The first night in chains did not hurt the most.
It was the second.
Because the second night is when hope begins to rot.
Temujin stood bound to a wooden post in the center of the enclosure. His wrists were fastened high above his head. The heavy wooden collar still locked around his neck, forcing his shoulders into an unnatural strain.
He had not been given water.
Not yet.
The guards wanted him to ask.
He didn't.
Across the enclosure, other captives sat quietly — defeated eyes, hollow faces. They avoided looking at him.
They knew what happened to boys who fought back.
At sunrise, the scar-chinned warrior entered.
"Still proud?" he asked casually.
Temujin said nothing.
The warrior motioned to two men.
They struck him across the ribs with wooden staffs.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Pain exploded through his side, but Temujin forced his face to remain still.
The warrior crouched close.
"Beg."
Silence.
Another strike — this time behind the knees.
Temujin collapsed forward, hanging by his wrists.
Blood dripped from his lip.
"Beg," the man repeated softly.
Temujin slowly lifted his head.
"Is that how Merkits earn loyalty?" he asked hoarsely. "Beating children?"
The entire enclosure froze.
The warrior's expression changed.
Not rage.
Interest.
He grabbed Temujin's chin.
"You think this is about loyalty?"
He leaned closer.
"This is about erasing threats."
Temujin's breath slowed.
Good.
They feared him.
Even now.
The warrior stood and addressed the guards.
"Untie him."
The ropes fell away.
Temujin collapsed to his knees, barely steady.
A sword was thrown at his feet.
Gasps echoed from the captives.
"Stand," the warrior ordered. "Prove you're not just a loud mouth."
One of the Merkit fighters stepped forward — larger, older, armored.
A real warrior.
Temujin's arms trembled as he picked up the blade.
His body screamed for rest.
But his mind sharpened.
This was not a fight to win.
This was a fight to survive.
The warrior attacked first.
Fast.
Heavy downward strike.
Temujin barely rolled aside. The blade slammed into the ground where his skull had been.
He countered — quick slash toward the leg.
Blocked.
The second strike came from the side.
Temujin took it on the flat of his blade, but the force knocked him backward.
The crowd began murmuring.
"Too small."
"He'll die."
The Merkit lunged again.
Temujin stumbled — then purposely dropped the sword.
The warrior grinned.
Fatal mistake.
He stepped forward confidently.
That was when Temujin moved.
He lunged low, tackling the man's knee instead of reaching for the weapon. The warrior lost balance for half a second.
Half a second was enough.
Temujin grabbed the fallen blade and drove it upward.
The steel pierced under the ribs.
Shock filled the warrior's eyes.
Then he collapsed.
Dead.
Silence crushed the air.
No one moved.
Temujin swayed on his feet, breathing hard.
Blood stained his hands again.
The scar-chinned warrior stared at him.
Not angry.
Calculating.
Then slowly… he began to clap.
"One more," he said quietly.
Two more fighters stepped forward.
Not one.
Two.
The message was clear.
You are not meant to win.
You are meant to break.
Temujin understood.
They would keep escalating until exhaustion destroyed him.
Until fear consumed him.
Until he begged.
His vision blurred slightly.
His body was reaching its limit.
But something else was rising inside him.
Not anger.
Not panic.
Cold.
Controlled.
He dropped the sword again.
The two warriors rushed him.
Temujin didn't fight like a warrior.
He fought like prey that refused to die.
He ducked between them, using one body to block the other's strike. Steel cut flesh — but not his.
Chaos erupted.
Temujin moved unpredictably. Dirt to the eyes. Elbows to throats. He avoided strength and attacked weakness.
But exhaustion caught him.
A heavy boot slammed into his back.
He hit the ground.
A blade pressed against his neck.
"Enough," the scarred warrior ordered.
The pressure eased.
Temujin lay on the dirt, chest heaving.
Broken skin. Bruised ribs. Barely conscious.
The warrior crouched beside him again.
"Why?" he asked quietly. "Why won't you beg?"
Temujin's answer came through blood and dust.
"Because if I beg today… I'll beg forever."
The warrior stared at him for a long time.
Then stood.
"Lock him alone."
That night, Temujin was chained inside a smaller wooden cage.
No fire.
No blanket.
Just cold wind and darkness.
He curled slightly to protect his ribs.
Pain pulsed through every muscle.
But his thoughts were clear.
They tested strength.
They tested endurance.
They tested pride.
They thought breaking the body would break the future.
Fools.
The body heals.
Fear does not.
And he was no longer afraid.
Outside the cage, two guards whispered.
"If he survives winter, he'll be a weapon."
"He won't survive."
Inside the darkness, Temujin's eyes opened.
Winter.
So that was their plan.
Slow death.
Hard labor.
Starvation.
He smiled faintly despite the pain.
They had chosen the wrong enemy.
Because winter had raised him.
Far beyond the camp, under the same sky, a lone rider moved across the steppe.
Kasar.
And he was not riding alone.