The noble's arrival was heralded by the thunderous sound of hoofbeats and the ominous rumble of wagon wheels on the uneven earth. It wasn't the kind of arrival that would inspire awe or reverence, but it was a grand display nonetheless, or at least an attempt at one.
The overseers, like clockwork, scrambled to arrange us into some semblance of order. Weak slaves were shoved to the back, their bodies forced into straight lines under the watchful eyes of the guards. It was a pathetic charade, one that hardly masked the reality of our situation.
I stood at the very end of the line, my posture rigid, eyes scanning the scene with cold detachment. Every movement around me was a part of the dance—one that I knew all too well by now. The overseers barked their commands, and the slaves shuffled in awkward silence, their eyes downcast. It was a show of discipline, but underneath it all was a quiet desperation.
The noble finally dismounted his carriage with considerable effort, his bloated frame struggling to maintain balance as he waddled to the ground.
His garments—too fine and too numerous for anyone's good—were draped over him in a fashion that could only be described as absurd. Silks that barely clung to his corpulent form, gold rings encircling every one of his sausage-like fingers, glinted in the sunlight, adding a sense of grotesque grandeur to his already disgusting appearance.
His face was red, not just from the heat, but from the obvious effort it took for him to stand, and his eyes bore the unmistakable look of a man who had grown used to the luxuries of his station.
"By the gods," he sneered, drawing a perfumed handkerchief to his nose as though he might faint from the sheer stench of us. "Is this the best you can do? They look like they're already dead."
The overseers fawned over him like stray dogs eager for scraps, chuckling at his remarks and assuring him that the slaves were working harder than ever. They promised that this week's yield would be better than the last, their voices dripping with sycophantic reverence.
One of them even offered him a drink from a private stash, but the noble waved it off with a gesture so dismissive it bordered on theatrical.
As he walked down the line of slaves, his eyes narrowed, inspecting each of us as though we were some kind of livestock. The weight of his gaze lingered as he passed me, and I felt the familiar surge of distaste rising in my chest. But I refused to look away.
I met his gaze head-on, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. It was the smallest form of defiance I could offer, a way to remind myself that I hadn't entirely lost who I was.
"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath, moving past me with a final glance. "Sickly, weak, and far too few. I'll need a new shipment soon. You there!" He pointed directly at the head overseer, a wiry man whose face looked like it belonged to a rat. "Double their shifts. If they can't mine enough, they'll be replaced."
The overseer nodded eagerly, his face contorting into a sickly smile. "Yes, my lord. It will be done."
With that, the noble waddled back to his carriage, his boots clicking on the hard ground. His departure didn't signal any relief for us, though. It only meant that the overseers, emboldened by his presence, would now work us even harder. They wasted no time in barking new orders, herding us toward the mine entrance like cattle.
---
Every shift, every moment, every encounter was another piece of the puzzle. And though I could feel the Crown of Shadows pulsing faintly at the back of my mind, I knew I had to be patient. The time wasn't right yet.
By now, I had grown accustomed to the guards' movements, the overseers' habits, and the peculiar rituals they followed with the noble visiting the camp.
I turned to the boy beside me, who had been watching me with a mix of curiosity and fear.
"Faco," I whispered, lowering my voice so only he could hear.
The boy was no older than thirteen, with wide, fearful eyes that darted around constantly, always scanning for danger. He was small, even for his age, and his body was already showing signs of malnutrition.
Despite this, he had attached himself to me since my arrival, though I wasn't sure whether it was admiration or desperation that kept him close.
"I need you to cover for me," I said, my voice low and steady.
Faco blinked, his small hands wringing nervously. "Cover for you? Where are you going?"
"Somewhere I can't be seen," I replied, keeping my tone calm and measured. "I'll be back before the shift ends, but if anyone asks, you didn't see me."
His eyes widened even more. "If they find out—"
"They won't," I cut him off. "Just keep your head down and stay quiet."
There was a long pause as he processed my request. I could see the fear in his eyes, but I also saw something else—something I hadn't expected. A flicker of trust.
"Okay," he said quietly. "I'll try."
---
Slipping away from the others was easier than I expected. The overseers were too busy fawning over the noble to notice one missing slave. The opportunity was too perfect to waste. I darted into the woods, heart pounding in my chest as I moved quickly through the trees. The light was beginning to fade, casting long shadows over the forest floor.
I used the darkness to my advantage, pushing my exhausted body to its limits. My muscles burned from the exertion, but I kept moving. The woods were dense, and the terrain grew more rugged as I pressed on. The brook I had seen earlier appeared just as the last rays of sunlight began to slip below the horizon.
I knelt by the brook, splashing water onto my face and drinking deeply. The coolness of it was refreshing, but it did little to erase the fatigue gnawing at me.
I caught my reflection in the murky puddle and barely recognized myself. My face, once noble and unmarred, was now a canvas of dirt, faint scars, and exhaustion etched deep into every line. The angular jawline and high cheekbones that once symbolized authority still remained, but they were shadowed by grime and weariness. My storm-gray eyes, however—sharp and unyielding—still burned with the same intensity as before.
Jet-black hair, streaked with silver, hung in a tangled mess, and my lean, scarred body bore the marks of endless labor. The tattered rags I wore mocking the man I once was.
Beyond the water, the land began to rise, jagged rocks and thick undergrowth blocking my path. But I climbed the steep incline anyway, my body protesting every step.
When I finally reached the top, I stood on the edge of a cliff, the wind whipping through my hair. Below me, the landscape stretched out in an endless sea of bushes and trees. The view was breathtaking, but there was no time to enjoy it. I needed answers, and I needed them now.
As I caught my breath, the faint shimmer of the Crown of Shadows' interface appeared once again, hovering before me like a ghost.
[Status: User: unknown]
[Power: Dormant]
[Abilities: None]
[Objective: Obtain the relic of power]
[Location: The labyrinth below]
The message pulsed faintly, a reminder of the power that lay just out of reach. The labyrinth? I scanned the horizon below, but there was nothing. The dense forest, the cliffside—none of it made sense. The crown of shadow's cryptic messages were beginning to drive me mad, but there was no time to dwell on it.
The sun had nearly set, and I needed to return before anyone noticed my absence.
---
By the time I made it back to the camp, the sky was painted in the hues of dusk—deep oranges and purples that barely registered in my mind. My legs trembled with exhaustion, my muscles threatening to give out beneath me. But I couldn't rest—not yet.
As I descended the cliff leading back to the pit, my heart sank. The overseers were waiting for me, their faces twisted into expressions of anger and amusement. Faco was on his knees before them, tears streaming down his face as he pleaded with them. But they paid him no mind. The overseers never did.
"Well, well," the head overseer sneered as I approached. "Look who decided to take a little stroll."
The guards seized me before I could react, their grips like iron around my arms. I thrashed against them, but it was futile. The head overseer's fist collided with my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs.
"Did you think we wouldn't notice?" he growled, striking me again. "Did you think you could just wander off whenever you pleased?"
The beating continued, each blow a reminder of my current powerlessness. But I refused to cry out. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
When they finally grew bored, they threw me back into the pit with the other slaves. My body ached, and my vision swam, but I was still alive. That was all that mattered.
The others gathered around me, their faces a mix of concern and fear. Some offered words of comfort, but I ignored them. I had no time for comfort. I had a plan.
I reached into the folds of my tattered clothing, fingers closing around something cold and solid.
A key.
I couldn't help it. A strange laugh bubbled from my chest, low and quiet, but it was enough to send the others retreating a few steps.
"What's so funny?" one of them asked hesitantly.
I held the key up, letting it catch the faint light of the moon. "This," I said, my voice steady despite the pain. "This is our way out."
The others exchanged uncertain glances, fear etched on their faces.
"Who's ready to earn their freedom?" I asked, my grin widening as I spoke.
Kalan, stepped forward, his expression hard. "What's the plan, Kendrin?"
I gave him a wicked grin, one that promised more than just escape. "Follow me, and you'll find out."