Varik didn't remember when he fell asleep.
He only remembered waking to the morning horn—a long, metallic wail that scraped at the skull. The barracks stirred sluggishly, bodies shifting, groaning, stretching sore limbs.
He pushed himself up carefully. His ribs throbbed from yesterday's impact; even breathing felt like pulling air past bruises.
Junia dropped from her upper mat with an acrobatic twist that seemed unnecessary this early in the day. She blinked once at him.
"You look terrible," she declared.
"Morning to you too."
"Morning doesn't make you look better."
Rhem ambled past, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Rotation day. Don't fall behind."
That word—Rotation—sent a ripple of uneasy quiet through the barracks.
Assignments could change.
Fates could change.
Varik stood and moved into line like everyone else. No one needed instructions; their bodies moved from habit, not hope.
Morning Assignments
Three slavers entered—different from last night. Light armor, pale frostcloth, prods humming faintly.
"Line up."
They obeyed.
Junia leaned slightly toward Varik. "Don't go looking too soft now."
"I'm not soft."
"You're a little soft."
"Junia."
"Fine, a tiny bit."
The ledger man lifted a thin sheet of metal etched with numbers.
"Seventeen."
Rhem stepped forward.
"Forty-nine."
Junia rolled her neck and moved to join the group called. She shot Varik a curious look as she passed, waiting to see what his assignment would be.
The numbers kept rolling.
Then—
"Ninety-three."
Varik stepped forward.
Junia raised her eyebrows.
Tunnels again?
But she didn't say it.
She wasn't there yesterday. She didn't know about the collapse, the crushed man, the sprint back to the gate.
She just watched him go.
A Different Crew
The tunnel crew today.
The one-eyed woman with the calm, dead-eyed posture
Two older men who looked frostbitten to the bone
A tall, silent man with a scarred scalp
And a hunched worker who seemed one shift away from collapsing
This time, no Maira.
No Nara.
No Hook-hand.
Just strangers.
"Same sections as yesterday," the slaver said. "Clear the collapse zone. Recover the body. Then resume frost clearing."
Varik's gut tightened.
Of course.
They'd have to clean the mess they made first.
The gate opened.
Cold air hit their faces.
They stepped inside.
Inside the Tunnels. Again.
The air felt heavier than yesterday—like the tunnels remembered the collapse.
Their footsteps echoed too loudly.
The one-eyed woman led with a weak lamp. "Keep close. The stone's still unstable."
Varik nodded silently.
No one spoke much.
Some shifts didn't need talking.
This was one of them.
As they walked deeper, frost thickened along the walls, glittering faintly. The pipes rattled now and then with distant pressure.
The tall scarred man cleared his throat. "Collapse site should be just ahead."
Varik already recognized the bend in the tunnel.
And then he saw it.
The Cleaning
The fallen ceiling slab lay exactly where it had landed—massive, jagged, half-embedded in the tunnel floor.
And beneath it—
The crushed young man's body.
Only one arm and part of his torso were visible under the stone. The rest was flattened into the frost.
The one-eyed woman inhaled once. Not sharply. Not sadly. Just… acknowledging reality.
"Clear it."
The crew got to work.
The tools scraped.
The stone groaned.
Their breaths puffed into the cold air.
Varik's ribs screamed with every lift of his rod, but he didn't slow.
Two men worked to wedge metal bars under the slab.
The scarred man hammered at loose stone.
Varik dug out debris to widen the gap around the crushed body.
The smell was wrong.
Cold blood.
Rot that never warmed enough to fully rot.
Frost mixed with red.
No one commented.
Finally, after almost an hour of prying and lifting, the slab shifted enough to drag the body free.
Or what remained of it.
The torso bent unnaturally.
The head was… flat.
They wrapped him in a stiff old tarp.
The one-eyed woman tied it once, tightly. "Leave him at the deposit point on the way back."
Varik swallowed and continued working.
He didn't let himself think.
Not about the boy.
Not about last night.
Not about Gavin under the rubble.
Just—
Scrape. Lift. Push.
Normally they would've rotated stations by now.
But clearing the collapse had eaten the first half of the shift.
The slavers didn't adjust the schedule.
So they worked double.
It was probably because he was there.
They wanted to make up for time lost yesterday and punish the people in the group.
It made Varik wonder what type of horrible tasks were given to the other members of the previous crew.
These thoughts did not linger for long though, Varik had to focus on what was in front of him.
Work.
Clear frost.
Shift rubble.
Hammer loose ice.
Check ceiling.
Repeat.
Hours blurred.
The hunched worker's legs buckled once, and the scarred man hauled him up without a word.
The pipes rattled occasionally, but not dangerously—yet.
Varik felt every heartbeat in his ribs.
But he kept pace.
He didn't complain.
Didn't break rhythm.
Didn't let himself look vulnerable.
Later—too far into the shift, too tired to be sharp—a low vibration traveled down one of the waste pipes.
Wrong vibration.
Deep.
Thick.
Pressured.
The one-eyed woman reacted instantly. "Back. Step back."
The crew obeyed out of instinct.
The pipe rattled violently—
Then—
A burst of icy sludge erupted from a warped seam, flooding the lower section of the tunnel.
It hit hard, sweeping debris forward.
A worker slipped and fell. Varik grabbed his arm before he slid too far, hauling him back by pure reflex.
Ice-water drenched both of them.
The one-eyed woman checked the seam with her staff. "Surface blast. Not a full rupture. We move."
Varik could still hear yesterday's scream in his skull.
He blinked it away and kept going.
Returning to the Barracks
When they finally reached the gate, the slaver waiting there scowled.
"You're late."
The one-eyed woman dropped the tarp-wrapped body by his feet. "Collapse site needed clearing."
The slaver looked annoyed. It was the same one as yesterday who wanted to bar them from entry.
However smug smirk crept on his face when he saw Varik cover in water and shivering to his bones.
"Next time work faster."
Varik ignored him and walked inside.
His clothes were soaked.
His ribs burned.
His hands shook faintly.
Junia spotted him instantly. She raised a brow at the state he was in—drenched in frost-water and streaked with dust.
"What the hell happened to you?"
"Work."
"That bad?"
"Bad enough."
She sat up straighter, finally interested. "How many shifts in the tunnels?"
"Two."
"In a row? Damn. They're squeezing you."
Varik didn't respond.
He sat on his mat and closed his eyes for a moment.
Rhem tugged the tarp off a small loaf of stale bread. "You're alive. Good enough."
Junia flopped backward on her mat. "Eat. Sleep. Hope tomorrow sucks slightly less."
Varik stayed against the wall, letting his pulse slow. The dust in his hair itched and his ribs pulsed with a dull, insistent ache, but he forced his breathing steady.
The barracks hummed around him—scraping bowls, tired whispers, a soft scuffle when someone shifted in their sleep. Familiar noises already. Not comforting, but predictable.
Junia wandered over, flicking a pebble off her mat. "You look like you crawled through a chimney."
"It wasn't pleasant."
"I figured. The tunnels never are."
"I was sent there three times back to back when I first got here. It's like a right of passage for younger newbies."
She tossed him a ragged scrap of cloth, barely clean. "Dry off. You're dripping cold water everywhere."
Varik used it without comment.
Junia watched him for a moment. "So—was it actually bad, or are you just doing that thing where you don't answer questions properly?"
"It was work."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one I have."
Junia huffed, rolling her eyes as she sat down beside him. "You're impossible."
Rhem walked by on his way to his mat. "Junia, leave him alone. Let the kid settle."
She waved him off. "He's fine. Aren't you?"
Varik shrugged. "Depends on what you consider to be fine."
"See?" she said triumphantly.
Rhem only shook his head and kept walking.
Two captives dragged the crushed man from the previous shift back into the room.
He was wrapped in a tarp, but the dark stain leaking from underneath it said enough.
Conversations dipped for a heartbeat, then resumed.
Varik watched silently as the tarp was pulled aside just enough for a slaver to mark the corpse.
The man's face was ruined beyond recognition.
Junia muttered, "Idiot must've shoved the wrong slab."
Varik didn't answer.
He saw Gavin again—buried under rubble.
Smothered by weight he never got to push off.
He looked away sharply until the image faded.
A slaver strode through the aisle, tapping a metal rod against the floor. "Evening chores! Move!"
Junia groaned. "Bucket duty again."
"What is that?" Varik asked.
"Water runs. Refilling bowls. Cleaning spills. Walking in circles. My favorite."
Rhem stretched, joints popping. "I've got sweep tonight. Again."
He glanced at Varik. "For some reason you're exempt until tomorrow. Enjoy it."
Varik didn't feel lucky.
This sudden gesture of benevolence seemed suspicious to him.
The barracks shifted into motion quickly—people hauling buckets, sweeping straw, checking mats for pests. No overseer needed. The slaves watched each other because no one wanted trouble with the slavers.
Varik leaned forward slightly, observing the rhythm of it. Even the youngest kids helped—carrying tiny bowls with both hands, tongues sticking out from concentration.
Junia returned after a while, dropping a tin bowl beside him. "Managed to get one before the water turned murky. Drink."
Varik nodded and sipped. Metallic taste. Cold. But fine.
Junia plopped down beside him again, stretching her legs. "So? Tunnels again tomorrow, you think?"
"Probably."
"Damn, they must really have it out for ya."
He raised an eyebrow. "You think so?"
"Honestly, yeah." She scratched her cheek casually. "Tunnel duty 3 days in a row despite your injuries?" "You definitely fucked one of these guys over in your past life."
Varik thought about how many people he's probably inadvertently messed with in his current life and sighed.
"Why do you talk to me so much?" he asked suddenly.
Junia blinked. "Huh?"
"You talk… a lot. To me specifically ."
"I talk a lot to everyone," she said defensively.
Then hesitated.
"Well, no. Not everyone."
"So why me?" Varik asked. "I just showed up recently so you really don't know who I am nor what I could be hiding."
She fiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve. "Dunno. At first I kinda didn't like you but after watching you a bit I realized you're different from the rest."
"How so?" Varik asked.
"You don't look like you e given up. Most of the people here either lose all hope once they see the barracks or had lost it long before they arrive but your eyes don't look like theirs."
"What, do you think I'm some sort of hero who'll free you all?" Varik asked.
"No nothing like that, you seem more of a hardened veteran who still has a job to do typa guy."
Varik shrugged. "Quite the imagination you've got there, but I wouldn't say you're too far off."
Junia snorted softly. "Now that sounds like a story."
He closed his mouth.
She raised her hands and chuckled. "Fine, fine. No stories."
Rhem returned with the broom, dropping it against the wall like he was punishing it. "Swept the whole damn walkway twice. Slavers want the place to look 'presentable.' Who knows why."
Junia snorted. "If buyers are coming soon, they always freak out."
Varik listened quietly as he wrung out his shirt again.
Junia pointed at him with her chin. "Better get used to nights like this. Everything gets more strict when they're expecting people."
He didn't respond.
Mostly because he didn't know what to say.
Partly because his ribs hurt when he inhaled too deeply.
Eventually, the horn blew—short and deep.
Lanterns dimmed.
Chains locked along the far wall.
People drifted to their mats. Some flopped down instantly. Others curled up slowly. A few whispered prayers into the dark.
Varik pulled his thin blanket over himself.
The cold crept in quickly.
Rhem from a few mats away murmured, "Rest while you can. Tomorrow's always heavier."
Varik didn't argue.
He closed his eyes, muscles aching, mind foggy.
The barracks settled—rustling straw, soft sniffling, a slaver's footsteps fading down the hall.
Another day awaited them.