Varik didn't wake peacefully.
A sharp metallic clang split the air—violent enough to rattle the bars above him. Someone was hitting metal with metal, over and over, a crude alarm meant to jolt the captives awake.
Varik shot up too fast.
Pain ripped through his ribs and down his side, forcing a hiss from his lips. His hand went instinctively to the bandage around his torso.
Right.
Elara had patched him up.
His vision cleared slowly.
People were already stirring around the barracks—unrolling themselves from threadbare blankets, shaking frost off clothing, rubbing stiff limbs awake. Muffled voices filled the air with the tired heaviness of people who'd run out of ways to complain.
Rhem stood a few mats over, stretching his arms. He glanced at Varik briefly before nodding.
"Morning," he said. His tone was flat, but not unfriendly.
Varik returned a slow nod. "If you can call it that."
Junia hopped down from the higher mats, landing lightly despite the cold stiffness of early morning. "Wakey, wakey, new kid. Don't worry, mornings get easier once the night numbs you."
Varik looked at her for one long second.
A bit deadpanned. Then just sighed.
Junia grinned wider, clearly entertained.
Rhem grunted. "Ignore her."
Before Varik could reply, the gate screeched open and the spear-woman entered. Her armor glinted in the dim lantern light, frost lining the seams.
"Line up for assignments."
Everyone fell in line automatically.
Varik winced as he stood, but didn't let it show.
Assignments
The slavers walked through the line with a cold efficiency.
"You—scrap sorting."
"You—kitchen run."
"You two—latrine duty."
"You—corpse shift."
Varik didn't know what that was.
He didn't ask.
But Rhem's jaw tightened.
Then the spear-woman stopped in front of Varik.
Her eyes swept his posture, his bandaged torso, his face, then the crescent-moon brand on his arm.
"You. Perimeter maintenance."
Rhem's gaze flicked over at Varik with something like sympathy.
Junia made a low whistle. "Already tossing the newbie to the tunnels. Bold."
Varik ignored her.
Instead, he shifted his eyes toward Rhem. "What is perimeter maintenance exactly?"
Rhem kept his voice low. "Cleaning collapsed parts of the outer tunnels. Clearing frost build-up. Fixing broken stone beams. Sometimes hauling scrap deeper inside. It's not the worst job here… but it can get ugly fast."
The crooked-fingered man ahead of them muttered, "Things get in sometimes…"
Junia elbowed him. "Don't scare the kid."
"We are literally the same age," Varik muttered.
Junia raised an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me."
Varik didn't respond—just turned back to Rhem.
"Where exactly are we?" Varik asked quietly. "This barracks."
Rhem scratched at his beard. "Dunno the exact number, but… we're in the outer sectors. The central outer line, if I had to guess. One of the older structures, too. Has that smell."
Elara passed behind them and snorted softly. "All of them smell like that."
Rhem continued, ignoring her, "I've heard there are dozens of slave sites. Hidden across Acrem Futri. Underground chambers, old factories, collapsed hubs… all retrofitted to do the same thing."
Varik processed that.
"So no one knows which one they're in?"
Rhem shook his head. "Some do. Most don't. Doesn't matter anyway. They move slaves around like shipments depending on what's needed."
Junia nodded in agreement. "Think of it like a giant network. Doesn't matter if you're here or ten blocks down—the same hell awaits."
Varik kept his face neutral.
But in his chest, something twisted.
Before he could ask anything else, the slavers barked for everyone to move.
Morning Food
They were herded to a makeshift counter where a slaver dumped gray mush into dented metal bowls. A watery steam rose from it.
Varik took his portion without a word.
Junia peered into her bowl. "Perfect. My favorite— everything stew."
Rhem elbowed her. "Eat."
Varik took a bite.
It tasted like death. But he's had worse on bad days in the slums.
Gritty. Thin. Like warm sand floating in dirty water.
Thinking about Varik and Gavin sent a pang of pain in his heart but he pushed it back and scarfed down the stew of death and despair.
They needed any energy they could get.
Around them:
A man vomited in the corner.
A woman with frost-bitten hands tried to hide her tears.
A child scraped the bottom of their bowl for crumbs.
Elara forced one of the miners to let her check a reopened wound.
Life moved… but slowly.
Like it was dragging chains behind it.
Assignments Called
A slaver shouted: "Perimeter team—move!"
Rhem nudged Varik. "That's you."
Varik stood without a word.
Junia flicked a strand of lavender hair from her eyes. "Good luck out there. Try not to scream if something bites."
Varik gave her a look of uncertainty.
"Don't worry," he said. "I don't scream easily."
Junia grinned, amused. "We'll see."
Rhem gave Varik's shoulder a firm pat. "A word of advice from your senior kid, stay at the center of the group. Not the front, not the back."
"Why?" Varik asked.
"Front gets hit first," Rhem said. "Back gets noticed last."
Varik nodded slowly.
Made sense.
He walked to join the perimeter crew—five captives waiting near the gate, each looking tired in a different way.
The spear-woman unlocked the gate and motioned them out with her chin. "You know the route. Don't drag your feet."
A rush of cold air blasted them as the outer tunnel came into view.
Cracked stone.
Dripping rusted pipes.
Frostweb climbing the walls.
Darkness curling around every corner.
Varik inhaled slowly, ignoring the sting in his ribs.
This was his first full day here.
His first task.
His first test.
He stepped forward into the tunnel.
The gate clanged shut behind him.
And the barracks fell quiet again.