Deep within one of the underground tunnels, the air itself carried the scent of rust and old blood. Among the damp, dark rock formations where light hesitated to enter, hundreds of humans moved like ants. The 'cling... cling...' sound of iron chains scraping against rocks as they dragged on their feet rang through the cave like a funeral dirge.
Zenthia swung the heavy pickaxe in her hand once more at the rock face. From her thin arms—she was only sixteen years old—a black liquid mixed with sweat and dust trickled down. Her palms were cracked and bleeding. Each time the pickaxe struck the rock, the impact pierced through to her bones, spreading numbness from her shoulders to her fingertips.
"Faster! Move those hands, you dogs!"
From the far end of the tunnel, a whip came slicing through the air. It landed on the back of an elderly man standing nearby. He cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground.
Zenthia turned around in shock. It was Old Man Crane. For the past three years in this hell, he had been her only comfort. The man who had protected her like his own daughter.
"Get up! This cart needs to be filled before the sun sets!" roared Varg, the overseer. His entire body was wrapped in leather armor. The sword hanging at his waist and the spiked whip in his hand made him look like a demon.
Crane tried to stand with trembling hands, but his legs were too weak. He coughed, unable to catch his breath. Black dust particles sprayed out with his cough. The poisonous air of this mine had destroyed half his lungs.
Zenthia ran over and supported him.
"Please, give him some time... let him breathe," Zenthia begged, looking at Varg. Her voice caught in her throat.
Varg looked at them with contempt. He laughed, showing his yellow teeth. "Time? Time is worth more than life here, girl. Will you do his work too?"
Fear filled Zenthia's eyes, but she nodded. "I will... I'll do it."
Varg grunted and rolled up his whip. "Good. You have two more hours to fill this cart. Otherwise, there'll be no food for you tonight either." He turned and walked away.
Once Varg was gone, Zenthia moved Crane to the edge of a rock and sat him down. She tore a piece from her own tattered clothing and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"You shouldn't have, child..." Crane said, gasping. His voice was rough, like dried leaves scraping together. "Why did you take this on? Your own body is already exhausted."
"I'm fine, Crane." Zenthia lied. In truth, her stomach was burning with hunger. For the past two days, all they'd received were small pieces of stale bread.
She picked up the pickaxe again. Crane watched her with sadness. "Zenthia... you don't belong here. The spark I see in your eyes... this darkness cannot extinguish it."
Zenthia didn't reply. She kept breaking rocks. Inside, she was full of questions. Why this life? Why was she born? Just to die as a slave?
Suddenly, a strange rumbling sound came from the depths of the tunnel. It wasn't the usual sound of rocks breaking. It was like a growl coming from within the earth itself.
The ground began to shake. Small stones fell from above.
"Zenthia! Move!" Crane shouted.
Before she could react, a large chunk of rock fell from the tunnel ceiling. Zenthia stepped back in fear, but her foot slipped. She slid into a small pit.
"Oh no!" she cried out.
Boulders and earth fell on top of her. Complete darkness surrounded her. Dust clouds choked her breath. Within moments, everything went quiet.
Zenthia tried to open her eyes. Heavy darkness. She couldn't move. Something heavy had fallen on her leg.
"Crane? Crane, can you hear me?" she called out into the darkness.
No reply came.
She felt around with her hands. Her fingers touched something cold and damp. Not earth or stone. Not metal either.
She struggled to strike the small flint stone she had in her pocket. A small spark appeared, giving light for just a moment.
In that light, she saw it.
Right in front of her, among the collapsed rocks, was a human skeleton. It looked very old. Something that had been lying there for centuries. In the chest area of the skeleton, between the ribs, sat a black object.
It wasn't a stone. It was a seed. Black as coal, but from within it, a red light pulsed like a heartbeat.
Zenthia's heartbeat increased. What is this? Normal gemstones don't have such a glow.
Without knowing why, she reached out her hand toward it. The moment her finger touched that black seed, something like an electric shock coursed through her body.
"Ahh!" She tried to pull her hand back, but couldn't.
The seed stuck to her palm. No, it wasn't just sticking—it was melting into her skin!
Unbearable burning pain. Like hot iron pressed against her palm. Zenthia writhed in agony. The seed descended into the flesh of her palm, spreading through the skin into her veins. The veins in her arm turned visible in black.
Within moments, the pain subsided. Instead, she felt an intense cold.
The seed was now nowhere to be seen. It had disappeared inside her palm. In its place, only a small black mark remained on her palm. A mark like a coiled serpent within a circle.
"Zenthia! Are you there?"
She heard Crane's voice from above.
"I'm... I'm here!" she called out, gasping.
She heard the sound of stones being moved. Shortly after, light came down from above. Crane bravely descended.
"God, you're not hurt, are you?" He embraced her. His eyes were filled with tears.
"I'm fine. Just twisted my ankle, that's all." She hid the black mark on her palm. For some reason, she felt this shouldn't be seen by anyone else.
Crane helped her climb back up. The tunnel had partially collapsed. Fortunately, the section where they stood was safe.
But Crane's face was pale. He was gasping, hand pressed to his chest.
"Crane, what's wrong?" Zenthia asked fearfully.
"The poison gas..." He coughed. This time blood came out with the cough. "When the rock fell... the poison gas that rose from below... I breathed it in."
Zenthia's blood ran cold. The poison gas in the Black-Iron Mines was deadly. If inhaled, the lungs would dissolve within hours.
"Let's go to the doctor, quickly!" She tried to help him up.
Crane stopped her. He sat on the ground, exhausted. "No, Zenthia... there's no time. Besides, Varg will never give medicine for a slave."
That was true. Here, slaves were worth less than animals.
"Sit here..." Crane removed a small locket from around his neck with trembling hands. A rusty, old silver locket.
"I kept this to give to my daughter... but they took her away from me." Tears flowed from his eyes. "Now, let this be yours."
He placed it in Zenthia's hand. When the locket touched the black mark on her palm, she felt a strange energy being transferred. But she didn't notice it then.
"Zenthia... listen carefully." Crane looked into her eyes. His pupils were dilated. Death was near.
"You must escape from here. Somehow." He struggled to breathe. "This world... is not for the weak. If you remain weak... they will chew you up and spit you out."
"Crane, don't say that..." Zenthia cried.
"Don't cry!" He gripped her hand with unexpected strength. "Tears won't save you. Anger... you need anger. Against this world, against those who made us like this."
He coughed, more blood came out.
"Zenthia... you must live. Not just survive... you must rise so high that no one dares to touch you. That's... that's my last wish."
His voice grew thin. "Show them... that we're not just... just slaves..."
His head tilted onto her lap. The light in those eyes slowly faded. The last teardrop on those sunken cheeks dried up.
In that tunnel's darkness, Zenthia was alone.
She didn't cry. Crane was right. Tears were useless here.
She looked at his dead body. Her mind was empty. More than sadness, she felt a flame rising from deep within. It was anger. It was hatred.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps outside the tunnel. Varg and the other guards were coming.
Zenthia quickly wiped her eyes. She stood up.
Varg entered. Seeing the collapsed rocks and Crane's dead body, his face filled with contempt.
"Tch! Making such a fuss over an old man dying?" He kicked the corpse aside with his booted foot. "Hey, someone take this and throw it in the pit outside. New slaves are coming tomorrow."
Rage roared inside Zenthia. That beast was treating Crane like garbage.
She looked at Varg. There was something different in her gaze. The previous fear was gone. Instead, a cold calm.
Varg noticed it. He looked at her suspiciously. "What are you staring at? Want to join him?"
"No, master." Zenthia lowered her head and said. Her voice didn't tremble. "I'll continue working."
"Good. You need to clear these rocks too. No sleep for you tonight."
After Varg left, Zenthia picked up the pickaxe again. The black mark on her palm began to heat up.
She gripped the pickaxe handle tightly. The exhaustion she had felt before was no longer there. That strange energy she received when Crane died... it had begun flowing through her veins.
She raised the pickaxe and struck the rock hard.
THAP!
Unlike usual, this time when the pickaxe hit the rock, the stone split like butter. A large crack appeared in the rock.
Zenthia looked at her hands in amazement. This wasn't her strength. She didn't have this much power.
This... was the seed.
She looked at her palm. The black mark there was now glowing in a dim red. It seemed like a hungry beast.
Around her, she saw the poisonous fumes in the air slowly being drawn toward her palm. Thin smoke tendrils flowed like a whirlwind into the mark on her hand.
While others choked when breathing the poison gas, to Zenthia it felt... comforting. Each time she inhaled the poison gas, her exhaustion disappeared. Her muscles gained strength.
A thought flashed through her mind.
This isn't a curse... this is a blessing.
Here, in this poison-filled hell, while everyone fears dying, she alone had received something that allowed her to survive.
Zenthia turned toward Crane's dead body.
"I give you my word, Crane..." she said in her mind. "I will live. Not just survive. For every stone in this mine, for every drop of blood, I will make them pay. Not just Varg... no one who brought me here will escape."
She raised the pickaxe again. In her eyes was a brightness that challenged the darkness itself.
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