of crap! We've been here breaking our backs for decades, and I haven't seen any 'powerful' side of me yet."
John's brow furrowed, clearly irritated, and he was about to counter when another werewolf interrupted with a mocking tone. "You think you're some kind of authority here? Acting all high and mighty."
Seeing that they were shutting John down, I stepped forward, trying to defuse the tension.
I raised a hand in a calming gesture, speaking with as much patience as I could muster. "Hold on, think about it. Why do you think you're all stronger than ordinary people?"
My words sparked a flicker of interest. Some turned to look at me, their expressions tinged with curiosity and confusion. A younger werewolf frowned, a hint of curiosity breaking through. "Alright, maybe that makes some sense, but what does that have to do with being a 'werewolf'?"
I took a deep breath, hoping they would finally listen. "Because you have werewolf blood! You just haven't seen the moon—the power in your bloodline can only awaken under its light, something you can't experience down here."
As soon as I finished, laughter erupted.
Several werewolves slapped their knees, doubling over in hilarity, some nudging each other as if hearing the most absurd joke ever.
"Sure, there's a moon up there," a bald werewolf laughed loudly. "But the ground up there is just as deadly! You're out of your minds to go running up there! Do you really think we're that gullible?"
"That's right! We're not idiots!" another scoffed, his voice booming over the grinding of machines. "Who's going to go to the surface to die? We'd rather stick around down here as slaves—at least down here we get a few meals."
Their reaction was exactly what I expected, but I wasn't about to give up.
Alex surveyed them, his voice unwavering. "I know it's hard to believe, but we came from the surface. The 'slave bloodline' is a lie, a trap to keep you all down here. Werewolves are immune to Enigma radiation!"
Alex's words were clear, his gaze sweeping across the faces in the crowd.
I was still piecing this truth together myself.
I was just a young, newly-turned werewolf, lucky to survive.
But something about Alex's words broke through their disbelief.
The laughter began to fade, replaced by quiet murmurs.
Doubt flickered in their eyes as some exchanged looks, their expressions turning wary and uncertain.
"From the surface?" a middle-aged werewolf squinted at us, his voice low but filled with curiosity. "You came down here… and survived?"
"No way," muttered a younger werewolf, his gaze skeptical. "The Enigma radiation's too strong. Just who the hell are you guys?"
The crowd was getting louder, whispers of suspicion rippling through as the werewolves eyed us, some visibly wavering while others scowled in distrust.
In the midst of the noise, a few older werewolves shared quiet words, their stares sharp and appraising.
Our words had caused a stir, a hint of rebellion in the air.
A muscular werewolf, his skin caked in dust, crossed his arms with a derisive snort, sweeping his gaze over us with a rough, mocking tone. "Werewolves? Hah, you kids must be half-crazy from Enigma radiation. Werewolves, my foot. We're just unlucky scum marked as 'slaves' from birth."
Another older werewolf shook his head with a tired sneer, his gaze cold and dismissive. "You kids have some imagination, huh? What 'powerful bloodline'? I've been working this back-breaking job for decades, and I haven't found any damn 'power'! Stop wasting our time."
I could feel John tensing up beside me, but I stepped forward, keeping my tone as steady as possible. Raising my hand again to calm them, I said, "Look, don't write us off just yet. Haven't you ever wondered why you're all stronger than regular people, able to withstand exhaustion that would kill them? And you're exposed to Falshi ore radiation daily, yet you heal faster. Those are werewolf traits."
This seemed to spark a glimmer of thought among some of them, their eyes lowering as they considered my words.
One younger werewolf frowned, his curiosity stirred. "There might be something to that, but what's it got to do with being werewolves?"
Taking a steadying breath, I pressed on. "Because your bloodline is that of werewolves! Living underground, you've never seen the moon, but that's the key—the moonlight is what awakens your true strength."
I barely finished my sentence before they burst out laughing.
Several slapped their neighbors, guffawing and nudging each other, some bending over in mirth as if I'd told the most absurd story.
One werewolf with a grizzled beard laughed while mockingly repeating, "Sure, sure, there's a moon on the surface—but the surface is a deathtrap! You're that eager to die up there? Unreal!"
"Exactly! At least we're alive down here; who would want to risk dying on the surface?" shouted another, his tone full of derision, his sneer deepening. "You guys have a death wish or something?"
Jim kept his composure despite the taunts. While we'd expected resistance, I could see the disappointment flicker in his eyes. Still, Jim held his ground, meeting their skeptical gazes. "You may not believe us, but we five really did come from the surface. We've even found a new place up there where humans can survive."
At this, a few of them stopped laughing, their expressions wavering as they glanced around, sharing uncertain looks and murmurs.
The jeering shifted into quiet confusion. Some werewolves began to mull over Jim's words, considering if there could be truth hidden within them.
The older werewolves continued muttering amongst themselves, casting appraising glances our way.
"You… really came from the surface?" a middle-aged werewolf's eyes searched us, the doubt mixed with a hint of wonder. "This new place… what's it like?"
"Yeah… where's this place?" A younger werewolf's eyes gleamed with curiosity, his voice low, questioning. "Who the hell are you really?"
The murmurs around us grew louder, shifting from mere whispers to a low, insistent hum. I could feel the tension building as overseers started casting suspicious glances in our direction, their eyes narrowing as they took in the unusual gathering we'd created. Their scrutiny was growing sharper by the second, the faintest hint of warning glinting in their gazes.
Realizing our presence had caused more of a stir than anticipated, I knew we couldn't risk staying any longer.
With a subtle nod and a quick gesture, I signaled to my companions, silently urging them to fall back. We began to move, blending into the throng of laborers, slipping between groups and ducking under the watchful eyes of the overseers.
Each step was measured, deliberate, as we wove our way through the mass of workers and inched toward the edge of the quarry.
As we exited, I cast one last glance back. A small but growing cluster of werewolves remained huddled together, their eyes darting between us and each other, expressions ranging from confusion to hesitant curiosity.
Low voices rumbled among them, and I caught fragments of doubt, glimpses of a newfound uncertainty beginning to stir.
For the first time, a flicker of something other than resignation—perhaps a small spark of defiance or hope—seemed to glint in their eyes. It wasn't much, but it was enough to leave a lingering sense that our words had planted the faintest seed of change.