The cell was cold, damp, and filled with the scent of despair. Shadows clung to the stone walls like a suffocating fog. The faint light from a flickering torch outside the barred door barely reached the edges of the room. I sat with Mia huddled against me, her small hands clutching my tunic as if I might disappear if she let go.
I wasn't sure how long we'd been here—hours, maybe days. My mind was a haze, caught between the pain of what I'd lost and the guilt of what I couldn't protect. The bruises on my body throbbed, but I forced myself to ignore them. Lost in thought I was suddenly jolted by a sound.
The cell door creaked open with a grinding wail, and a burly guard stepped inside, his silhouette looming menacingly in the faint torchlight. He carried a whip coiled at his side, its cracked leather a chilling reminder of his authority.
Without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed Mia by her arm, yanking her to her feet. She let out a startled cry, her small frame trembling under his grip.
"Let her go!" I shouted, moving to step between them. But the guard's whip was faster. The sharp crack of leather against flesh rang out, and searing pain tore across my back. I staggered forward, choking on a gasp as the heat of the welt spread.
"I said, move!" the guard snarled, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
Clutching Mia's hand, I gritted my teeth and stumbled out of the cell, the pain radiating with every movement. Mia's wide, tear-filled eyes looked up at me, and I forced myself to smile, masking the agony coursing through me.
"Stay close," I whispered, my voice tight but steady.
The guard prodded us forward with a grunt, his heavy boots echoing ominously down the narrow corridor. The walls closed in around us, damp and suffocating, as we were herded deeper into the prison's bowels.
At last, we were shoved into a larger cell. The iron door slammed shut behind us, the metallic clang reverberating through the oppressive silence. The room was dim, the air thick with the scent of sweat and fear.
A dozen pairs of eyes turned toward us—captives of all shapes and ages.
The silence in the cell was broken by a soft, melodic voice. "He's just another one of them," someone hissed, the words dripping with disdain.
I turned my head toward the sound, my eyes landing on a boy sitting across the cell. He was holding a smaller child in his arms—a boy no older than five, his face buried in the older one's chest. The older boy had the unmistakable features of an elf: blonde hair, sharp ears, and piercing green eyes that glared at me with a venom I couldn't ignore. His face was marred with bruises, his lip split, and his arms bore faint scars that hinted at frequent punishment. Around him, several other children with similar features huddled close, looking to him for protection.
"Another one of them?"
The elf narrowed his eyes at me.
"A human," he spat. "You're all the same. You destroy, you take, and now you're here, thinking you're any different."
I clenched my fists but forced myself to stay calm.
"I didn't ask to be here, I'm not your enemy."
"Tell that to the corpses of my people," he snapped back, his grip tightening around the small boy in his arms. The boy whimpered, and the older one softened his tone, whispering something soothing to him in a language I didn't understand.
Mia stirred beside me, her voice soft. "Kaizen, who are they?"
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, my gaze sweeping the room. Aside from the elves, there were others—human children, huddled in corners, their faces pale with fear. But my attention was drawn to a pair sitting near the far wall. They didn't look frightened like the others; in fact, they seemed eerily calm.
The boy was tall and lean, with black hair that shimmered in the dim light. His features were sharp, his blood-red eyes glowing faintly as they studied me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. His companion, a girl with the same rich black hair, sat beside him, her expression cool and composed. Her beauty was otherworldly, her pale skin contrasting starkly with her dark locks. Both of them seemed untouched by the fear that gripped the rest of us.
The boy tilted his head, his lips curling into a small smile. "You're different," he said, his voice smooth and quiet. "You don't look scared like the rest of the humans. Not entirely, at least."
I met his gaze, uneasy. "And you don't look like the rest of us either," I replied, nodding toward his eyes.
He chuckled softly. " My name's Kirio. And this—" he gestured to the girl beside him "—is Kana."
Kana's eyes flicked to mine, and I felt a strange chill run down my spine. There was something about her gaze, something unreadable, as if she was looking straight through me. She didn't speak, but her silence was more unsettling than any words she could have said.
Kirio leaned back against the wall, his arms resting on his knees. "So, tell me," he said, the title dripping with mockery, "what brings someone like you to a place like this?"
"I could ask you the same thing," I said evenly. "You don't exactly blend in."
His grin widened, but he didn't answer. Kana, however, finally spoke, her voice soft and melodic. "We're all here for the same reason. They take what they think is valuable. Elves, humans, even us." She gestured vaguely between herself and Kirio.
"Us?" I echoed, my curiosity getting the better of me.
Kirio's smile faded slightly, and for a moment, his expression grew serious. "Let's just say we don't fit neatly into any box. But that doesn't matter here, does it? To them, we're all just tools."
I glanced back at the elf, who was still glaring at me. "What's your name?" I asked him, my voice softer this time.
He hesitated, as if debating whether I was worth his time. Finally, he said, "Fyn."
"And the boy?" I nodded toward the child in his arms.
"My brother," he said simply, his tone cold. "He doesn't speak."
I didn't press further. It was clear that Fyn had no interest in making friends. But as I looked at the bruises on his face and the way the other elves clung to him, I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Whatever had happened to him, to them, was because of people like me—humans who had taken everything from them.
"We're not all the same," I said quietly, more to myself than to him.
Fyn scoffed but didn't reply.
The silence stretched, broken only by the faint whimpers of the younger children. I could feel the weight of their fear pressing down on me, suffocating. For the first time, I truly realized the depth of what had happened to us. We weren't just captives—we were trophies, stolen from our lives and stripped of our identities.
I looked around the cell, at the faces of the others. The human children, the elves, Kirio and Kana. Each one of them had a story, a life that had been ripped away. And now we were all here, caught in the same web.
The silence was interrupted by Kirio's voice, "I know what your thinking, why did they kidnap young teens and children, correct?"
without replying I simply nodded.
"This prison isn't just a place for holding captives. It's a market. These people take what they consider valuable—elves, humans, hybrids like us—and they sell us to the highest bidder. Some are sent to work in mines or noble estates. Others…" His voice trailed off, his grin faltering slightly. "Well, let's just say not everyone leaves here alive."
My stomach churned, and I instinctively pulled Mia closer. The thought of her being sold—or worse—sent a wave of anger through me. But I kept my voice steady. "How do we get out?"
Kirio's eyes gleamed with a predatory edge. "Escape?" he said, as if tasting the word. "Not easy. The guards are heavily armed, and are very good with magic, and they're not afraid to use force to keep us in line. That whip you felt? That's just a warning compared to what they'll do if they catch you trying to leave."
He gestured toward the far end of the cell, where a metal grate sat embedded in the wall.
"That's the only possible way out. Leads to the waste tunnels. But the grate is reinforced, and the tunnels are rigged with traps—probably to keep pests like us from scurrying out."
Kana spoke for the first time since Kirio began. Her voice was soft but carried a chilling certainty. "And even if you make it through the tunnels, there's the forest. It's crawling with their hunting hounds—creatures bred to track escapees. No one has made it out alive."
My heart sank, but I refused to let the despair show. "And you've never tried?"
Kirio smirked, his expression both amused and bitter. "Of course, I've tried. Once. Didn't make it far before they dragged me back and left a few scars to remind me of my place." He pulled back the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a lattice of old whip marks. "They don't forget. But…" His voice dropped lower, a spark of defiance creeping in, "I've learned a lot since then."
"What do you mean?" I asked, leaning forward.
"I mean, I've been watching," Kirio said, his red eyes narrowing. "The guards' routines, the layout of this place, the way they bring food and water. There's a pattern to everything, and I'm good at finding cracks in patterns." He gestured to Kana. "We've been biding our time, waiting for the right moment. An escape attempt is suicide unless we're sure we can succeed."
Kana nodded, her expression serious. "The next supply delivery to the guardhouse is in two days. That's when they're most distracted. But even then, we'll need a plan. Strength alone won't get us out."
I glanced at Fyn, who was watching us warily while tending to his little brother. His green eyes still burned with distrust, but I couldn't help noticing how his ears twitched slightly as he listened to every word.
"And the others?" I asked, gesturing to the other children scattered around the cell. "What about them?"
Kirio shrugged. "Most of them won't make it. Too young, too scared, or too broken. But a few—" he looked at me pointedly, "—might have what it takes."
I held his gaze, my jaw tightening. "We're not leaving anyone behind."
Kirio chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You sound like a hero. Heroes don't last long here."
I straightened, ignoring the mocking tone. "I'm not a hero. But I'm not abandoning them either."
For a moment, Kirio studied me in silence. Then, to my surprise, his smirk softened. "Well, maybe you're not entirely useless after all."
Kana leaned closer to him, whispering something I couldn't hear. Kirio nodded before turning back to me. "Fine. Two days. If you're serious about this, you'd better be ready. No mistakes."
"I'll be ready," I said firmly, gripping Mia's hand. "We all will."
Kirio's grin returned, sharper this time. "We'll see, prince. We'll see."
The air in the cell felt heavier as his words settled, the weight of the task ahead pressing down on all of us. But for the first time, there was a flicker of hope—fragile, but real.