The caravan lurched forward with a groan of old wood and rattling chains. Every bump in the uneven wasteland ground sent fresh pain shooting up Ishy's right ankle where the iron shackle bit deep. He clenched his jaw and tried to brace himself against the wooden wall, but the heavy links only clinked louder, reminding him constantly that he was no longer free.
He wasn't alone in the cramped, dark space. Twelve other young people — eight guys and four girls, all between eighteen and twenty-two — sat or lay huddled together.
All of them wore the same coarse white tunics. All of them had that same hollow look in their eyes. Some had visible blood-colored bruises on their necks or wrists. Others kept theirs hidden, but the fear was unmistakable.
For a long time, no one spoke. The only sounds were the creak of the wheels, the wet breathing of the skinless Hollowed Beasts pulling them, and the occasional soft sob.
Eventually, the skinny boy with messy black hair sitting closest to Ishy broke the silence. His voice was barely a whisper.
"…How long have you been here?"
Ishy glanced sideways at him. The kid looked nineteen at most, with a dark bruise blooming across his left cheek.
"Feels like forever," Ishy muttered. "Woke up drowning in that red sea… then this chain appeared out of nowhere and nearly burned my leg off. You?"
The boy swallowed hard. "I was in my dorm room. One second I was cramming for finals, the next I was underwater. I thought I was actually dying. They say if you die here, your body back in the real world just… stops breathing. Becomes a corpse in bed."
A girl with short brown hair and red-rimmed eyes — Lina, she had said earlier — spoke up from the opposite side, her voice trembling.
"My name's Lina. I was at my mother's funeral when it happened. The Anchor took me right there, next to the coffin. I didn't even get to say goodbye properly." She hugged her knees tighter, chains clinking softly. "Now I'm here. Those Hunters outside… they're not saving anyone. They're using us."
The broad-shouldered guy sitting near the back let out a bitter laugh. His hands were shaking despite his size. "Name's Kael. They told me the same thing. Called me a 'key.' Said something about echoes of dead gods and vaults full of power. They don't care if we live or die. We're just walking soul-locks to them."
Another prisoner — a quiet girl with long black hair and a bruise on her collarbone — whispered, "I heard them talking before they loaded us. They need fresh Infected like us because our Anchors are still 'pure.' Older Infected souls don't work as well for the deeper chambers."
A tall, lanky boy with a scarred lip snorted from the corner. "Pure? That's a nice way to say we're still screaming and broken. My name's Renn. I lasted three days in my first dream before they dragged me out. This is my second time being 'harvested.' They always need more bodies."
Ishy listened, his stomach twisting tighter with every word. The burning pain in his ankle pulsed in rhythm with the bruise on his neck. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure, but the chain only groaned louder.
"So what happens when we reach this 'vault'?" Ishy asked, voice low. "Do any of you actually know?"
Lina shook her head slowly. "They'll force us inside. Use our Anchors to open doors normal Chalice Rituals can't touch. The ones who survive the trial get turned into Awakened Hunters. The rest…" She trailed off, eyes distant. "The rest become fuel. Their souls stay trapped here forever."
Kael spat on the floor. "I'd rather die fighting than become one of their damn keys. But look at us — chained like animals. What the hell are we supposed to do?"
Renn leaned forward, eyes sharp despite the fear. "We watch. We listen. If there's even a small chance to break these chains or turn the tables on those bastards, we take it. I'm not dying quietly for their greed."
The skinny boy next to Ishy — who still hadn't given his name — wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "My little sister is still back home. She's only fourteen. If I die here… she'll be alone. I can't let that happen. I have to survive this. Even if it means playing along for now."
Another girl, smaller and quieter than Lina, spoke up for the first time. Her voice was so soft it was almost lost under the creaking wheels. "I keep seeing my dad's face every time I close my eyes. He died last year. The Anchor came the same week. I think… I think it feeds on that. On what we lost."
Ishy felt a sharp pang in his chest. He thought of his own mother again — her tired smile after long shifts, the way she used to ruffle his hair and say "You don't have to carry everything alone, Ishy." He had carried it anyway. Now this thing was dragging whatever was left of him into hell.
"Yeah," Ishy said quietly. "It does feed on it. Grief is the soil, right? That's what the stories said."
The conversation died down as the caravan hit a rough patch, jolting everyone. Several prisoners winced as their chains or bruises reacted. The air inside grew thicker, heavier with the scent of old blood and decaying stone.
After a long silence, Kael muttered, "Any of you actually see the STATUS menu yet?"
A few nodded. Ishy included.
"It flickered when I woke up on the shore," he admitted. "Still waiting. Like it's watching me suffer first before it offers anything."
Renn smirked bitterly. "That's the Anchor's game. It gives you pain first, then dangles power. Some people break. Some people sell their souls for it. I've seen both."
The skinny boy whispered, almost to himself, "I just want to go home. That's all. Just home."
Lina reached over and squeezed his hand gently. "We all do. But right now… we have each other. That's something, right?"
The caravan suddenly slowed. Voices from outside grew louder — the Hunters arguing in low, urgent tones.
"…Fog is thickening… Beast is getting closer…"
"…We need to reach the vault before nightfall…"
"…If the kid's Anchor is strong enough, we can use him to—"
The voices cut off as the lead Hunter banged a fist hard on the side of the caravan.
"Quiet in there!" he barked. "Any noise and we'll make an example out of one of you."
The prisoners fell silent again. Ishy pressed his forehead against his knees, breathing slowly through the constant burning in his ankle.
Hours seemed to drag on. The light outside shifted from bruised daylight into something darker and more oppressive. The scent of grave-dust grew stronger.
Eventually, the caravan came to a complete stop. Heavy boots crunched on gravel. The cage door at the back creaked open, letting in a gust of cold wind that smelled of ancient stone and decay.
The lead Hunter stood there, mask still in place, serrated blade resting casually on his shoulder.
"End of the line, cargo," he announced, voice dripping with mock politeness. "Everyone out. Try not to trip over your own chains."
One by one, the prisoners were dragged or shoved out. When it was Ishy's turn, a heavy palm slammed into his back again. He stumbled forward, the iron chain dragging noisily behind him across the rocky ground.
They had arrived at a massive, crumbling stone structure — half temple, half tomb. Tall pillars covered in faded carvings of dying gods rose into the dark sky. A faint, sickly blue glow pulsed from deep inside the ruins.
The other prisoners huddled together, chains clinking. Some were crying openly now. Others stared with numb acceptance.
The lead Hunter walked in front of them, scanning each face like livestock.
"Listen carefully," he said. "Inside this vault lies an echo of a Fallen God. Its power is leaking. Enough to make any Awakened rich beyond their wildest dreams. But the deeper chambers are sealed by soul-locks. That's where you come in."
He pointed his blade at Ishy and two others whose bruises looked especially dark.
"Your Anchors are fresh. Strong. You three go first. The rest of you… provide support. Or bait. Whatever's needed."
Ishy's heart hammered. The burning in his ankle flared hotter. He wanted to scream, to fight, to tell these bastards exactly where they could shove their vault. But the heavy chain on his leg reminded him how little choice he had right now.
As the Hunters began herding them toward the dark entrance, Ishy glanced back at the other prisoners. Their eyes met his — fear, anger, and a tiny spark of shared defiance.
Whatever waited inside, they wouldn't face it completely alone.
And the Anchor's real "gift" was still waiting..