The stronghold grew colder as the days stretched on.
Snow had begun to fall beyond the high walls, coating the ground in thick layers of white. The wind howled through the stone corridors, slipping through cracks, curling around Elias like icy fingers.
Winter had arrived.
And still, Caidren did not return.
The soldiers grew restless. Their tempers flared quicker, their cruelty becoming sharper, more thoughtless. The anticipation of war had left them hungry for something—anything—to fill the void.
And Elias?
He remained the easiest target.
---
The morning began like any other.
A sharp knock at his door. A gruff command. Another day of labor.
The tasks never changed. Scrub the floors. Carry water. Mend torn fabrics. Haul firewood.
It was as if they thought keeping his hands full would break him faster.
But Elias had long since learned that suffering in silence granted him a different kind of power.
They wanted reactions. Fear. Resistance. Tears.
He gave them nothing.
And that, more than anything, seemed to frustrate them.
Today, it was the same.
As he worked in the lower halls, one of the warriors walked past, knocking the bucket of water from his hands with a lazy kick. The water splashed across the stone floor, soaking his already thin clothing.
"Tch. Clumsy," the man muttered, stepping over the mess without a second glance.
Elias did not react.
He retrieved the bucket, refilled it, and continued his work.
He did not acknowledge them.
And that was his only act of defiance.
---
By midday, the skies darkened, thick with impending snow.
Elias was hauling wood to the kitchen when he heard the voices.
"Should've let us have a little fun with him by now."
"He's not worth the trouble."
"Maybe not, but it'd be satisfying to wipe that blank look off his face."
Elias didn't turn. Didn't stop.
He had heard it all before.
The soldiers never spoke to him directly—only around him, about him, as if he weren't there at all.
But the moment he reacted, the moment he gave them even an inch, he knew they would tear into him like wolves.
So he simply kept moving.
Kept existing.
It was enough.
It had to be.
---
Night fell with a heavy silence.
Elias sat in the corner of his chamber, fingers stiff from the cold, exhaustion curling into his bones. The fire had long since burned low, offering little warmth.
The quiet was both a curse and a comfort.
It meant no one was coming. No orders. No punishments.
But it also meant nothing had changed.
And nothing would.
He exhaled, watching his breath curl in the cold air.
Still alive.
Still enduring.
But for how long?
A sound echoed from beyond the walls. The sharp clang of metal, the distant murmur of voices.
The soldiers were growing impatient.
And Caidren was still gone.
Elias closed his eyes.
Tomorrow would come.
And with it, another battle.
Not on the fields of war.
But here, in the quiet, relentless war of survival.