Vesryn’s illumination spun restlessly around them, the spheres flaring brighter. Shadows cleaved the walls at angles that belonged to none of their bodies. The air constricted as the mountain closed in, funneling them into the first chamber.
Lykor ducked through the stone entry with the prince at his side and Kal close behind, the rest of their force trailing after. All moved quietly, Essence held as taut as arrows straining against bowstrings.
A subtle pulse thrummed at the threshold, snagging in Lykor’s perception—power from an unseen shield humming low. No bars were needed here. Not when Essence locked tighter than any steel, a prison forged to cage without chains.
He stepped forward and tore a fistful of rending from his Well, shadows lashing down his arm. The air convulsed when his strike collided with the ward, threads of magic sundering in a violent rush.
The reek hit first. Mold. Waste. Cold sweat. The rank press of bodies confined too long, stale air choked with fear.
Only then did he see them.
Children.
A silence lay over them so complete it felt layered into the stone itself, clinging to their small frames like dust to bone. No whispers rose, not even the thin cry of an infant as they blinked against the illumination. But even that movement came muted, as though motion had been forbidden.
Some shrank tighter to the walls, spines curling as if they could vanish into the rock. A girl no older than eight flinched from the light before reaching for a boy beside her, drawing him close without a sound. Others huddled in unmoving clusters, heads bowed, breaths shallow like noise might summon punishment.
None dared sit near the center. No one risked being seen first.
Not like him.
He’d placed himself at the front every time the elves came, fangs bared to meet their gazes. Sometimes he’d wait by the shield, bracing for the inevitable portal. Other times he forced his broken body upright after they struck him down, daring them to take him again if it spared someone else.
But these children had already learned survival’s cruelest truth, the safety of being invisible.
They appeared to be half-elves, filth streaking their cheeks, hunger etched in the gaunt lines of their faces. Bruises marred them in patterns too uniform to be chance.
A handful of mothers were present, clutching infants or sheltering the smallest with a stillness that knew it might not matter. Golden shackles bound their wrists, skin chafed raw beneath the metal.
Behind him, Daeryn’s voice cracked. “Stars below.”
Bhreena slipped around Lykor, palms open, lowering herself beside a pair of children. Her voice came softer than he’d ever heard it, a murmur shaped for trust.
Another from their ranks hesitantly followed her lead. Then two more. With their hovering illumination, they spread through the gloom like threads of light, each voice reaching carefully.
Minutes passed before the first child rose. Then another.
Others wouldn’t. Lykor saw the refusal hollowed into their eyes, the distrust set too deep. Some simply couldn’t stand, their limbs too wasted. And some had gone further still, staring with sightless eyes, minds sealed behind doors no comforting words could pry open.
Those were the ones he couldn’t look away from. Lykor’s claws flexed at his sides. He remained silent, counting as time bled by, their numbers burning into him.
Fifty. He stopped keeping track before the damage cut any deeper, though he knew there were more waiting beyond this chamber.
Near his shoulder, Kal conferred quietly with Vesryn, their voices low as they discussed portal jumps back to Asharyn. They’d have to travel slowly, especially with so many.
Their words dissolved in Lykor’s ears as Vesryn opened the first rift. Light folded in on itself, a seam of silence as the extractions began—careful but swift, the children guided or carried through one by one.
All the while, Lykor didn’t move.
Aesar hadn’t spoken either, but Lykor felt his presence—tense and seething—a shared fury smoldering deep between them.
His memory of the mountain’s tunnels might’ve been blurred, but its cruelty had not. No beds. No partitions. Nothing to divide or soften the space. Only bare rock strewn with straw and a single foul channel cut into the stone for waste. When the rot grew so thick no one could breathe, the elves would rotate them into the next chamber.
This had always been a place meant to break.
“Why children?”Aesar rasped at last.
Lykor’s chest constricted, the answer cinched too tight to release. He’d known the families would be stowed somewhere as collateral, a reminder of what defiance would cost. But this was different. Curated silence. Preparation that pointed toward a future purpose.
