Thud.
The gate closed behind me.
"Come."
My head turned toward the voice.
A guard stood there.
Small horns protruded from his head.
A dragonkin.
He looked down at me before turning and walking ahead.
Step.
I watched his back for a moment before following.
Step.
We walked down the corridor, but it wasn't only our footsteps that echoed through the hall.
Drip.
With each step, another drop of blood hit the floor.
Drip.
My wounds bled continuously.
It wasn't anything major, but I should still take care of the open cuts.
Drip.
Especially the ones in my biceps and palm.
Step.
Slowly, as the adrenaline faded, pain began to creep in.
The cut on my cheek stung, and the stab wound in my left arm made it feel heavy and numb at the same time.
But my palm hurt the most.
Even the faintest brush of air made me nearly hiss in pain.
It didn't take long before we reached the rooms where the bath and smithies were.
Cleaning the wounds would be a good idea.
Maybe I could even find some cloth to use as a bandage.
I spoke hesitantly, unsure how to address him.
"Mister… Dragonkin. Am I allowed to clean my wounds in the bath?"
Step.
He stopped abruptly.
Silence lingered between us.
I couldn't see his expression since his back was still turned toward me.
Then he turned, and to my surprise, his lips curved into a smirk—and he laughed.
"Hahah. Mister Dragonkin?"
He laughed for a moment before continuing.
"Boy. If you're dumb enough to call a guard 'Mister,' then don't add his race to it. Or does 'Mister Human' sound normal to you?"
Another chuckle escaped him before he addressed my question.
"You want to wash your wounds?"
He looked down at me from his tall height, eyes drifting to my bloodied arm and palm. Then sighed and glanced toward the bath door.
"You have five minutes. Go."
My eyes widened at his approval, and I dashed toward the door, pushing it open.
I didn't waste time and hurried to the faucets, turning one to warm water and placing a bucket beneath it. Then turned and searched the room for a cloth that I could use as a bandage.
Near the entrance stood a shelf. The upper compartments were filled with soap.
I opened the lower drawers and found a bunch of towels in it.
I could have used them to dry myself when I bathed earlier.
But it wouldn't have mattered since my clothes were wet.
I pulled one towel out of the drawer, frowning.
That wouldn't work.
The towel was too thick to be used as a bandage.
I needed to find something else.
I put it back and searched the remaining drawers.
All were filled with towels.
"Not good," I muttered as I opened the last one.
This one was nearly empty. But to my luck, it had something that I could use.
Pieces of cloth lay inside, likely used for cleaning, and they were thin enough to be used as bandages.
'Perfect.'
I grabbed two pieces and returned to the faucet, placed the cloths on the rim of an empty bucket, and turned the water off.
The bucket was already full, water spilling to the floor.
I pulled my shirt off and tossed it aside before crouching down and creating a cup with my right hand.
I cupped the water and splashed it over my biceps and shoulder, cleaning the wounds.
Splash.
I did that a few times until most of the blood was gone.
My palm was next, I placed it in the bucket, carefully rubbing it and washing off the blood.
Once the wounds were clean, I reached for the pieces of cloth.
Bandaging my shoulder with such small strips would be difficult. But the wound wasn't deep—only through muscle. It wouldn't bleed much.
So I ignored that one and focused on my biceps.
I wrapped the cloth tightly around my biceps, circling it several times before tying a firm knot.
With the arm finished, I shifted toward my hand and placed the cloth on my palm.
It stung as the fabric touched raw flesh, but I clenched my jaw and continued.
I wrapped it twice from opposite directions before securing it with a knot.
I clenched my left hand into a fist to test if it would hold.
It did.
There wasn't much time left now, and I quickly reached for my shirt, pulling it over my head while walking out of the bath.
The guard stood opposite the door, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
He opened his eyes as I approached.
"You're lucky. Your time was almost up. Come."
He pushed himself off the wall and walked down the corridor again.
I followed.
It didn't take long before we reached the cell.
He searched in his pockets for the keys before reaching out and unlocking the door.
Click.
I stepped inside.
Thud.
The door closed behind me, and the guard left, his steps echoing down the corridor.
I immediately felt the other teens' gazes on me.
They were curious.
Of course they were.
First, the training lesson.
Then the announcement of duels.
And I was the first one to be called to fight.
They wanted to ask me how it went, but were hesitant.
And that was better for me.
Ignoring their gazes, I headed for the table in the center. I was hungry again after that intense fight.
There was still bread and meat left.
I took some and headed toward the bed, climbing onto it and ate while staring at the wall opposite me.
The scribbles the praying girl had drawn were still there—a sun symbol.
'Even God couldn't save her.'
The teens stares continued but I ignored them all.
I didn't want to speak to anyone.
I didn't want to grow close to them.
Not after what happened to Alissa.
Soon enough, they would be gone too.
Just like the others.
It could be me.
It could be them.
Or, by some miracle, neither.
But we weren't that lucky.
Most of us would die.
And they all knew why.
So why bother to ask?
Their stares faded quickly as they returned to their own thoughts.
It seemed like Breaker's lesson had done its work.
They understood now.
There were no friends here.
Not the other teens.
Not the crowd.
Not the guards.
We were slaves.
We all just tried to survive one more day.
The thought had barely settled when the door opened again.
Click.
All heads turned toward the guard as he spoke.
"40 and 33. Follow me."
A few flinched as they heard him calling numbers, but let out a sigh in relief as it wasn't theirs.
It took a few moments before two teens rose hesitantly and walked out.
My gaze turned back toward the wall across from me as I focused on my food again.
One of them would return.
Maybe even both.
But "maybe" didn't really exist for us.
Since we were slaves.
The food was gone after a few bites, and without thinking, I went and wiped my hands on my clothes, pain flared up at once.
I hoped it wouldn't take long to heal.
Then I turned toward the wall behind me.
Thirty numbers and one name marked it, brown-red on grey stone.
I lifted my right hand to my shoulder and brushed my fingers over the wound, coloring them red.
I leaned forward and added another number beneath the rest.
[35]
The handwriting was uneven and crinkled, but readable.
That was enough.
I wiped the remaining blood away with my shirt.
My eyes lingered on the wall for a moment longer before I let myself fall back onto the mattress.
Thud.
Some straw pressed through the thin fabric into my back, but it wasn't anything new.
Exhaustion settled slowly as my breathing evened.
My eyes closed, but sleep didn't come.
Instead—
It was him.
Standing before me.
Alive.
His blond hair had a brown tinge from all the dirt. His brown eyes widened as they looked at me.
It was the moment before his death.
I stared at him, taking in every detail.
The tremor in his fingertips.
The rapid rise of his chest.
The faint beads of sweat, decorating his temple.
How his mouth twitched uncontrollably.
The way his pupils shook when he realized what was happening.
Blood spilled from his throat, staining his chest crimson.
Then—
His mouth opened.
"You...!"
I had already seen it in his eyes.
But hearing it—
"You useless bastard!"
Made it clear.
There was no pain.
No sorrow.
"You killed me!"
Only anger.
Such scenes.
They had already become familiar to me.
Nightmares.
They plagued me.
Or were they even nightmares?
Could you call it a nightmare if you weren't asleep?
Or was it a vision?
A living memory?
A punishment?
No.
Nightmare fits it the best.
Because they felt like it.
The nightmare went on.
Step.
He stepped toward me, legs shaking, hands reaching for my throat.
His cold fingers wrapped around my neck, trembling as they pressed tighter.
Slowly.
The air left my lungs, and breathing became difficult.
At first came the panic.
The desperate need to breathe.
Air vanishing out of my lungs.
And no matter how much I tried to breathe, I couldn't.
Then—
The burn.
It starts in your throat and slowly spreads to your lungs and the rest of your body.
But even that fades, and the only feeling left behind is pain.
Excruciating pain as if all your limbs are twisted at the same time, while an invisible weight holds you in place.
My vision blurred.
I tried to speak.
To shout.
But my lips were sealed tight.
"You are useless! You are a disgrace!"
His grip tightened further.
"Even your family abandoned you!"
The words cut.
Each sentence felt like a blade twisting in my chest.
It hurt.
More than the suffocation.
But—
I didn't fight back.
I never did.
Because I knew I wouldn't die here.
It was only a nightmare.
But that didn't make it painless.
The suffocation.
The burning.
The crushing weight in my chest.
And worst of all—
The truth hiding in his words.
That was what hurt the most.
But—
Even that pain faded over time.
Pain was something I was already familiar with.
Over time, you grow used to it.
Not immune.
You just—
Accept it.
Live with it.
But that didn't mean it stopped hurting.
It still did.
But—
It hurt a little less every time I experienced it.
I just wished it would end quickly.
And just as my vision began to darken—
I felt her hands.
Lisa.
Her delicate fingers gently pried his hands from my throat, one by one.
Until—
Haah.
I could breathe again.
Air filled my lungs as his hands left me.
Her arms wrapped around me from behind, hugging me.
I felt her warmth against my back and the faint scent of her perfume in my nose.
Her hair brushed against my neck as she softly whispered in my ear.
"If you have a nightmare, I will turn it into a dream."
A pause.
"And if their voices haunt you, I will turn them into a melody."
Her hand brushed through my hair.
"Sleep, my love. You will need your strength."
And slowly—
My eyes closed, and sleep took me.