Chapter 1: Ashes Beneath
Zephyr didn't say a word. He just dug.
The mine was cold and dark. The air smelled of sweat and blood. Dim flames flickered along the tunnel walls.
He was thinner than most of the other boys, and his clothes were dirty and torn. His face looked blank, like someone who had already accepted defeat. But deep in his eyes, there was a quiet fire.
People whispered about him.
"They say he was raised by bandits," one boy muttered, scooping rocks into a basket. "Murderers and thieves. He probably killed people too."
Another boy laughed. "That's why the crusaders beat him so bad when they caught him. Filthy bandit brat."
The guards gave him the worst shifts. But he never fought back.
He just kept digging.
Until one day, a voice broke the silence.
"Hey. You're always alone, huh?"
Zephyr didn't look up. He didn't care.
"I'm Alaric," the voice said again. A boy about the same age—maybe fourteen. His face was thin, but his eyes were sharp. "You don't talk much, do you?"
Zephyr stayed quiet.
Alaric sat on a rock nearby. "You really from a bandit group?"
Still no reply.
"They say you survived a raid," Alaric went on, more serious this time. "That everyone else was killed, and you were the only one they kept alive. Is that true?"
Zephyr's hand paused for a moment.
Alaric noticed. But he didn't press. He just sat with him in the silence.
"I used to live in a town near the border," he said after a while. "My dad sold weapons. Then the church said he was working with rebels. We got dragged here the next day."
Zephyr slowly looked at him for the first time.
Alaric gave a small smile. "Looks like we both lost everything."
For the first time since coming to the mines, Zephyr didn't feel completely alone.
Alaric came again the next day.
And the day after.
He wasn't like the others. He didn't mock. He just talked—about the guards, the tunnels, how the food was getting worse. Zephyr mostly stayed silent.
But he listened.
One evening, during a long shift, Alaric asked,
"Can we be friends?"
Zephyr turned back to his shovel. "Only if you're helpful."
Alaric blinked. "Helpful?"
"There's a bottle of alcohol. A strong one. It's in the building near the east entrance—where the overseers drink after hours. Bring it to me."
Alaric narrowed his eyes. "You want me to steal from the guards?"
"They only kill murderers here," Zephyr replied calmly. "You won't die. Unless you're caught and stupid."
Alaric hesitated.
"Forget it," Zephyr said, picking up his shovel again. "You're not helpful."
That night, Zephyr waited in silence. Minutes passed. Then an hour.
Just when he thought the boy had given up, a hand tapped his shoulder in the dark. Alaric sat beside him, breathing hard from running.
"I got it," he whispered, pulling out the bottle, half-wrapped in cloth. "You better not make me regret this."
Zephyr took the bottle with a nod.
Alaric stared. "You're not… gonna drink?"
Zephyr shook his head. "According to the laws in Valeria, you can't drink unless you're sixteen."
"You're seriously following laws? In a slave mine?"
"This isn't for drinking. It's for something else."
Alaric looked at him, then slowly smiled. "You really are insane."
For the first time, Alaric saw something terrifying behind that calm expression—hope.
---
The Next Morning
Zephyr didn't start digging right away. Instead, he sat beside Alaric near the wall.
"So what's the plan?"
Zephyr looked toward the far end of the mine. "You know the 14th batch?"
"Yeah. They come on shift with us once every six weeks. Why?"
"There's a man in their group. Scar across his face."
Alaric nodded. "I've seen him. Reeks of booze. Total mess."
"He's an alcoholic," Zephyr said. "Last time he got his hands on a bottle, he went wild. Hit guards. Tried to set fire to the tunnel. Took three men to stop him."
Alaric blinked. "So… we're giving him this?"
Zephyr nodded.
"He'll drink, lose control, and cause chaos. The guards will surround him. While they're distracted, we slip out."
Alaric looked skeptical. "Slip out where? It's not like they leave the door wide open for us."
Zephyr's voice lowered. "There's a waste tunnel. Below the entrance hall, where they dump broken tools and dead rats. I've seen it."
"And the entrance?"
Zephyr pointed toward the main gate. "It's there."
"Right under the guards. Are we going to walk right into their boots?"
"No. We crawl under them."
He leaned closer. "If everything goes right, they'll be too busy stopping a drunk maniac from burning the mine down. They won't notice two boys slipping into the tunnel."
"You're serious?"
Zephyr's expression didn't change. "I've been serious since the day they threw me into this pit."
---
The sky was red. The air smelled like smoke. Zephyr stood still, watching the fight unfold.
The crusaders were everywhere. Heavy armor. Faces hidden. They moved fast and ruthless, cutting down the bandits without mercy.
The bandits fell one by one.
Zephyr wanted to move, to fight—but his body wouldn't respond. He couldn't scream. Couldn't do anything.
The cries filled the air.
"Please! Help us!"
"No! Not my son!"
Voices echoed in his mind."You're nothing. Just a tool. We're keeping you alive, but you're nothing to us."
Their words cut deep. He wanted to yell, to fight back. But he couldn't.
He just watched.
He looked down at his hands. Blood. His hands were covered in it.
Crusaders and bandits—both killing for their own reasons.
Then the sky cracked open. A terrible scream shook the air.
Everything went dark.
Zephyr woke with a jolt. His heart pounded. His hands shook.
He rubbed his face, trying to shake off the nightmare.
The cold air, the mine, the dim torchlight—this was real.
But the fear from the dream still clung to him.
---
In their usual meeting place, Zephyr and Alaric reviewed the plan. They sat where no guards could hear.
"We get past the guards, head for the waste tunnel. It's the only way out," Zephyr said, calm as always.
Alaric nodded, but worry lingered in his eyes. "Even if we escape… we can't go after the guards."
Zephyr frowned. "What do you mean?"
Before Alaric could answer, a voice rang out across the hall.
"Stop sitting idle! Get back to work!"
The guard's shout echoed through the mine. Heavy footsteps drew closer.
Alaric tensed. "We can't even take a break here," he muttered, more annoyed than afraid.
Zephyr didn't flinch. "We'll deal with it later."
Alaric sighed. "Look, Zephyr. Even if we escape, we can't touch the guards. Not here. Not in Narrowile."
Zephyr raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
Alaric looked around before leaning in. "The city's controlled by three powers: the City Lord's Castle, the Church of the Enlightened Seer, and the Mercenary Guild. If we mess with any of them, we're dead."
Zephyr went quiet. He hated the idea of being trapped between them."
So what do we do?"
"Unless we join one of them, we won't stand a chance. We need power if we want to change anything."
Zephyr didn't want to be tied down—but Alaric was right."
We'll figure it out," he said after a pause. "One step at a time."
Once the guards moved on, they returned to planning."
We can't just hand him the bottle," Zephyr said. "After last time, he won't take it. He got punished for drinking on shift."
Alaric frowned. "You're right. He won't trust us."
Zephyr thought for a moment, then gave a cold smile. "We don't need his trust. Just need it in his system."
Alaric's eyes widened. "You mean…"
"We'll pour the alcohol into his water," Zephyr said like it was nothing. "He won't know. And soon enough, he'll be out of control."
Alaric grinned. "Then while they're dealing with him, we slip away."
Zephyr nodded. "Exactly. And tonight's the night."
A small flicker of hope lit in both of them.
Tonight, everything would change.