The checkpoint loomed ahead, a towering iron gate, rusted but imposing, standing like the maw of some ancient beast. Beyond it, the depths of the mine awaited, swallowing those who entered into its crimson glow.
The air was thick with tension as the slaves were herded forward like cattle. Guards lined the walls, their weapons gleaming under the blood-red light of the crystals embedded in the rock.
Alex kept his head down, his mind calculating, observing.
Then the division began.
The guards walked through the crowd, assessing each slave with sharp, practiced eyes.
"Young and strong over there." A soldier yanked a broad-shouldered man from the line, pushing him towards a separate group.
"Old, weak, or sick stay here."
Alex stiffened as he was roughly shoved aside, his body falling into the group of elderly men, women, and children.
His brows furrowed.
Why separate us?
At first, he assumed it was for workload distribution, the young would handle the heavier labor while the weaker ones did less strenuous tasks.
But something about the way the guards scanned them, the cold calculation in their eyes.
It unsettled him.
His sister stood beside him, clinging to his arm. Her fiery red hair framed her young, frightened face. Alex squeezed her hand, offering silent reassurance.
Whatever this was, he would figure it out.
Then, they brought out the brands.
A soldier stepped forward, holding a long iron rod, the tip glowing a searing orange-red. The stench of burning flesh already lingered in the air, the scent cloying and thick.
Alex felt his sister tremble beside him.
One by one, the slaves were dragged forward.
Branded.
A number seared into their skin, forever marking them as property of the mine.
Screams filled the air, some muffled, some raw and wretched. The young girl before Alex sobbed as the iron was pressed into her frail arm, the scent of her flesh burning making Alex's stomach churn.
Then it was his turn.
They grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm forcefully.
The brand came down.
Pain exploded through his flesh.
Like a thousand blades slicing into him, the heat ate into his skin, burrowing deep. Alex's jaw clenched, but he refused to scream. His nails dug into his palms, his breath coming out sharp and fast as the number seared itself into his soul.
64.
A number. A mark.
Not a name. Not a person. Just a number.
His sister was next.
She let out a sharp cry, her small frame jerking as they burned the number into her delicate arm.
95.
Tears streamed down her face, but she swallowed her sobs, biting her lip until it bled.
Alex hated himself for being powerless to stop it.
When the last of them had been marked, the guards dragged the other group, the young and strong—through a different gate.
Alex watched as they disappeared into the shadows, led somewhere deeper into the mountain.
But his group the weak, the unwanted were herded toward the mine entrance itself.
A soldier, taller and broader than the others, stepped forward, his armor worn but his voice carrying unshakable authority.
"Listen well," he barked, his tone merciless.
"Your lives are no longer your own. You belong to the mine. You work when told, you eat when allowed, you sleep when permitted. There is no escape, only obedience."
The slaves stood silent, the weight of his words sinking in.
"Your duties are simple," the soldier continued.
Wake when the alarm sounds.
Eat quickly.
Work the mines for six hours.
Break for a short time.
Return to the mines until nightfall.
Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
His eyes scanned the group, cold and empty.
"You will be assigned sleeping quarters. You will not leave them at night. Anyone caught outside after dark—"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
The unspoken threat lingered in the air like poison.
Then, his gaze darkened, his voice lowering, weighted with something unnatural.
"And one last thing…"
His fingers tightened around his sword hilt.
"Ignore the voices."
After being told the instructions, the guards moved through the group, unlocking the chains from their wrists.
But before anyone could feel relief, new chains were brought forward.
One by one, heavy iron shackles were fastened around their ankles. The cold metal bit into Alex's skin as the lock clicked shut. He shifted his leg slightly, testing it, the weight was unbearable. These weren't just restraints; they were designed to keep them slow, to make escape impossible.
His sister let out a small whimper as the chains were locked around her legs. Alex glanced at her—her head was lowered, her fists clenched.
The guard overseeing them stepped forward, his armor clanking as he surveyed the newly shackled slaves.
"Welcome to the mine," he said, his voice low and filled with warning. "Obey the rules, do your work, and you might live."