Several days had passed. Perhaps months? Years? In the mine, there was no sunlight, so time held little meaning. There was only the endless cycle of work, hunger, and exhaustion. Yet the boy knew it had been some time since his first encounter with S.I.L.A.S.
He had learned many things. His body was no longer the same; every day, he could do more work without feeling as tired. His wounds healed faster, his eyes could see better in the dark, and his body was more agile and resilient. S.I.L.A.S. called this "optimization," a strange word the boy repeated in his mind without fully understanding. But he didn't need to understand it to notice that he no longer felt like the other slaves.
Beyond the physical changes, his mind was also transforming. Each night, as he slept, his head filled with knowledge. In his dreams, he saw symbols and numbers that made sense upon waking. He learned to count, to add, to read words he had never seen written before. It wasn't just information about arithmetic or writing but about things that seemed impossible: massive structures, tools that didn't rely on magic to function, and ideas about how to build and improve things.
S.I.L.A.S. seemed eager to teach him, but the boy saw it as a pointless game. What use was all that knowledge in the mine? Here, only hands that dug, bodies that carried, and blind obedience to the guards mattered. It didn't matter how much he knew if he was still a slave.
Even so, the boy decided to play along with his peculiar companion. Learning was better than thinking about hunger or the lash of the whip. And if it made the nights in the mine less unbearable, it was worth it.
Though every day in the mine seemed the same, today was different. Certain workers were called to gather. They were all young—children and young adults standing side by side. Their faces reflected fear, their glances darted nervously, but no one dared to speak. Among them was the boy who had found S.I.L.A.S.
Silence reigned in the cavern as the guards watched them with their usual disdain. However, today there were no blows or shouts. For some reason, they seemed intent on maintaining order without violence.
Then, someone appeared.
A stout man of short stature, dressed in fine fabrics and adorned with gold, made his way through the slaves as though walking among them was a great inconvenience. His face, coated in layers of grease and sweat, bore an expression of utter disdain. His small, sharp eyes scanned them with a mix of repulsion and satisfaction, as if inspecting defective merchandise. He moved with an air of grandeur, puffing out his chest and letting his dark velvet cape brush the dusty floor.
In his chubby fingers, he held a perfumed handkerchief, which he used constantly to cover his nose, as though breathing the same air as the slaves was an insult to his very existence.
The young ones lowered their heads. None dared to look at him directly.
"So these are the chosen ones," he muttered in a pretentious tone, his voice deep yet affected by a false refinement. "Let's see if at least one of you is worth something."
With a look of boredom, he began inspecting the slaves one by one. Using his plump hands, he grabbed the faces of the young ones with feigned gentleness, lifting their chins as he wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"Too skinny." He shoved one child back into the line with disinterest.
"Too dirty… disgusting." He muttered upon seeing another, shaking his hand as if trying to rid it of filth.
He continued with similar remarks until his gaze landed on the protagonist. His expression changed. His once lazy eyes sharpened with a mix of greed and something darker. His thick lips twisted into an unpleasant smile.
"And this one?" he asked with a glint of interest.
One of the guards pulled out a crumpled scroll and read it.
"Miner 1765. Born on the 14th of the Second Moon, eight years ago. Parents deceased, sir."
The nobleman nodded with satisfaction.
"This one is perfect."
The boy's body tensed. A chill ran down his spine as he saw the way the man looked at him. He had heard stories about him. Whispers in the night about what happened to slaves who caught his attention. He didn't fully understand what those stories meant, but he knew they weren't good.
He said nothing. He could do nothing.
A guard grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the line. His bare feet slid across the cold rock as he was taken to a different room. There, unceremoniously, they stripped him of his rags and shoved him under a stream of icy water.
The dirt and grime that had accumulated over years began to wash away, scrubbed off mercilessly by the rough hands of servants. Layers of earth dissolved slowly, revealing pale, smooth skin that surprised the guards.
"Well, who would've thought there was something decent under all that filth," one remarked with a mocking sneer.
They gave him clean but simple clothing and dressed him quickly. Then they led him out of the mine.
The light hit him like a hammer blow.
For the first time in his life, he saw the sun.
His eyes widened in amazement, but the brightness was overwhelming. He blinked several times, feeling a stinging pain, but his vision adjusted unusually quickly. He could see the sky, the clouds… It was immense, so vast that he felt a momentary vertigo.
There was no time to process it. He was pushed toward a luxurious carriage adorned with golden details, where several guards waited with stern expressions. His hands trembled as he climbed in.
1765 didn't know where they were taking him, but he could only hope it wasn't a place worse than the mine.
S.I.L.A.S. had remained silent in his mind for some reason, but 1765 didn't attempt to call out to him either. He was worried. He didn't like the way the man had looked at him, and for some reason, he had a terrible feeling about all of this.
After some time, the man emerged from the mine and climbed into an even more opulent carriage. Fortunately, it wasn't the same one the boy was in. Soon, the wheels began to turn, drawn by horses, and the mine faded into the distance.
1765 gazed intently at a new world. It was something like what S.I.L.A.S. had shown him in his dreams, but seeing it with his own eyes was entirely different.
A world full of life, with tall, leafy trees swaying in the wind, and birds flying freely in the clear sky. There was only one word to describe the world outside the mine: beautiful.
He was mesmerized by the beauty of the surroundings, hypnotized by the colors and the vastness of a world he had never known. But the calm didn't last. A deafening crash shattered the tranquility, a dry, brutal sound that made the horses scream in terror. Almost immediately, violent noises and shouting erupted outside.
The carriage trembled slightly, and 1765 felt his chest tighten with fear.
"Disturbances detected," announced S.I.L.A.S., its voice resonating in his mind with mechanical coldness. "Sound analysis indicates an ongoing conflict. It is recommended that the host take this opportunity to escape. There will be no better moment."
1765 froze. He had never thought about escaping. The slave mark on his forehead condemned him to submission. If they caught him, they would kill him without hesitation. But then he remembered the dark, hungry look of the man who had chosen him. His stomach churned instinctively.
He couldn't stay.
Taking a deep breath, he looked at the carriage door. It was locked. He had no tools, but his hands worked quickly. He recalled how the locks in the mine worked, how the nails fit into the wood. His gaze slid to a pair of slightly loose nails in the carriage's structure. With nimble fingers, he pried them out and began to manipulate the lock.
S.I.L.A.S. handled the rest, calculating the best way to force the mechanism with minimal noise. Within seconds, the lock gave way with a soft click.
1765 cracked the door open just enough to peer outside.
The sight before him stole his breath.
A colossal creature loomed on the road, a deformed beast with skin as tough as steel and tusks as long as swords. Its claws dug into the earth with every movement, its eyes glowing with a fiery red light. It roared with deafening force, shaking the air with its sheer presence.
The knights escorting the carriage were already in combat. Swords flashed under the sunlight as they clashed with the beast, their movements precise and calculated. Some wore heavy armor, while others moved with incredible speed, dodging the monster's attacks with superhuman agility.
And then there was the magic.
A man with an ornate staff stood at the rear. He muttered something in a language 1765 didn't recognize, and from the tip of his staff emerged a blazing sphere of fire. With a simple gesture, the fireball shot toward the beast, striking its side in an explosion of flames and smoke.
1765's eyes widened in awe. It was the first time he had seen magic with his own eyes. It was real. Powerful. Terrifying.
For a moment, his mind was caught in the spectacle of the battle. But S.I.L.A.S. snapped him out of his trance.
"This is no time to stop. Run southeast. Based on the trajectory of the ambush, it is the optimal escape route."
1765 swallowed hard, his body trembling. His legs wanted to stay rooted, clinging to the uncertain safety of the carriage. But his mind screamed that he had to move. Taking one last look at the battle, he inhaled deeply and leaped out of the carriage, landing in the brush along the roadside.
And he ran.
1765 ran and ran without looking back. The sun was setting, but he didn't stop until his body began to fail him. The air burned in his lungs, and his legs quivered with exhaustion. Only when he was sure he had put enough distance between himself and the commotion did he allow himself to stop.
He found a small stream and rushed to drink greedily. His throat burned, but the cool water soothed him momentarily. Then, exhausted, he searched for a fallen log to hide beneath for the night.
"There may be beasts in the forest," warned S.I.L.A.S. "It is advisable to remain hidden and minimize activity until dawn."
1765 nodded, though he knew S.I.L.A.S. couldn't see him. He curled up among the exposed roots of the log and closed his eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking him.
But his rest didn't last long.
A strange hum resonated in his head. Then his forehead began to glow.
"Electromagnetic disturbance detected... Pursuers nearby. Fleeing is recommended."
1765's eyes shot open. In the distance, he could hear human voices. They were searching for him.
His body screamed for rest, but he couldn't stay there. Forcing himself to move, he drew on what little energy he had left and plunged deeper into the forest, fleeing into the darkness.
The pursuit lasted throughout the night and into the next day. His pursuers were getting closer while 1765 felt his body nearing collapse. His legs felt like lead, his breathing was ragged, and his vision blurred. At any moment, he would fall.
"Keep going." S.I.L.A.S.'s voice carried a calculated urgency. "An electromagnetic disturbance has been detected 50 meters ahead. Analysis indicates the frequency could disrupt the signal of the host's mark."
1765 barely understood what those words meant, but a spark of hope ignited within him. If the slave mark stopped functioning, perhaps his pursuers would lose his trail.
He summoned strength from somewhere deep within and stumbled toward the mysterious disturbance, his only chance at freedom.
Every step was agony. His bare feet tripped over roots, stones, and damp earth. His legs quaked, every muscle in his body screamed for rest, but he didn't stop. The air burned his throat, his chest heaved desperately for breath.
The pursuers were close, too close. He could hear their voices in the distance, distorted murmurs through his foggy mind. He couldn't make out their words, only the threat they carried, the shadow of capture looming ever closer.
The forest seemed to close in around him, the shadows of the trees shifting with every erratic step he took. The humidity clung to him, making his skin sticky. His dirty, torn clothes clung to his body like a second skin. His eyes struggled to stay open, his vision blurred, but he pressed on, driven by the pure instinct to survive.
"Don't stop," S.I.L.A.S.'s voice resonated in his mind, a beacon of logic amid the chaos. "Electromagnetic disturbance detected 30 meters ahead. The frequency fluctuation could interfere with the host's mark."
1765 didn't fully understand, but one key word burned itself into his exhausted brain: interference. If there was a chance this could help him escape, he couldn't hesitate.
His body swayed, his knees threatened to buckle, but he clenched his teeth and kept running. The world around him blurred into dark, greenish smudges. Branches scratched his skin, he tasted blood on his lips, but nothing mattered except moving forward.
The sound of his pursuers grew louder. They were so close he could hear the crunch of branches under their boots, the clinking of metal from their weapons and armor. Despair gripped his chest. He wasn't going to make it. He wasn't going to escape.
And then the ground vanished beneath his feet.
A strangled cry escaped his throat as his body plunged into the void. Gravity dragged him down, the wind slicing against his skin as he tumbled down the slope. It wasn't a sheer cliff, but the speed of his fall sent him rolling uncontrollably, slamming into rocks and roots that tore at his skin with each impact. He tried to grab hold of something, but his fingers slipped through the wet earth.
The world spun once, twice, three times before everything went black.
And 1765 lost consciousness.
Several guards appeared at the edge of the cliff. Though the area was shrouded by trees, they could guess where the prisoner had fallen. One guard prepared to descend, but another stopped him with a sharp gesture.
"What are you doing?" the first guard asked irritably.
"Are you insane?" the other replied, his tone laced with warning. "Don't you see the color of the tree leaves?"
The confused guard looked more closely at their surroundings. The leaves, which should have been green, were an unhealthy grayish hue. In fact, beyond the cliff, the entire forest seemed tinged with the same dull, sickly color, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Another guard clicked his tongue in disgust.
"This is the edge of the Silent Forest. Anything alive that enters there simply dies. If the slave fell into that place, he's already food for the forest."
A third guard, holding a blue crystal, sighed in resignation.
"I guess this is where it ends. The master will be furious we didn't retrieve his toy, but there's nothing to be done." Without further ado, he crushed the crystal in his hand, the blue glow flickering before dissipating into the air. "Let's go."
The guards turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving the cliff and the forest in silence.
Meanwhile, where 1765 had fallen, his forehead began to glow intensely. Anyone witnessing the scene would have thought his life was at its end. The slave mark on his forehead was cracking, its light pulsing with each passing second.
But something unexpected happened.
A strange blue light emanated from the mark, extending into the air before being absorbed by a nearby gray tree. The tree vibrated for a moment, its leaves trembling slightly, and the energy continued to flow through its bark.
For several minutes, the phenomenon persisted until the mark was completely consumed by the tree, disappearing without a trace.
1765, still unconscious, had no idea what had just happened.
A gentle warmth caressed his face. Slowly, 1765 opened his eyes, feeling the light filtering through the branches. The first thing he saw were the gray, dull leaves partially obscuring the high sun.
He shot upright, his heart pounding as his gaze darted around. He didn't see the guards. Where were they?
"They're gone," S.I.L.A.S. responded immediately.
1765 frowned, still dazed.
"What do you mean, gone?"
He didn't have to wait for an answer. His mind was flooded with a perfect replay of the guards' conversation. Their voices, the sound of the blue crystal shattering, the mention of the Silent Forest—it was all there as if he had heard it himself.
A chill ran down his spine. He wasn't far from the cliff, and given how clearly S.I.L.A.S. reproduced their voices, he hadn't fallen too deeply. Yet the part that unsettled him most was the last detail.
"The mark… did it activate?" he asked in a trembling voice, his hand shaking as he touched his forehead.
"It activated, but its effect was nullified," S.I.L.A.S. corrected. "The mark was absorbed by the tree, interrupting the process."
"Absorbed?" 1765's throat felt dry.
A new torrent of images flooded his mind. The blue light, the energy being drawn into the gray tree, the mark vanishing as if it had never existed.
For a moment, he could only sit in silence.
Then, an overwhelming sense of relief washed over him.
Just days ago, he had been trapped in the mine, with no hope of escape. Now, not only had he fled… he was free.
But another, equally terrifying reality soon set in. He was in an unknown place, in the middle of a forest he had never heard of, with no idea what dangers might be lurking.