The room was cold. Damp. The walls bled with mildew, and the air was thick, suffocating like a plastic bag pressed over the face. The only source of light was a sliver of moon sneaking in from a cracked ceiling tile. Afroda sat hunched beside Zena, his once-strong hands now calloused and trembling from weeks of forced labor. They sat cross-legged on the hard stone floor, eating from a chipped bowl of what looked like mashed roots and overcooked fungi—barely edible, but better than nothing.
"Zena," Afroda said softly, breaking the silence that had stretched between them for hours, "you have to be strong."
Zena scoffed bitterly, shoving the bowl away. "Strong?" she echoed. "Strong for what, Afroda? To sit here every day in darkness, eating food that could kill us? To be let out once in two weeks like animals, only to pack cow dung at Zica's cursed farm?"
She looked gaunt now. Her hair hung in limp strands around her sunken face, her eyes once bright with rebellion now dimmed by hopelessness.
"My body is sick, Afroda. My heart… sicker. Worst of all, I don't even know if my daughter is still alive. Sevira—" her voice broke. "Is she safe? Is she warm? Is she being fed?"
Afroda closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. "She is not living a miserable life," he said with a fragile conviction. "She is strong—like you. She will survive this. We both will."
"But why are we here?" Zena whispered, staring up at the crumbling stone ceiling. "Why are we locked away like rabid animals while the Monicans suffer outside? Do you know what Zica has done? He has turned Kerion into a graveyard. Hostages in every district. Children dying. Families starving. And Datu—" her voice turned desperate—"Where is the prophecy? Where is the child of light who will free us?"
"Zena, please," Afroda said, gently placing a hand on her back. "Don't go mad. We need your mind—your hope."
"I'm not crazy," she muttered. "Not yet."
They sat in silence again, the air thick with defeat. Somewhere beyond the wall, the sound of a whip cracked against the wind. A prisoner screamed. Then silence.
Eventually, they were marched out into the pale blue dawn to carry out their bi-weekly task: working on Zica's land, scooping and carting animal waste under heavy guard. But as miserable as it was, that brief breath of fresh air, that taste of the outside world—it gave them something they desperately lacked inside those prison walls: the illusion of freedom.
Later that night, when they returned, dragging their limbs and reeking of filth, something strange happened.
The door creaked open again—a guard, flanked by two soldiers. In his hands were trays. Fresh fruits. Real bread. Meat. Bottled water. All untouched. All golden compared to the filth they were used to.
Afroda and Zena stared.
"What… what is this?" Zena asked cautiously, her lips cracked from dehydration.
"The king's daughter sent it," A guard grumbled. "She said… she said it's a gift. Her way of helping."
Zena blinked in disbelief. "Elektra?"
"Yes," he said with a sneer. "Apparently, she's decided to show some… mercy."
"But why?" Afroda asked. "Why now?"
Zica didn't answer. He dropped the trays roughly on the ground, turned without a word, and marched out.
Zena reached slowly for the fruit, her hands trembling. "Do you think it's poisoned?"
"I don't think so," Afroda said, sniffing a slice of mango with cautious hunger. "But… this doesn't feel right."
Down the corridor, raised voices echoed. They both turned their heads.
"You insolent child!" Zica's voice roared. "What gave you the right to do that?"
A girl's voice—furious and trembling—answered him. "I was only trying to help! What's wrong with showing a little humanity?"
"You don't get to question me, Elektra!" he bellowed. "Afroda is not your friend. He is a slave. You are royalty. Do you understand that? Do not stare at him, do not speak to him, and never offer him kindness again."
"I don't want to be like you," Elektra muttered.
"Then go train. You want to help? Go train for war. Prepare for what's coming. You're not ready."
There was a long silence. Then the stomp of boots retreating.
Afroda and Zena sat frozen in their cell, fruit between them, tension thick in the air.
"I don't trust her," Zena whispered.
"I don't know what to believe anymore," Afroda replied.
They sat in the silence of their cell—hearts heavy with fear, but with fruit in their hands. A strange offering. A stranger motive.
"Move it, guys! You've got a football match to win!" Coach Hamilton barked, pacing up and down the field like a military general. The boys were soaked in sweat under the golden afternoon sun, pushing through the final sets of drills like their scholarship depended on it—which, for some, it did.
After what felt like hours, the final whistle blew.
"Water break! Then hit the showers!" the coach shouted.
Sky practically dragged himself off the field. "Seriously… today's practice was brutal," he groaned, throwing an arm around Scott's shoulder while Kyle trailed behind them, pressing his hand against the back of his neck.
"My neck feels like it's about to snap," Kyle muttered, wincing.
Scott rubbed his eyes. "I'm so hungry, I think I'm seeing shadows. I swear everything's turning black and white."
Sky chuckled, nudging him. "You're not dying, bro. Just low battery."
They made their way to the locker room, peeled off their jerseys, and finally headed to the cafeteria, hair still damp and shoulders sore. Inside, the cafeteria buzzed with chatter and the warm scent of pizza and fries.
"Look—girls are over there," Sky said, nodding toward a table where Emma, Sevira, and Alex were already seated.
The boys grabbed their trays and joined the girls. Emma looked up and smirked. "How was practice, pig head?"
Sky rolled his eyes. "We're still doing this? My head doesn't look like a pig's."
"It's better," Emma teased. "A premium brand of pig."
"Don't call me that," Sky grumbled. "This head is elite-level."
"Okay, fine, I won't call you pig head," Emma said sweetly. Sky smiled—until she added, "But I never said I wouldn't think it."
The table burst into laughter.
"How's the coach treating you?" Alex asked, munching on curly fries.
"He's a monster," Kyle said, slumping into his chair. "But I think we're actually ready."
"You better be," Sevira said with a smile. "We're all cheering for you."
Scott grinned. "We're going to win for sure. I can already see the trophy."
Emma raised a brow. "Big talk, Scott."
"You'll see," he said, confidence oozing from his tired frame.
They chatted through lunch—about plays, classes, and the chaos of yesterday's practice match.
"You remember that loudmouth from Riverside High?" Sky asked, chewing his food with exaggerated slowness. "Kept saying he'd crush us."
Scott burst out laughing. "The one who tripped over his own shoelace? Classic."
Meanwhile, across the cafeteria, Lizzie sat with Kira and Abby at another table, their eyes flicking over to the group.
"Look at them," Lizzie said, voice tight with jealousy. " Sevira and her little crew acting like they own the place."
"They've gotten too comfortable with the guys," Kira added. "Especially Scott. It's like they're inseparable now."
Abby leaned in with a smirk. "We need a plan. If you want Scott to notice you, Lizzy, you can't just sit and sulk."
The bell rang, signaling their next class—Music.
⸻
The music room echoed with the low hum of piano keys as students filed in. Mr. Jackson stood at the front, flipping through sheets of music.
"Settle down, everyone. This week, your assignment is to compose a song—any genre, any style. Originality counts. You'll submit it next class."
The students groaned in unison, but Sevira and Alex exchanged excited glances.
"Sounds fun," Alex whispered.
After class, most students had already left when Mr. Jackson handed Sevira a folder. "Can you help me contact the others? These are the numbers of students who missed the announcement."
"Sure," she said, taking the list. She began texting, but for one person—Scott—she hesitated. She didn't have his number.
Then she remembered—they followed each other on Instagram. She messaged him quickly, and moments later, her phone buzzed.
Scott: Hey… how did you get my number?
Sevira: Mr. Jackson gave me a contact list to help spread the assignment.
Scott: You sure it wasn't just an excuse to call me?
Sevira : Haha. Dream on, footballer.
They kept texting, slowly drifting from music talk to weekend plans and random jokes. Something felt easy… natural.
That evening, Sevira was home, stretched out on the cold corridor floor with her headphones on, drafting lyrics in her notebook. The house was quiet—Grandma had returned to Los Angeles, and it was just her, Alex,Mark, and Courtney now.
Her phone rang. Scott.
"Hey," she said, answering with a smile.
"I… just wanted to hear your voice," he said awkwardly. "I miss you." Her heart skipped.
"Miss you too." She smiled
"Can't wait to see you on Monday." He said in a calm seductive voice.
Each word he said gave her chills. A feeling she has never felt. Was it wrong to have his number but she wanted to.
She fought herself to stop feeling like that.
"Me too." She replied.
They talked for almost an hour—about school, about their song assignments, about nothing and everything. The soft, late-night kind of conversation that made you feel like you were closer than you'd admit.
Meanwhile, Alex was at her desk, writing her own lyrics and humming to herself. The weekend had turned out unexpectedly warm—with music, laughter, and hints of something deeper forming in the spaces between them all.
Little did they know, while they were writing songs and teasing each other, Kira and Lizzy were cooking up a very different kind of plan.
The evening air was calm, and Sevira's room was bathed in the soft orange glow of the setting sun. She moved around quietly, arranging her books, folding her clothes, and clearing out the corners of her desk. It had been a long weekend, and a little order always helped her feel refreshed before a new school week.
Downstairs, her parents had called out that it was time to head to the cinema. It was a casual family night out—just Sevira, her parents, Mark, and Courtney. Something they hadn't done in a while.
The cinema lobby buzzed with excited chatter and the scent of buttered popcorn. They got their tickets, picked up drinks and snacks, and found their seats just as the trailers started rolling. Laughter echoed softly between them as they shared popcorn and watched the film unfold.
But midway through the movie, Sevira's smile faded.
Her phone.
She reached instinctively for it—but her lap was empty, her bag silent.
She gently leaned toward Alex, whispering, "I think I left my phone in the car. I'll be right back."
Carefully, she stood, her soda cup still in hand. As she turned to head for the exit, she moved too fast—just as someone stepped into the aisle from the other side.
SPLASH.
The drink flew from her hand, splattering across the shirt of a tall figure she hadn't even noticed until it was too late.
"Oh my God!" Sevira gasped, horrified. "I'm so, so sorry!"
The young lady stepped back, inspecting her now-dripping shirt, clearly startled.
"Don't—don't try to clean it, please," She said quickly, stepping away as she instinctively reached out with napkins. "You'll make it worse."
"I didn't see you. I—I was just…"
"It's okay," She said with a small sigh, shaking her shirt lightly. "Happens."
Flushed with embarrassment, Sevira mumbled another apology and rushed out of the theatre. The cool night air slapped her cheeks as she hurried to the car. Sure enough, her phone was wedged between the seats.
As she jogged back toward the building, she paused to check her screen. One new message.
It was from Scott.
Hey, Sevira. We stopped by your place a few minutes ago. Thought we'd hang for a bit. You weren't home though. Maybe next time :) – Scott.
Her heart skipped a beat.
By the time she returned to the theatre, Alex leaned over and asked, "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," she whispered back. "Just missed a visit from Scott and the guys. They came by the house."
Alex raised an eyebrow with a knowing smirk. "And how do you feel about that?"
Sevira shrugged, trying to play it cool. But she couldn't hide the tiny smile forming on her lips.