The deeper tunnels of the Shadow Pits smelled of wet earth and ancient dust, but to the children, they smelled of freedom.
The overseers rarely came down this far.
The air was too thin, the ceilings too low, and the risk of a collapse too high for men who valued their own skins. For Grout and the other guards, these tunnels were just lines on a quota sheet. For Aris and his crew, it was the only place in the world where they didn't have to kneel.
"Clear," Mira whispered, dropping down from a rocky shelf she had climbed to check for guards. Her bare feet made no sound on the stone. "Grout's gone to the upper level to yell at the breakers. We have an hour, maybe two."
The tension in the small cavern evaporated instantly.
Doran let out a dramatic groan and collapsed onto a pile of dry moss, his large frame sprawling out. "I can't feel my arms. I think they fell off. Aris, check if my arms are still there."
"They're still there, Doran," Aris said, wiping grime from his face with the back of his hand. "Unfortunately for us."
Laughter echoed softly in the small chamber. This was their sanctuary—a dead-end cavern where an underground spring trickled through the rock, providing fresh, clean water that didn't taste like rust.
Two other figures stepped out of the shadows near the spring.
Lenn was a thin boy with messy blonde hair and eyes that always seemed to be squinting, calculating. He was holding a piece of shale, sharpening a rusted iron spike he'd found. Beside him sat Tova, a girl with chopped dark hair and a fierce set to her jaw. She was currently wrapping a strip of rag around her bleeding knuckles.
"You lot took your time," Tova said, though she smiled when she saw them. She tossed a small, shriveled object at Aris.
He caught it one-handed. A dried apple core.
"Found it in the cart track," Tova said proudly. "Still has some meat on it."
"A feast," Aris said, deadpan, before breaking the core into five equal—meticulously equal—pieces. He handed them out. No one complained that the pieces were the size of a fingernail. It was the sweetness that mattered.
"Alright," Aris said, dusting off his hands. "Break time is over. Up."
"Oh, come on, Aris," Lenn sighed, though he put down his sharpening stone. "Doran is already asleep."
Aris walked over and kicked the sole of Doran's foot. "Up. The Stick King waits for no one."
Doran groaned but scrambled up. "I hate this game. You always win."
"I win because you swing like a farmer chopping wood," Aris said, walking to the corner of the cave where five sturdy, straight branches were hidden. He tossed one to each of them.
To an observer, it looked like children playing knights. They held the sticks like swords, assuming dramatic poses. But Aris wasn't playing.
"Positions," Aris commanded, his voice shifting from friend to instructor.
The four children fell into a rough line. Over the last year, Aris had turned their "play" into drills. He disguised it as a game to avoid suspicion, but he was teaching them footwork, balance, and unit cohesion.
"Doran, shield arm up," Aris corrected, tapping Doran's left arm with his stick.
"You're dropping it. If I had a real sword, you'd have no shoulder."
"It's heavy," Doran grumbled.
"Pain is heavy. Fatigue is light," Aris recited, a mantra from his old life. "Again. Tova, stop looking at your feet. Look at my chest. If you look at my weapon, you're already too slow."
"I'm looking at your ugly shirt," Tova shot back, grinning, but she adjusted her stance.
"Good. Lenn, Mira—flank."
Aris stepped back, holding his stick in a two-handed grip. "Attack me. All at once. If you tag me, I do your laundry for a week."
The reward was too good to pass up.
"Get him!" Doran roared, charging straight in with a clumsy overhead swing.
It was exactly what Aris expected. He sidestepped effortlessly, letting Doran's momentum carry him past, and tapped the boy on the back of the knee. Doran buckled.
"Dead," Aris said calmly.
But Tova and Lenn were smarter. They came in from the sides, poking and prodding, trying to distract him. Mira, the fastest, tried to circle behind him.
Aris moved with a fluidity that shouldn't have belonged to a six-year-old. He parried Tova's strike, spun to block Lenn, and used the momentum to sweep his stick low, forcing Mira to jump back.
"Don't just swing!" Aris called out, breathing hard but smiling. It was the only time he truly smiled—when the adrenaline of combat, even mock combat, kicked in. "Work together! Doran, you're the wall! Lenn, Tova, you're the spears! Mira, you're the knife in the dark!"
"I'm the wall!" Doran yelled, scrambling back up and planting his feet. "Get behind me!"
Lenn and Tova ducked behind Doran's large frame, using him as cover to launch quick jabs. Mira waited, watching Aris's eyes.
Better, Aris thought, blocking a thrust from Lenn. They're learning. They're adapting.
For ten minutes, the cavern was filled with the clack of wood on wood and the sound of children panting. For ten minutes, they weren't slaves. They were a squad. They were warriors.
Finally, Aris called a halt. They collapsed onto the cold stone floor, chests heaving, sweating despite the chill.
"You're getting faster, Mira," Aris said, sitting down and leaning against the wall. "You almost got me."
Mira beamed, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Almost isn't laundry duty."
"Next time," Aris promised.
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the water trickle. The reality of their lives waited just outside the tunnel, but in here, there was a warmth that had nothing to do with temperature.
"Aris?" Lenn asked quietly, staring at his stick.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think we'll ever leave? Like... really leave?"
The mood dipped. It was the question they all asked, but never out loud. The debt of their parents was eternal. The mines were a mouth that didn't spit things out until they were bones.
Aris looked at them. Doran, the shield. Tova, the fire. Lenn, the mind. Mira, the shadow.
He remembered the history of this world. He knew about the kingdom tension raging outside. He knew that kingdoms fell and rose on the backs of soldiers.
"We won't just leave, Lenn," Aris said, his voice hard and certain. He picked up a small stone and squeezed it in his fist. "One day, we're going to walk out the front gate. And we're going to be so strong that no one—not Grout, not the Lord, not even the King—will dare to stop us."
Doran chuckled nervously. "That's a nice story, Aris."
"It's not a story," Aris said, meeting their eyes one by one. " It's a plan."
Before anyone could respond, the distant, muffled sound of the iron bell rang through the shafts.
Clang. Clang.
"Shift change," Tova said, jumping up and dusting off her rags. The fierce warrior vanished, replaced by the submissive slave girl. "We have to hurry."
"Hide the sticks," Aris ordered.
They scrambled to stash their weapons in a crevice behind the spring. As they filed out of the sanctuary, back toward the darkness and the shouting and the hunger, Aris lingered for a split second.
He looked at the hidden cache of sticks.
Today, sticks, he thought. Tomorrow, steel.
He turned and followed his friends into the dark.