The first hours in the dungeon felt like an eternity for Theo. The air was suffocating, thick with the stench of mold and damp stone, and the oppressive darkness seemed to press down on him, making it hard to breathe. His stomach churned with hunger, a sharp, gnawing pain that grew worse with each passing minute. He could feel every bruise, every ache, every cut from the beatings he'd endured, but it was the hunger that truly broke him. He had never known starvation before, not like this. Each time he closed his eyes, he could almost taste food that wasn't there—a cruel trick of his own mind.
As he lay there on the cold, wet floor, he couldn't help but curse his fate. 'This is it? From an outcast to a slave, all in a few days. What a joke.' He chuckled bitterly, but the sound was hollow, echoing around the cramped, dark space. 'I can't believe this is real. How did I end up here…?'
The other slaves around him were in no better condition. Most were shackled, their wrists and ankles bound by iron cuffs etched with strange, glowing symbols. Theo noticed how these symbols pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, dimming and brightening at regular intervals. The slaves' movements were sluggish, almost mechanical, as if something had drained the life out of them. Some were barely awake, their eyes half-closed, while others simply lay there, too weak to even lift their heads.
It wasn't long before the guards arrived, dragging Theo and the other slaves to the mines. The guards were rough, barking orders in Althrin, their language harsh and sharp. Theo struggled to keep up, his body screaming in protest, but he had no choice. He was herded along with the others, stumbling through dark tunnels carved deep into the earth, the air thick with dust that scratched at his throat. They worked for hours, digging and hauling heavy rocks, their bodies pushed to the brink.
Each day was a cycle of suffering. The guards, clad in leather armor with metal studs, seemed to relish in their cruelty. They carried long, slender whips and thick clubs, ready to lash out at the slightest sign of weakness. Theo tried to focus on the work, just to keep moving, to keep breathing, but it was never enough. His hands were blistered and raw, his muscles burned, and his stomach twisted with hunger that only worsened with each passing hour.
Once a day, if they were lucky, the slaves were given a small meal—a meager bowl of watery gruel, barely more than a thin, tasteless sludge. There were a few bits of overcooked vegetables floating in it, and sometimes, if they were fortunate, a scrap of meat. The guards tossed the bowls at the slaves' feet, as if they were feeding animals, and Theo would scramble to get his share, his hands shaking as he brought the bowl to his lips. The gruel was warm but bland, sticking to the back of his throat. It was hardly enough to sustain anyone, but it was all they had.
one day, they didn't eat at all. Theo would lie awake at night, the pain in his stomach mingling with the throbbing in his head, and he would think about everything he'd lost. 'I was just a normal guy, damn it… How did it come to this?' He would stare at the shackled slaves, watching the strange symbols on their cuffs pulse softly, and wonder if this was his new life—just another piece of property, to be worked to death or sold off like cattle.
But something changed after a few days. He overheard the guards talking as they led the slaves back to the dungeon, their voices low and conspiratorial. "Auction's coming up," one said, grinning. "That's why they're feeding 'em now. Can't sell starved meat, eh?"
"Aye," said another. "Especially with the new merchandise coming in. Purebloods, they say. Elves. That'll fetch a fortune."
True to their word, two days later, the guards brought in new captives—two elves, one male and one female, both with an otherworldly beauty that made them stand out even in the gloom of the dungeon. The male had sharp, chiseled features, long silver hair that fell gracefully over his shoulders, and piercing green eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. The female was equally stunning, with delicate features, smooth, fair skin, and hair the color of spun gold. Even in their ragged, combat-worn attire—dark, form-fitting garments that looked like a blend of leather and silk, designed for both protection and mobility—they retained an air of elegance and grace.
Theo could see the guards eyeing the female elf, their gazes lingering on her slender form with a disturbing hunger. They muttered under their breath, crude remarks barely contained. "Boss said not to touch 'em. They're too valuable," one guard spat, though his eyes betrayed his thoughts.
Theo's stomach churned. It wasn't just the hunger this time, but a deep, sickening feeling that twisted inside him. The elves were shackled just like the others, with the same glowing symbols that seemed to drain the strength from their limbs. He noticed them whispering to each other in a soft, melodic language that he couldn't understand, their voices barely audible over the sounds of the dungeon.
But as he listened, something strange happened. The more he focused on their words, the clearer they became. It was as if his mind was adjusting, translating the sounds into something familiar. Soon, he could understand them as if they were speaking directly to him. They were speaking in Elvish, their voices laced with a mix of fear and frustration.
"If only we weren't injured… they never would have caught us," the male elf murmured, his voice tinged with regret. "These shackles… they're Myrr-restricting. We're helpless."
Myrr. Theo had heard that word before'Heh heh.. sounds like mana or aura...'. He thought back to the bald man he'd seen using fire when he first arrived in Aldraeth, and the symbol that had appeared on his palm. 'So that's what it was… Myrr.' He rubbed his empty palm, still faintly feeling the ache of the vanished mark, and a bitter laugh escaped his lips. 'Of course, I get thrown into a world where even magic can't help me. Just my luck.'
He kept listening, piecing together what he could. The elves' conversation was revealing, hinting at a power he didn't fully understand. They spoke of their frustration with the shackles, and how without them, they could have easily fought off their captors. For a day, Theo didn't approach them, keeping his distance but staying close enough to listen. He needed to know more, to understand why he was able to hear these languages, and what that meant.
next day, he decided to act. He had to be careful, though. The guards would notice if he seemed too interested in the elves, and he couldn't afford to draw more attention to himself. So, he waited until the guards had left, only a dim lantern casting a faint, flickering light in the dark.
Theo slowly made his way to where the elves were sitting, their heads bowed, still murmuring to each other. He cleared his throat, and they looked up, their eyes wary. "I… I heard you talking," he said quietly with Elvish, trying to keep his voice steady. "About Myrr. I don't know what that is, but I think… I might have something to do with it...'
The elves exchanged a glance, their expressions cautious but curious. "How does a slave like you speak Elvish ?" the female elf asked, her voice soft but laced with suspicion.
Theo grinned at the two elves,"that's a secret, Heh heh, if you can teach me about Myrr we might be able to escape" That was the plan he thought of to gain their attention, he then decided to take a chance. He knelt down, using his finger to draw in the moist dirt on the dungeon floor, carefully sketching the symbol he'd seen on his palm. "I had this mark. It was on my hand when I got here. It's gone now, but I think it's related to this… Myrr you're talking about."
The male elf's eyes narrowed as he studied the drawing. "That… doesn't look like any rune I know," he said slowly. "But if you could activate it… you might not be bound by the same restrictions we are." There was a flicker of hope in his eyes, cautious but unmistakable.
The female elf leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper. "If you can reactivate it, we can make a plan and escape while they're transporting us by carriage to the auction. But first, you have to learn how to control it."
Over the next day, the elves became something of reluctant teachers to Theo, instructing him in the basics of Myrr. They explained how it flowed through all living things, how it could be harnessed and directed by those who bore the right runes—tattoos etched into the skin, representing a bond with this power. They spoke of Ruin Masters, individuals who could accommodate these runes, Ruin Masters have ranks, going from 1-the weakest , to the strongest Ranks 9 Ruin Master.In addition to how each rune granted its bearer unique abilities. "Most people cant bear even one ruin, the striking majority of Ruin Masters can only accommodate a single ruin" the male elf said, "but those with the talent can bear more, and the more they have, the more powerful they become. But it's a rare gift. If one isn't careful and tries to have more ruins than he could bear or has greed for a powerful ruin, they'll turn into a monster and die instantly."
Theo finally understood the dangers and strength this power has. The two elves agreed to help reactivate it, albeit with some hesitation. One of the elves, using a sharp piece of stone, pricked Theo's finger and drew the symbol again on his palm, darkening it with his own blood. "Focus," she instructed, her eyes locked onto his. "Focus on the symbol. Picture it clearly in your mind and let it draw out your will. Think of it as waking something that's been sleeping deep inside you."
Theo's heart pounded as he closed his eyes, feeling the sting of the small cut on his palm. He tried to steady his breathing, blocking out the cold, the ache, the hunger, and the lingering fear. He focused on the symbol, the way it curved, the way it seemed to pulse when it had first appeared, and he imagined it coming alive again, as if he could will it to light up in the darkness.
At first, nothing happened. Theo could hear the elves murmuring, their voices blending with the faint, distant echoes of the dungeon. He gritted his teeth, frustrated. "Come on… work…" He forced himself to focus harder, imagining the symbol glowing, just like the ruins on the shackles. Then, slowly, he felt a warmth spreading through his palm. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a small, gentle heat that grew warmer with each passing second.
The symbol began to darken, the lines of blood thickening, almost as if they were absorbing something from the air. Theo felt a strange sensation, like a thread pulling at his mind, tugging at something deep within. Suddenly, the dungeon around them seemed to grow dimmer, the light from the lone lantern flickering as shadows stretched out along the walls, creeping toward the symbol on his palm. It was as if the symbol was drinking in the light, devouring it.
The elves gasped, their eyes wide as they watched. "This… this isn't normal," the male elf said, his voice tense. " He is drawing Myrr from the shackles."
The warmth in Theo's palm had become a searing heat, and he could feel his head throbbing, a sharp pain building behind his eyes. The symbol on his palm glowed darker, almost black, and the air around them seemed to warp, twisting as if the darkness was trying to consume everything. The elves staggered, and Theo heard them gasp as their mana was slowly siphoned, just a tiny fraction, but enough to make their shackles flicker.
The male elf's shackles loosened ever so slightly, the glowing symbols dimming. "It's… weakening the spell," he breathed, his eyes lighting up with hope.
But before they could celebrate, Theo felt a sharp, piercing pain in his skull, as if a spike had been driven through his brain. He let out a strangled cry, his vision blurring, and blood trickled from his nose. The symbol on his palm pulsed once, twice, and then the darkness began to recede, the room returning to its usual dim, grimy state. The warmth in his hand faded, leaving behind a dull ache. Theo's knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the ground, the world spinning around him. He could barely register the concerned voices of the elves as everything went dark.