Pale light filtered through the tent as a cold wind brushed against my skin. It didn't feel real, the air carrying a strange and overwhelming sense of peace for just a moment. For a second, I almost believed I was dreaming.
Then a voice tore through the illusion.
"Wake up, you filthy slaves!"
The shout snapped me awake. My body reacted before my thoughts did, forcing itself upright as confusion flooded my mind. I looked around and realized I was inside a cramped tent filled with others doing the same, their faces hollow and exhausted.
CLACK!
Before I could process anything, the sharp crack of a whip echoed nearby. The sound was wet and heavy, followed by a scream that sent a chill through my spine. Fear spread instantly through the tent, tightening my chest as my instincts screamed at me to move.
I didn't want to be whipped at all, not now, not ever.
So I moved.
What am I doing here? This isn't my life. This isn't what I remember.
The thought barely finished forming before pain exploded across my back. The whip tore into my flesh, ripping the air from my lungs as my vision blurred and my legs buckled.
"Focus up maggots, you dickhea-"
The rest of his words dissolved into meaningless noise. I collapsed to one knee, teeth clenched so tightly my jaw ached. The pain drowned everything else out, consuming my senses.
What terrified me wasn't the pain itself.
It was the realization that this body was used to it.
This body had been whipped before .Far too many times.
As I struggled to breathe, a tight, burning sensation spread through my chest. Each breath came shallow and uneven, my lungs refusing to cooperate.
Asthma? Of course. Even this body was defective.
Hatred simmered beneath the pain, quiet but intense. I forced myself upright and joined the line of slaves being driven forward, my thoughts heavy and scattered.
We were herded like sheep toward a pit filled with murky water. Whispers passed between us. This was the "shower." One by one, slaves were kicked in. When it was my turn, a boot slammed into my back, sending me stumbling forward and plunging into the filthy water.
Disgust stirred my stomach as I dragged myself out the other side. I gagged, saliva burning my throat, but swallowed it back the moment I remembered what followed disobedience. The others were already moving toward a massive metal gate, so I followed, keeping my head low.
Beyond the gate lay a mine.
Pickaxes and battered helmets were piled near the entrance. I grabbed one, my fingers trembling as the weight settled into my hands.
So this was transmigration. Just like in the novels I used to read. And of course, I start in a place like this.
I can't let this body die, not now or ever.
My gaze flicked toward the guards. Some carried familiar weapons. Crossbows, swords, shields. Medieval, yet unsettling all the same. Unease crept into my mind.
Was there magic in this world, or was it still somehow connected to the one I came from?
The confusion gnawed at me, but I forced it down.
Before I can do anything, I have to survive. At any cost.
The heat inside the mine was suffocating. Sweat soaked my palms as I tried to lift the pickaxe, my arms trembling under the strain. Even touching the dirt felt like it burned my skin.
Still, I swung.
Again and again, until my arms burned and my lungs screamed.
Each strike was slow, clumsy, and weak. My thin frame struggled against the labor, and my breathing worsened with every passing minute. The asthma clawed at my lungs, but stopping wasn't an option. I already knew what happened to those who couldn't keep up.
Time blurred until night fell. No food was given. No rest offered.
"Time to eat, humans," a guard announced.
The voice came from above. The guard wore full iron armor, towering over us. He was eight feet tall, maybe more. Exhaustion dulled my senses, but the word lingered.
Humans? Are there other races here?
Too tired to think further, I followed the others like livestock. Hunger, thirst, and exhaustion weighed me down until each step felt heavier than the last. We were given bowls of thin slop and water clouded with dirt. I watched the other slaves devour it without hesitation, then forced myself to do the same.
It tasted like nothing.
Afterward, we were escorted back to the tents.
"Get up now, waste. This is your only warning."
I looked over and saw a guard towering above an old slave. The man was on the ground, crying, his frail body shaking as he tried and failed to rise.
What happens if he doesn't get up?
Will they be that cruel?
The question never received an answer.
The sharp snap of a bowstring echoed, and the old man's head jerked violently. His body collapsed instantly, lifeless before it hit the ground. Blood splattered across the dirt.
Shock ran through me. I had never seen someone die so easily, so casually. Disgust twisted my stomach, but I swallowed it down. Showing weakness here meant death.
"Clean up this trash," the guard ordered.
Several slaves rushed forward, dragging the corpse away. Before I could process what I had seen, a kick slammed into my side, sending me stumbling into the tent.
"Go to your bed, slave. This is your first warning."
Pain flared as I hit the ground. I crawled to my spot and collapsed onto the bedding, every muscle screaming.
I have to leave. No matter what.
Survival was the only option this place ever allowed.
As exhaustion finally got to me, my vision darkened. Something deep within my chest stirred, unseen, and my eyes faintly glimmered in the darkness before sleep claimed me.