In a cold, iron cell, a broken body hung from the ceiling, suspended by heavy chains like a bird trapped in a cage of sorrow. The massive guard, his breath reeking and his teeth stained yellow, stared at the battered form of John.
"Tell me where the map is, you little pest," the guard growled in a voice like grinding stones. "Tell me, and I'll make your death quick."
John remained silent, his cracked lips sealed.
"Fine," the guard spat. "Bring the barrel!"
A massive wooden vat was rolled in, filled with water so frigid it could numb a man's soul at a single touch. As they shoved John into the icy liquid, his senses exploded, then vanished into a dull, freezing ache. In that moment of agony, a memory surfaced. Why does this feel so familiar?
The scene shifts... back to the frozen lake, back to the moment Captain Vlad thrust him into the abyss to serve as bait for the Snow Lizards.
As the sub-zero water clawed at his lungs, John felt his limbs turning to ice. But the pain of the cold or the sting of betrayal didn't matter. Only one thought kept his heart beating: his sick mother waiting for him at home. I'm sorry, Mother... I've failed you.
He took one last breath and surrendered to the dark water. But then, a miracle happened. The Snow Lizards—the very monsters that should have torn him apart—swam past him. They ignored him completely, as if he were nothing more than a piece of floating ice.
Clinging to a shred of life, John scrambled onto a floating ice floe. His legs were frozen pillars, useless and dead. He crawled using only his frostbitten hands, dragging his body away from the water's edge. He was seconds from death when he found a narrow cleft in a towering pillar of ice.
Inside the shelter, John pulled a small stone from his pocket. He struck it gently against the ground. A soft, crimson glow erupted, breathing warmth into the frozen air. He stripped off his frozen clothes, shivering violently as the heat hit his skin.
"These stones..." John whispered, looking at the glowing pebble. "The Red Stones."
In his village, these stones were the only reason humanity survived the eternal winter. Strike them hard, and they explode; strike them softly, and they provide life-saving heat. It was the namesake of his village, the only currency that mattered in this hell.
Once his clothes were dry enough to wear, John stood up. The Red Stone had faded, but his resolve was iron. He stepped out of the cleft and headed toward the tunnel Vlad had entered. He hesitated, fearing the lizards, but then stepped into the dark. "Survival or death," he muttered.
Using a sharp fish-bone tool, he carved marks into the icy walls of the labyrinthine tunnels so he wouldn't get lost. He wandered for hours until a sound reached his ears—a low, rhythmic thumping.
He followed the noise, turning a sharp corner, and froze. The sight was so shocking that the ice blade slipped from his numb fingers and clattered to the floor.
The boat was there, capsized and shattered. Red stones and supplies were scattered across the cavern floor. But in the center of the wreckage lay a man—broken, bloodied, and defeated.
John's voice trembled as he spoke the name. "You... Captain Vlad?"
To be continued...