The first day passed slowly.
The caravan never stopped moving.
Snow fell thicker by midday, blanketing the road and fields until the world outside the wagon looked like nothing but gray sky and white ground. The cold crept in through the cracks in the wood, through the iron bars, through the thin clothes everyone had been wearing when they fled their homes.
No one had winter coats.
No boots meant for deep snow.
Most of them had been dragged from their beds.
The cold settled into bones quickly.
By the afternoon, the wagon floor had grown stiff with frost where melting snow had seeped in beneath the door.
Kael sat with his back against the wall beside Garrick.
At first he hadn't noticed the cold.
The anger burning inside him had kept him warm.
But slowly the feeling returned.
First his fingers.
Then his toes.
They began to ache.
The rope around his wrists had frozen stiff where blood had dried along the fibers.
Across the wagon, one of the farmers shivered violently.
"Gods… it's cold."
No one answered.
Their breath filled the air in pale clouds.
Hours passed.
Still no food.
Still no water.
The caravan guards outside spoke and laughed occasionally, their voices muffled by the storm. Once or twice the wagons stopped briefly while horses were adjusted, but no one came to check on the prisoners.
Night fell without warning.
Inside the wagon, the lantern burned low.
A boy near the door whimpered softly.
"I'm hungry."
His father pulled him close with the small length of chain he had.
"Try to sleep."
Sleep was difficult.
The wagon rocked constantly.
Cold seeped into every inch of space.
Kael leaned slightly closer to Garrick.
His father's body heat was the only warmth nearby.
"You alright?" Garrick whispered.
Kael nodded once.
But his teeth were starting to chatter.
Garrick shifted his arm around him as far as the chain allowed.
"Stay close."
Kael did.
He tried to sleep.
But every time his eyes closed the same image came back.
Snow.
Blood.
The knife.
He stopped trying after a while.
Instead he stared at the wagon wall while the storm outside howled louder through the night.
—
The second day was worse.
By morning the lantern had gone out completely.
Gray light filtered weakly through the cracks in the wood.
Someone coughed.
Another man groaned softly.
Their breath fogged thicker now.
The cold had deepened.
Frost coated the inside edges of the wagon walls.
One of the older men spoke hoarsely.
"They're starving us."
Another answered quietly.
"Breaking us."
Kael's stomach twisted painfully.
He hadn't eaten since before the attack.
His throat burned with thirst.
Even swallowing hurt now.
Across the wagon, Mother Senna remained silent.
Her eyes were closed, though whether she slept or simply waited was impossible to tell.
Kael pulled his knees slightly closer to his chest.
His fingers had gone numb.
"How long?" he whispered.
Garrick didn't answer right away.
He was watching the faint light near the wagon door.
"Until they need us alive again."
Kael frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Garrick's jaw tightened.
"They're slave traders."
The words felt heavy in the air.
"They keep us weak until they're ready to sell."
Kael's stomach twisted harder.
Sell.
Like cattle.
Outside the wagon, someone shouted to the caravan ahead.
The wagons began slowing.
For the first time in nearly two days…
The wheels stopped turning.
Silence settled over the frozen road.
Inside the wagon every prisoner lifted their head.
Waiting.
Listening.
Kael's heartbeat picked up slightly.
The storm outside was still raging.
But something else was about to begin.
The wagon lurched once more before the wheels finally stopped.
Outside, voices carried through the wind. Horses snorted and stamped their hooves, the metal rings of their harnesses clinking faintly in the cold.
Inside the wagon, every prisoner had lifted their heads.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Fearing.
Kael sat stiff beside Garrick, his stomach twisting painfully. Two days without food had hollowed him out. Even moving made his muscles ache now.
The latch on the wagon door rattled.
Every man inside tensed.
The door swung open with a harsh creak, and cold air flooded the wagon. Snow blew inside in thin white sheets.
Three of the slavers stood outside.
"Kids your eating," one of them barked.
The prisoners didn't move.
The man's expression darkened.
"I said kids."
He pointed toward the younger boys.
"You. Out."
Kael felt Garrick's arm tighten around his shoulder.
"Go," Garrick whispered quietly.
Kael didn't want to move.
But the slaver stepped inside and grabbed the nearest boy by the collar, dragging him toward the door.
"Move!"
Chains rattled as several boys slowly climbed to their feet.
Kael stood too.
His legs felt shaky.
The rope around his wrists had been loosened earlier, but his hands were still tied in front of him.
He stepped toward the door.
As he passed his father, Garrick leaned closer.
"Eat," he said under his breath.
Kael nodded once.
Outside, the cold bit even harder than before.
The storm had buried the road in thick snow. The wagons sat in a long line across a frozen clearing surrounded by dark trees.
The boys were shoved into the snow beside a small fire pit where two slavers stood over a pot.
One of them dipped a wooden ladle into the pot and began filling small bowls.
Thin stew.
Mostly water.
But the smell alone made Kael's stomach twist violently.
"Line up," the slaver said.
The boys obeyed quickly.
Kael noticed something immediately.
None of the men were being brought out.
Only them.
Bram stood two spots ahead of him in the line, pale and shaking.
"You okay?" Bram whispered.
Kael nodded.
"You?"
Bram shrugged weakly.
"I'm starving."
The slaver shoved a bowl into Kael's hands.
"Eat."
The bowl burned his frozen fingers.
Steam rose faintly from the surface.
Kael didn't hesitate.
He drank it quickly, the warm liquid hitting his empty stomach like fire.
It wasn't much.
But it helped.
Around him the other boys ate just as quickly.
One of the slavers leaned against a wagon wheel, watching them.
"Keep the little ones alive," he said to the others.
"Buyers like young stock."
Another man snorted.
"What about the adults?"
The first man shrugged.
"Don't waste food on them."
"Long as they live long enough to walk."
Kael froze.
His bowl slowly lowered.
Inside the wagon…
His father hadn't eaten.
None of them had.
The slaver clapped his hands.
"Done?"
Several boys nodded.
"Good."
The man pointed back toward the wagon.
"Back in."
Groans rose from the line.
"Move!"
Kael stepped forward slowly.
His stomach felt warmer now.
But his chest felt colder than ever.
When he climbed back into the wagon, the darkness swallowed him again.
Garrick looked up immediately.
"You eat?"
Kael nodded.
His voice came out quiet.
"They're not feeding you."
Garrick gave a small, humorless smile.
"I figured."
Kael hesitated.
Then he sat down beside him again.
The warmth from the thin stew was already fading.
Outside, the slavers slammed the wagon door shut again.
The lock clicked.
Darkness returned.
Inside the wagon, the hunger remained.
But something else had grown stronger too.
The understanding.
They weren't prisoners waiting for mercy.
They were cargo.
And Kael was beginning to understand exactly what that meant.
Days blurred together after that.
The caravan kept moving south through the storm.
Sometimes the wagons rolled for hours without stopping. Sometimes they halted in frozen clearings while the slavers checked the horses or argued among themselves.
Inside the prisoner wagons, time stopped making sense.
The cold never left.
The men and boys still wore the same thin clothes they had escaped their burning homes in. Their breath constantly fogged the air. Frost crept along the edges of the wooden walls every night.
Some of the younger boys couldn't stop shaking.
One of them cried quietly through
"I'm so cold…"
His older brother tried to wrap an arm around him, pulling him close with the short length of chain that connected them.
"Just sleep."
But sleep didn't help.
Another boy near the door stopped talking entirely after the third day.
He just stared at the floor.
Across the caravan, from the wagon carrying the women, the crying sometimes drifted through the wind.
Soft.
Broken.
Sometimes angry shouting followed.
Sometimes silence.
Kael heard it all.
And every time he heard it…
The same image returned.
The knife.
His knife.
Driving into his mother's stomach.
His jaw tightened.
Again.
And again.
And again.
—
Every day the boys were pulled out to eat.
The same thin stew.
Sometimes a small scrap of bread.
Sometimes a few vegetables floating in the pot.
Never much.
But always something.
The men inside the wagon got nothing.
Not even water.
By the fourth day Garrick's voice had grown rough from thirst.
His lips had cracked.
But he still said the same thing each time Kael climbed back into the wagon.
"You eat?"
Kael always nodded.
But each time he looked at his father's face, something inside him twisted tighter.
Finally, he snapped.
They had just been pushed back into the wagon after eating.
Kael looked at the slaver closing the door.
"You didn't feed them."
The man paused.
"…What?"
Kael pointed at the chained men.
"They haven't eaten."
The slaver stared at him.
Then laughed.
"Yeah."
Kael didn't laugh.
"They need food."
The man's smile disappeared.
"Kid."
He stepped back into the wagon.
"You got a lot to say."
Kael's fists clenched.
"They're going to die."
The slaver grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward.
"That's not your problem."
"Yes it is."
The wagon went silent.
Even Garrick stiffened.
The slaver's face hardened.
"Stubborn little rat."
He dragged Kael outside.
The cold hit immediately.
Before Kael could react, the man slammed him hard against the side of the wagon.
Pain exploded through his shoulder.
"You speak when I tell you to speak," the slaver growled.
Kael glared at him.
"I'm not scared of you."
The man's fist struck his stomach.
The air blasted out of Kael's lungs.
He collapsed into the snow coughing.
The slaver kicked him once for good measure.
"Next time you complain about the men," the man said coldly, "you don't eat either."
Kael said nothing.
He just stared at the snow.
The man finally grabbed him and shoved him back toward the wagon.
"Back inside."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Inside, Garrick pulled himself forward as far as the chains allowed.
"Kael—"
"I'm fine."
His voice was flat again.
He sat down heavily beside his father.
For a long moment neither of them spoke.
Then Kael slowly opened his hand.
Inside his palm was a small piece of carrot.
Another tiny scrap of meat.
Garrick blinked.
"You didn't…"
Kael shoved it toward him.
"Eat I kept some from my meal."
Garrick hesitated.
"You need it."
"I already ate."
That wasn't entirely true.
But Kael didn't care.
"Eat."
Garrick took the food slowly.
He chewed carefully.
Even that tiny bit of food felt like a miracle after days without anything.
"You can't keep doing that," Garrick whispered.
Kael stared at the floor.
"Yes I can."
"You'll get hurt."
"I already did."
His voice hardened slightly.
"They don't feed you."
Garrick watched him carefully.
The boy's knuckles were bruised.
His lip split.
But his eyes were still burning.
"You have to survive," Garrick said.
"So do you."
The wagon creaked as the caravan started moving again.
Kael leaned back against the wall.
His hand still curled slightly where the food had been hidden.
Across the wagon the other prisoners watched quietly.
They had seen it.
The stubbornness.
The quiet defiance.
And Kael's mind drifted again.
Back to the snow.
Back to the knife.
Back to his mother reaching for him.
The memory never stopped.
It just played over and over behind his eyes.
And every time it did…
The rage inside him grew sharper.
Colder.
More focused.
The beating stayed with him through the night.
Every breath hurt.
Kael had curled against the wagon wall beside his father, trying to hide the pain, but the bruises along his ribs burned every time the wagon jolted. His shoulder throbbed where the slaver had slammed him against the wood.
Still, he didn't complain.
When the caravan stopped that night, the cold crept in worse than before. Without food or warmth, the pain made sleep almost impossible.
Beside him, Garrick shifted slightly.
"You alright?" he whispered.
Kael nodded even though the movement hurt.
"I'm fine."
Garrick knew better.
But there was nothing he could do with iron on his wrists and chains bolted into the wagon wall.
So he stayed close, letting Kael lean against him for warmth.
Outside the wind howled through the trees.
Inside, Kael's mind returned again.
Snow.
Blood.
The knife.
The wind screamed through the trees outside.
The caravan had stopped again, the wagons settling with heavy groans as the horses were tied and the slavers began building their fires for the night. Through the narrow cracks in the wood, flickering orange light spilled into the wagon.
Someone outside shouted.
"Get the boys out. We've got extra tonight."
Chains rattled as every head inside the wagon lifted.
The door swung open.
Cold air poured in like a blade.
"You heard him," a slaver barked. "Kids. Move."
Kael pushed himself upright slowly. His ribs protested immediately, a deep ache blooming through his side, but he forced himself to stand.
As he stepped past his father, Garrick leaned close again.
"Eat," he whispered.
Kael gave the smallest nod.
Outside, the cold struck harder than before. Snow had built up around the wagons in deep drifts, and the clearing where they'd stopped was surrounded by dark pine trees bending under the storm.
The boys were pushed toward a fire.
A pot hung over it, thicker stew simmering this time. The smell of meat drifted through the clearing, making several boys nearly stumble with hunger.
One of the slavers laughed when he saw their faces.
"Look at 'em."
"Like wolves."
Bowls were passed out.
Kael took his with both hands, the heat biting into his frozen fingers. Steam curled up into his face as he crouched near the fire with the others.
This stew had real chunks in it.
Meat.
Carrot.
A few pieces of potato.
Around him, boys were already swallowing the food in desperate gulps.
Kael ate slower.
Not because he wasn't hungry.
But because he was watching.
Listening.
The men were distracted tonight, laughing around their own fire, drinking something from a flask that smelled sharp even from across the clearing.
No one was paying much attention.
Slowly, carefully, Kael dipped his fingers into the bowl and fished out a chunk of meat.
Then another.
Two small pieces of carrot.
He closed his hand around them and kept eating the broth.
Bram glanced at him but didn't say anything.
When the bowls were empty, one of the slavers kicked snow over the fire pit.
"That's it."
The boys groaned.
"Up. Back to the wagons."
They began moving.
Kael kept his fist closed tight at his side.
Just as they reached the wagon—
A voice called out.
"Hey."
The boys froze.
The slaver who had beaten Kael earlier stepped forward.
His eyes settled on the boy immediately.
"You again."
Kael looked at him.
"Yeah?"
The man smirked.
"You got something to say tonight?"
Kael tilted his head slightly.
"I usually do."
The clearing went quiet.
Even the other slavers looked over now.
The man stepped closer.
"Funny kid."
Kael shrugged.
"I try."
The slap came fast.
It knocked him sideways into the snow.
Pain exploded across his jaw.
"Still funny?"
Kael spat blood into the snow.
"Little bit."
The man grabbed him by the collar and dragged him upright.
"You think you're tough."
Kael said nothing.
The slaver glanced toward the trees.
"Let's test that."
They dragged him across the clearing.
Kael stumbled in the deep snow, but his hand never opened.
The meat and vegetables stayed clenched in his fist.
They stopped at a tall pine near the edge of camp.
One of the men brought over a length of iron chain.
Kael saw it and laughed once under his breath.
"You're really that scared of a kid?"
The slaver punched him hard in the ribs.
Kael doubled over, gasping.
"Still talking."
The iron cuff snapped shut around his wrist.
The other end of the chain wrapped around the thick trunk of the pine and locked tight.
The chain was short.
Barely enough for him to sit.
Snow drifted around his legs immediately.
The man crouched in front of him.
"Enjoy the night."
Kael leaned his head back against the tree.
"You should feed the men."
The slaver stared at him for a long moment.
Then shook his head.
"You're a stupid little bastard."
He stood and walked away.
The campfires burned warm in the clearing while the wagon doors slammed shut again.
Kael was left beneath the tree.
The wind pushed snow across the ground in soft waves.
Slowly, carefully, Kael opened his hand.
The meat and carrots were still there.
Cold now.
Crushed from how tightly he'd held them.
He closed his fist again.
Across the clearing, through a thin crack in the wagon boards, Garrick could see him.
His son.
Chained to a tree in the storm.
Garrick pulled at the shackles until the metal dug into his wrists.
"Kael…"
But the wind swallowed the sound.
Outside, Kael sat in the snow, shaking from cold and pain.
His ribs throbbed.
His cheek burned.
The storm howled above him.
And again the memory came.
Snow.
Blood.
The knife.
His mother's voice.
Kael…
He squeezed the food tighter in his fist.
He just had to hold onto it.
The cold deepened as the night dragged on.
Snow gathered along Kael's shoulders and in the folds of his thin clothes. The chain around his wrist had turned rigid with frost, biting into his skin whenever he shifted even slightly.
At first he had tried to sit upright against the pine tree.
After a while, his muscles began to fail him.
The shivering came in waves, violent tremors that made his ribs scream every time they clenched. His breath fogged thick in the air, then drifted away into the storm.
Across the clearing, the slavers' campfires crackled and popped.
They were warm.
They were laughing.
One of them had started singing some rough traveling song while another roasted strips of meat over the flames.
Kael stared at them for a long time.
Not with fear.
With something colder.
His hand stayed clenched.
Inside his fist the meat and crushed pieces of carrot had grown stiff with the cold. His fingers had begun to go numb around them, but he didn't loosen his grip.
Not once.
Inside the wagon, Garrick had not moved from the crack in the boards.
He could see the pine tree.
Could see the small figure beneath it.
Every time the wind shifted, snow blew across Kael's body like white dust.
Garrick's jaw tightened.
The chains rattled softly when he tried to pull forward.
"Hold on," he whispered.
But Kael couldn't hear him.
Outside, the storm only grew worse.
Hours passed.
The fires burned lower.
Eventually the slavers began drifting off to sleep around their camp, wrapped in furs and blankets.
The clearing grew quieter.
Only the wind remained.
Kael's head drooped forward slightly.
His body trembled less now. Not because he was warmer.
Because the cold had sunk too deep.
His fingers barely felt like his own anymore.
Still…
He held the food.
The memory came again.
Snow.
Blood.
The knife.
His knife.
Driving into his mother's stomach.
He saw it again.
And again.
Her hand reaching toward him.
Kael…
His jaw tightened.
Slowly, he lifted his head.
Across the clearing, the wagon sat dark beneath the snow.
Inside it…
His father was starving.
Kael shifted.
The chain rattled softly.
His legs felt like stone.
But he forced himself to move.
He pushed against the snow and slowly stood.
The chain pulled tight almost immediately, forcing him closer to the trunk of the tree.
Still, he leaned forward.
Closer to the wagon.
Close enough to see the faint outline of someone watching from the crack in the boards.
His father.
Kael raised his fist slowly.
Then opened it.
The frozen meat and carrots rested in his palm.
He didn't say anything.
He just showed them.
Even from across the clearing, Garrick understood.
His throat tightened.
The boy had kept it.
Through the beating.
Through the chain.
Through the freezing cold.
Just to bring it back.
Garrick lowered his head for a moment.
Then looked up again.
The storm still raged.
And under the pine tree, Kael slowly lowered himself back into the snow.
His body shook again now.
Harder.
The cold was winning.
But his fist closed again around the frozen food.
He just had to make it until morning.
The night stretched on without mercy.
Kael didn't remember when the shivering stopped.
At first his body had fought the cold with everything it had, muscles locking and trembling so hard his teeth hurt. But after a long while, the shaking faded.
his body was too tired to fight anymore.
Snow gathered on his shoulders and along his bent knees. The chain around his wrist had frozen stiff, the metal biting deep into his skin whenever he shifted.
The campfires burned low across the clearing.
The slavers slept.
The wind whispered through the trees.
Kael's head drooped forward.
His eyes closed.
Then opened again.
The world swam in and out of focus.
Sometimes he saw the dark pine branches above him.
Sometimes the wagons.
Sometimes nothing at all.
And sometimes…
He saw Willowmere.
The village square in summer.
Chickens wandering through the dirt road.
His mother standing in the doorway of the forge with a basket of herbs.
"You're filthy," she had said once, laughing.
"I fought two enemies."
"You fought chickens."
"They started it."
Her laugh echoed in his head.
The memory shifted.
Snow again.
The knife.
His knife.
Driving forward.
Her breath leaving her chest in a soft gasp.
Kael…
His eyes snapped open.
The storm roared around him again.
His fingers twitched weakly.
Still closed.
Still holding the frozen meat and vegetables.
His mind drifted again.
This time he was back in the forge.
Standing on the wooden crate beside the anvil.
Watching sparks jump from the iron while his father hammered.
CLANG.
CLANG.
CLANG.
"Dad?"
"Hm?"
"Do sparks listen?"
His father's quiet laugh.
"I hope not."
The memory faded.
Darkness crept in again.
Snow gathered around his boots.
His head fell forward.
And for a while…
Kael was gone.
—
Morning came gray and bitter cold.
The slavers woke slowly, kicking snow from their blankets and stomping warmth back into their boots.
One of them stretched and glanced toward the edge of the clearing.
"…Kid's still there."
Another man walked over.
The chain clinked as he nudged Kael with his boot.
The boy barely moved.
"Still breathing?"
The man crouched and grabbed his collar, hauling him upright.
Kael's head lolled forward.
His eyes opened halfway.
The world swayed around him.
"Yeah," the slaver muttered.
"Tough little rat."
He unlocked the chain from the tree and dragged Kael back toward the wagons.
The snow crunched under their boots.
Kael's legs barely worked.
He stumbled twice before the man finally just shoved him forward.
"Move."
The wagon door opened.
The prisoners inside lifted their heads instantly.
Garrick surged forward as far as the chains allowed.
"Kael!"
The slaver grabbed the boy by the collar and tossed him inside.
Kael hit the wooden floor hard.
Chains rattled as the wagon door slammed shut again.
For a moment he didn't move.
Then Garrick pulled himself closer and lifted his son gently.
"Kael… Kael."
The boy's eyes fluttered open weakly.
"I'm fine," he murmured.
His voice barely existed.
Garrick pulled him closer, trying to share what little warmth he had.
"You stupid stubborn boy."
Kael didn't answer.
But his hand slowly opened.
Inside his palm sat the frozen scraps of meat and carrot.
Hard as stone now.
Garrick stared at them.
"…You kept it."
Kael's voice was barely a whisper.
"For you."
Garrick swallowed hard.
Carefully he broke the frozen pieces apart with his fingers.
Even frozen food was still food.
He ate slowly.
Then pulled Kael close again.
Around them, the wagon creaked as the caravan began moving once more.
Outside, the storm had not yet ended.
And inside the wagon…
Kael drifted in and out of sleep against his father's shoulder.
The wagon rolled again.
The wheels crushed through the snow with slow, heavy groans while the horses strained against their harnesses. Wind still howled through the forest, though the storm had begun to thin into drifting sheets of gray.
Inside the cage, the cold remained.
Garrick kept Kael pulled close against his side, using his own body to block what little wind slipped through the cracks in the wagon boards. The boy felt lighter than he remembered.
Too light.
Kael's head rested against his father's shoulder, his breathing uneven.
Sometimes he slept.
Sometimes he didn't.
His skin felt too warm.
"Kael," Garrick whispered.
The boy stirred faintly.
"…yeah?"
"You awake?"
"Sort of."
Garrick touched the back of his hand gently.
It was hot.
Not from warmth.
From fever.
The cold had soaked too deep into him the night before.
Kael shivered again, smaller tremors now, his body struggling to balance between cold and heat.
Across the wagon, one of the older men spoke quietly.
"Cold sickness."
Another nodded grimly.
"Happens to kids faster."
Garrick said nothing.
He just pulled Kael a little closer.
Then he saw the boy's wrist.
The iron cuff had rubbed the skin raw during the night. Now the flesh around it had turned pale and stiff, almost waxy beneath the dirt and bruises.
Frostbite.
Not the worst kind.
But enough.
Garrick gently lifted Kael's hand.
The boy winced immediately.
"Don't."
"It hurts?"
"Yes."
Even the movement made Kael's fingers twitch.
They felt wrong.
Too stiff.
Too numb.
And at the same time…
Burning.
Like the cold had turned into fire beneath his skin.
Garrick lowered the hand slowly.
"Your wrist got frozen last night."
Kael blinked.
"…great."
His voice sounded hoarse.
"Is it gonna fall off?"
Garrick almost laughed.
"No."
"Good."
Kael closed his eyes again.
"…I need it."
"For what?"
There was a long pause.
Kael's voice came back quieter.
"…killing them."
Garrick didn't answer.
The wagon creaked again as it hit a rough patch in the road.
Kael shifted slightly against him and immediately hissed through his teeth.
His wrist had bumped the wooden floor.
Pain shot through his arm like lightning.
That was the strange part about frostbite.
The cold numbed it first.
Then when the blood tried to return…
It burned.
Deep.
Sharp.
Every nerve waking at once.
Kael clenched his jaw.
Across the wagon, Mother Senna watched quietly from the corner.
Her eyes lingered on the boy's face.
The fever.
The frostbitten wrist.
The way his jaw tightened against the pain.
But also…
The way his eyes never fully rested.
Even when half-asleep.
Even when sick.
The storm inside him was still there.
Growing.
Outside the wagon the slavers shouted to each other as the caravan pushed deeper through the snow-covered forest.
Inside, Garrick kept one arm around his son.
"You're going to be alright," he murmured.
Kael didn't answer.
His breathing had grown heavier.
Fever dreams were already starting to take hold.
The storm finally began to thin.
Snow still covered the road, but the wind had calmed. The sky above the forest had turned a dull gray instead of the endless white haze that had followed them for days.
The caravan moved faster now.
Horses strained forward, hooves breaking through frozen drifts as the wagons creaked down a long winding road.
Inside the prisoner wagon, the air had grown heavy with sickness and exhaustion.
Kael drifted in and out of sleep against his father's shoulder.
His fever had worsened during the night.
Every now and then his body shivered violently, even though sweat dampened the collar of his shirt. The frostbitten wrist had swollen slightly where the iron cuff rubbed against it, pale skin now turning blotchy red as the blood tried to return.
When he moved it, pain shot up his arm like fire.
So he stopped moving it.
His head leaned against Garrick's chest as the wagon rocked.
"Kael," Garrick murmured quietly.
The boy's eyes cracked open slightly.
"…yeah."
"We're close to something."
Kael frowned faintly.
"How do you know?"
"Listen."
Kael did.
At first he only heard the usual sounds.
The wagon wheels.
The horses.
Chains rattling softly.
Then—
Voices.
Not the slavers.
More.
Many more.
The faint hum of a city.
Kael forced himself to sit up slightly.
Through the crack in the boards he could see something new.
Stone.
Tall gray walls rising above the road.
The caravan passed through a large iron gate.
The sound echoed.
Metal against metal.
Then the ground changed beneath the wheels.
Stone instead of snow.
They were inside a city now.
But the caravan didn't slow.
It moved deeper through narrow streets where Kael could see lanterns burning and people walking along the roads.
Some glanced toward the wagons.
Most didn't.
Like this was normal.
Like prisoners being dragged through the streets meant nothing.
The wagons turned again.
Then again.
Until the noise of the city above them faded.
The road sloped downward.
The wagon creaked as it descended a long ramp carved into stone.
The air grew colder.
Damp.
Underground.
Torches flickered along the walls now, casting shadows across thick iron doors and heavy wooden gates.
The caravan had entered a large underground loading hall.
Slavers jumped down from the wagons.
"Unload them."
Chains rattled as wagon doors were thrown open.
Light flooded the cage.
"Move!"
The prisoners were dragged out one by one.
Kael tried to stand.
His legs barely cooperated.
Garrick grabbed him before he could fall.
"Easy."
But the moment they stepped down from the wagon—
The slavers moved quickly.
"Separate them."
"What?"
Garrick barely had time to react.
Hands grabbed Kael.
Another pair grabbed him.
"No—!"
Kael's grip slipped as two men dragged him away.
"Dad!"
Garrick fought the chains, pulling hard enough to cut into his wrists.
"Kael!"
But the slavers were stronger.
They shoved the men one direction.
The boys another.
And somewhere deeper in the stone corridors…
The women's cries echoed faintly through the tunnels.
Kael twisted violently as they dragged him down a dim hallway lined with iron-barred cells.
"Let go!"
A guard shoved him forward.
"You'll see him again if he lives long enough."
The cell door slammed shut behind him.
Iron rang against stone.
Kael stumbled and caught himself against the wall.
His fevered head spun.
The frostbitten wrist throbbed.
The corridor outside filled with the sounds of other doors slamming shut.
Boys shouting.
Some crying.
Others silent.
Kael pressed his back against the cold stone wall and slid down slowly.
The underground prison smelled of damp earth and rust.
Far above them…
The city went on living.
And down here…
The real nightmare had only just begun.
The cells stayed dark for a long time.
No one knew if it was hours or a full day.
Underground, time had a way of dissolving. There were no windows, only the dim orange glow of torches burning along the stone corridors. Water dripped somewhere deeper in the tunnels, a slow hollow sound that echoed through the iron bars.
Kael sat with his back against the wall.
His head throbbed from the fever.
The frostbitten wrist burned whenever he tried to move it, a deep stabbing ache that ran up his arm.
Across the small cell, three other boys from the caravan sat in silence.
Bram was one of them.
He hadn't spoken much since they were separated from their fathers.
"You think they're alive?" Bram finally whispered.
Kael didn't answer.
He stared at the floor.
Snow.
Blood.
The knife.
His mother's voice.
The memory hit him again like it always did.
Bram must have taken his silence as an answer.
He looked away.
Footsteps echoed down the stone corridor.
Heavy boots.
More than one man.
The boys in every cell lifted their heads.
The footsteps stopped outside Kael's cage.
Keys jingled.
The door swung open.
"Up," a guard said.
The boys hesitated.
The guard slammed the iron baton against the bars.
"UP."
They scrambled to their feet.
Kael pushed himself upright slowly.
His body felt weak, but he forced himself to stand straight.
The guards herded them into the corridor.
More boys were already there from other cells.
Some looked barely older than Kael.
Others closer to fifteen.
They were marched down the tunnel.
The air changed as they moved deeper underground.
Louder.
Warmer.
Voices.
Many voices.
Then the corridor opened into a large stone chamber.
Torches burned along the walls, and wooden platforms had been built around the room like a market.
But this wasn't a normal market.
Men stood along the platforms, dressed in thick coats, leather armor, fine cloaks.
Buyers.
The slavers shoved the boys into a rough line.
One of the caravan leaders stepped forward.
Corvin.
His red coat had been replaced with a dark vest, but his smile hadn't changed.
"Fresh stock," he announced to the room.
Several of the men stepped closer.
They inspected the boys like livestock.
One grabbed a boy's chin and forced his mouth open to look at his teeth.
Another squeezed a boy's arm.
"Too skinny."
"Give him a few weeks."
A fat merchant shook his head.
"I want workers, not corpses."
Laughter followed.
Kael stood still.
His eyes moved slowly across the room.
Watching.
Learning.
Waiting.
A tall man stepped forward from the crowd.
He wore dark armor beneath a heavy cloak, and his face carried several old scars.
One of the slavers leaned toward him.
"Looking for fighters tonight?"
The man's eyes drifted across the line of boys.
"Maybe."
He stopped in front of one boy.
Shook his head.
Too small.
He moved on.
Then he stopped in front of Kael.
The man studied him quietly.
Kael didn't lower his eyes.
That seemed to interest the man.
"How old?"
"Seven," one of the slavers answered.
The man crouched slightly in front of him.
"You look older than that."
Kael said nothing.
The man noticed the bruises.
The split lip.
The frostbitten wrist.
"Troublemaker?"
The slaver laughed.
"You have no idea."
The man smiled slightly.
"Good."
He grabbed Kael's chin and turned his face toward the torchlight.
Kael's jaw tightened.
The man let go.
"This one."
Corvin raised an eyebrow.
"Bit young for the pits."
"Not for long."
The man tossed a small leather pouch to the slaver.
Coins clinked.
The deal was done.
Corvin nodded.
"Sold."
Bram looked at Kael in shock.
"Kael—"
A guard grabbed the boy and dragged him away from the line.
Kael stumbled once before catching himself.
The man who bought him spoke calmly to the guard.
"Take him to the holding pens."
The guard nodded.
"Yes, sir."
Kael was dragged down another tunnel away from the others.
Behind him, the market continued.
More boys were inspected.
More coins exchanged.
But Kael was already gone.