The stench of sweat, filth, and iron filled the air, clinging to the damp walls of the underground barracks where the slaves were kept. It was always dark here, always cold. A perpetual prison carved beneath the lavish estate of Lord Varthen—a noble whose cruelty was only matched by his indulgence. The flickering torchlight cast jagged shadows, making the cramped space feel even smaller, suffocating.
Nyra Vale sat curled against the rough stone wall, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her body ached, every muscle screaming from the day's labor, but exhaustion had long lost its grip on her. Sleep was a fucking joke. A weakness. The moment you closed your eyes, you risked waking up to a boot to the ribs—or not waking up at all.
She had been eight when they dragged her here. Kicking, screaming, cursing. Not that it had mattered. They beat the fight out of her. Stripped her down to nothing, made sure she knew exactly what she was. Property. A fucking tool. Her mother had tried to stop them. Had fought like hell. And for that, they had broken her. Nyra had watched, powerless, as they crushed the only person who had ever loved her beneath their boots.
That was six years ago. Six years of hell. Six years of pain, of lessons carved into her flesh, of learning that resistance only got you hurt worse.
A sharp cry rang out, followed by the unmistakable crack of a whip tearing into skin. Then another. And another.
Someone was getting the shit beaten out of them.
No one reacted. Flinching showed weakness. Weakness got you killed. So Nyra didn't move. Didn't blink. Just sat there, staring at the stone wall in front of her, counting the fucking cracks in it to keep from thinking about who was screaming.
Then the door slammed open, and the reeking stench of blood filled the room. Two guards dragged in a body and tossed it onto the floor like a sack of rotting meat.
Riven.
Nyra's jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. His shirt was torn, flesh ripped raw, fresh blood oozing from deep gashes on his back. His lip was split, his cheekbone swollen to hell.
The overseer—rat-faced bastard that he was—stood over him, arms crossed. "Steal from me again, boy, and I'll cut off your fucking fingers one by one."
Riven groaned but had enough of a death wish to rasp out, "Least I'll still have my dick."
The overseer kicked him hard in the ribs. Riven gasped, body curling inward, but he still had that stupid fucking smirk on his face.
"Next time, I'll take your tongue instead." The overseer spat on him, then turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.
Silence.
Nyra exhaled slowly, steadying the fury curling in her gut.
"Dumbass," she muttered, crawling toward Riven and pressing her fingers to his throat. His pulse was weak, but it was there.
"I got an apple," he rasped, barely cracking open one swollen eye. "Dropped it though. Fucking waste."
"You're an idiot," she hissed, yanking a filthy rag from her pocket and pressing it against the worst of his wounds.
"An idiot who got you an extra piece of bread yesterday," he countered, voice hoarse but smug.
Nyra didn't respond. She couldn't. He was right.
"She's right," another voice murmured. Nyx was beside them now, his silver hair matted with dirt, his violet eyes calculating. "You take too many fucking risks."
"Someone has to," Riven muttered, then groaned when Nyra pressed harder on the wound. "Shit, Ny, ease up. You trying to finish me off?"
"Don't tempt me."
Nyx exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "This place is going to kill us."
No one said anything to that. Because it was true.
Nyra leaned back, pressing her head against the wall. Her hands were stained with Riven's blood, and she knew this wouldn't be the last time. Every day here was a fucking battle. And one day, they were going to lose.
But not today.
Today, they survived.
She closed her eyes and let the darkness take her.
The morning came with the sharp clang of metal against metal, followed by the barking orders of the overseers. The barracks filled with groggy groans as the slaves forced themselves upright. A few unfortunate souls who weren't quick enough received a boot to the ribs or a lash across the back.
Nyra was already up before they could reach her. Riven, still half-dead from last night's punishment, struggled but managed to sit up. Nyx helped him, murmuring something low under his breath.
"On your feet, rats!" the overseer barked. "Move, or we'll make an example out of you!"
It was always the same routine. They were herded into the yard, lined up like cattle while the overseers picked their daily labor. The stronger ones went to the mines. The smaller ones—like Nyra—were thrown into whatever work was deemed necessary that day. Scrubbing floors, carrying supplies, serving the nobles in the estate.
The work wasn't the worst part. It was the nobles. Their laughter. Their sneers. The way they looked at her—at all of them—like they were nothing but insects to be crushed under their heels.
Today, Nyra was assigned to the kitchens. It wasn't the worst job, but it came with its own set of dangers.
She scrubbed pots until her fingers bled, her mind drifting. Thoughts of escape, of rebellion, of something more than this endless cycle of suffering.
Then a hand grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back.
"Not working fast enough, bitch?"
The head cook, a massive, greasy man with piggish eyes, sneered down at her. Before she could react, his hand came down hard across her face. Pain exploded in her jaw, but she didn't make a sound. Didn't give him the satisfaction.
"Fucking useless," he spat, shoving her back. "Get back to work before I put you in the pot instead."
Nyra's lip curled, but she turned away, biting her tongue. She'd kill him one day. One day.
But not today.
Today, she survived.
That night, she sat in the barracks, staring at the ceiling.
"Nyra?" Riven's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.
She turned her head slightly, meeting his eyes in the darkness.
"You ever think about what's out there?" he murmured. "Beyond these walls?"
Every fucking day.
She didn't answer. But in the silence, he knew.
One day, they were getting out.
One day, they'd be free.