The sun's rays pierced through the bars of the cage, hurting Colin's sensitive eyes like needles of light stabbing his retina. His head throbbed in response to the discomfort.
The sound of the wheels grinding on the axles rang in his ears, making his headache worse.
When he woke up, he noticed that the Elves who shared the cage with him had moved away, showing more fear of him than they did of the soldiers who had imprisoned them.
Every movement Colin made was met with pain, a cruel reminder of the beating he had taken.
He tried to stand up, but a stabbing pain in his ribs drove him backward. His hands gripped the iron bars, and he sighed, trying to contain the turmoil raging inside him.
His left eye was purple and swollen, his mouth disfigured by the beatings he had suffered, and his body bore several painful abrasions.
Colin turned his head carefully and caught the eye of one of the coachmen.
"Hey!"
The coachman turned around with a menacing look on his face.
"Where are you taking me?"
The answer came in harsh, threatening words.
"Shut up! Or we'll use you as an example to that bunch of bastards!"
Tsk.
As the caravan moved slowly, a cool breeze brought with it the soft scent of wildflowers and freshly cut grass. The merciless sun shone brightly in the blue sky, casting its light on the majestic mountains that seemed to touch the clouds.
The landscape was breathtaking, a sight that contrasted almost cruelly with his bleak situation.
But the beauty of nature was soon overshadowed by the screams and cries coming from the other carriages in the caravan.
Men, women, and children huddled together, some wounded and others with empty, apathetic stares, as if their souls had been stolen.
It was a bleak scene that Colin couldn't ignore, even though his own situation was equally dire.
Pain and suffering marked the tired, wrinkled faces of the prisoners. The shackles that held them captive were pure torture, biting into their delicate skin with every movement of the carriage.
As the caravan continued, Colin noticed that the road was littered with brutal obstacles: sharp rocks, hidden pitfalls, shallow rivers, and precarious bridges that seemed about to give way at any moment.
With each bump of the carriage, a sharp pain reverberated in his already bruised ribs. He wondered how the other prisoners, in a similar situation, were enduring this torment.
Despite his suffering, the surrounding landscape held a striking beauty that contrasted cruelly with the brutality of his situation.
The false Elf wondered if he would ever be able to contemplate such spectacular scenery again, or if his life would be reduced to the cruel fate of being a prisoner until his last breath.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, seeking temporary refuge from the surrounding chaos.
Within this diverse group of Elves, there were diverse appearances. Some were tall and slender, while others were shorter and stockier. Hair ranged from blond and curly to dark and straight.
Elven priests and acolytes wore sacred robes adorned with gold and silver details, bearing elven symbols embroidered on their cloaks.
Nuns and monks also wore distinctive, earth-toned garments that reflected their devotion and modesty.
As well as Elves and humans, the caravan was home to other races, such as dwarves and orcs, each with their own distinct physical and cultural characteristics, but they were too far for Colin to get a proper look.
As the caravan moved slowly, a cool breeze brought with it the soft scent of wildflowers and freshly cut grass. The merciless sun shone brightly in the blue sky, casting its light on the majestic mountains that seemed to touch the clouds.
While observing the diversity of that group, a voice among the prisoners asked:
"Why did they throw a Dark Elf in here with us?"
Colin turned to face an Elf with a stern countenance, her gaze filled with hatred. A prominent mole marked the right side of her cheek.
"That's it again," he thought.
"I don't understand," he replied calmly, even though the Elf's tone was rising.
"You don't understand?" The Elf raised her voice, making her anger clear. "We wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for you!"
Colin simply shrugged, adopting an expression of indifference that only seemed to increase her irritation.
"I don't know what you're talking about…"
Before the Elf could continue her verbal attack, one of the guards slammed his sword into the cage's railing, producing a loud, high-pitched noise that made everyone inside cringe.
"Shut the fuck up, or I'll slit your throats, you fucking Elves!"
Faced with the threat of the soldiers of the Empire of Ultan, the Elf, who had been shouting aggressively before, lowered her head and remained silent.
The other Elves looked at Colin strangely but chose to remain silent, aware of the consequences of defying the Empire's soldiers.
As the carriage continued to move forward, one of the guards turned to his companion holding the reins.
"Where are we going now?" he asked, snorting and spitting beside him.
The coachman shrugged and shook the reins.
"We're going to meet the chief in the village east of here. He'll decide where we're headed next."
"Right. I think he'll be happy with the slaves we've captured; we even have a Dark Elf."
Over his shoulder, the coachman glanced at Colin, leaning against the railing.
"The boss will decide what to do with him as soon as we reach our destination."
— Four days later —
As the caravan followed its merciless trail, Colin realized that hunger and thirst spared no one, neither children nor adults. All the prisoners were suffering, and the situation was bleak.
Some, visibly weak, could barely stand or walk steadily, staggering along the tortuous path.
Others had already given up trying to walk, dragging themselves along the ground, their bodies too exhausted to remain upright.
Dirt was omnipresent, as was the stench—an unbearable mix of decay and sweat. Those who could no longer bear the thirst risked drinking water from streams and puddles, even though they knew it was often contaminated.
Diseases began to spread, and Colin saw prisoners coughing and sneezing uncontrollably.
Meanwhile, the soldiers seemed to revel in the suffering of others. They laughed loudly as they ate, drank, and smoked, completely indifferent to the pain and misery of those in their custody.
At night, the camp turned into a living hell. The Elves were forcibly taken to the soldiers' tents, where they were subjected to sexual abuse and brutal beatings.
The screams and moans of the victims echoed throughout the camp, but the soldiers remained completely indifferent to the suffering they were inflicting.
Colin, for his part, was in a sorry state. His infected wounds gave off a nauseating smell of rot.
He barely had the strength to move, and the feeling of weakness and malnutrition grew worse with each passing day.
With each new dawn, the prospect of surviving this journey felt like an almost insurmountable challenge.
In a gesture of altruism—or perhaps foolishness—Colin gave his food to the children and women.
It was a foolish decision, but he refused to accept the idea of eating something so disgusting.
With difficulty, he swallowed and drank the foul-tasting water, all just to postpone the inevitable death looming over him.
[…]
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when the soldiers launched their attack. This time, it was directed at a sizable village.
It was a confrontation between two small armies and an unprotected community.
The attack on the village unfolded in sheer brutality, and Colin was helpless, condemned to be a mere spectator. A sense of frustration ate away at him, watching this spectacle of cruelty without any power to interfere.
The massacre was so savage that the village became unrecognizable, with flames engulfing houses, barns, and corpses scattered on the ground.
When the soldiers finally opened the cage, chaos ensued. The prisoners were thrown to the ground, many of them still weak from hunger and inhumane treatment.
The soldiers seemed to have no regard for the lives of their captives, indiscriminately killing those who couldn't stand up.
Colin, despite the unbearable pain, struggled to stand, knowing his survival depended on it. His body felt like it weighed tons, his legs burned, but his determination was unshakable.
The soldiers then separated him from the group and led him to a tent covered in red cloths. Inside, a large, burly man held a Damascus sword.
The false Elf was thrown to the ground with such force that he saw stars.
"Don't move, Elf!" ordered one of the soldiers.
Without the strength to react, Colin remained slumped, his forehead against the ground. The stout man stood up and approached the boy.
"A Dark Elf?" asked the man, his thick beard and booming voice echoing through the tent. "Is he a spy for the Empire of the South or the West?"
"I'm not a Dark Elf—" he tried to explain, but before he could finish his sentence, a violent kick landed on his head.
"Only speak when the great leader refers to you directly!" the soldier's voice echoed in the tent, followed by a blow that opened another wound on Colin's head.
"You, Dark Elf, what is your name?" asked the leader.
"…"
"Do you want another kick?" the other soldier threatened.
"Colin…" he muttered, his mouth aching whenever he tried to speak. He knew he had no choice but to follow the men's orders.
"You're a Half-Elf, aren't you?" asked the leader scornfully.
"I'm a human… like you," the captive tried to explain, his voice weak and pained.
Even prostrate, offering no threat, Colin became the target of a series of violent kicks from the soldiers who had taken him to the tent.
"Don't compare us to you, you freak!" one of the soldiers shouted.
The leader reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black stone, about the size of a marble. He held it in front of Colin's forehead, who shivered in pain as he was forced to stare at it.
After a few seconds, the leader put the sphere away and sighed, placing his hands on his hips.
"Planning to sell it?" he asked, his voice now quieter.
The two men who had led Colin exchanged nervous glances and swallowed.
"Yes, sir!" stammered one of them.
"Well, forget it. This Half-Elf is completely useless." The leader paused dramatically.
"Why do you say that, sir?"
"He has no magic. Even for a Half-Elf, he should have something. If they sold him, he'd be worth less than a whore's life." The leader expressed his disdain clearly, casting a contemptuous glance at Colin.
The heavy silence that dominated the tent was broken when Colin was abruptly thrown outside, landing hard on the muddy ground.
He tried to get up, but was met with more punches and kicks.
"Damn, you're useless!" spat one of the soldiers, his patience exhausted.
When they finished beating him, they dragged him by the hair to a tree, where hanging bodies dangled like grotesque decorations.
"Let's put him in the cage and leave him there to starve," said one of the guards, pointing to a cage suspended from the tree.
"Why don't we just kill him?" asked the other, his voice laced with anger.
"He's a fucking Dark Elf. He deserves the worst punishment of all!" came the reply, dripping with hatred.
Colin was thrown into the cage, which was soon hoisted up, leaving him hanging beside the corpses that swayed macabrely under the ancient tree.
Colin's mind could no longer function properly due to the stabbing pain surging through his battered body. The past few days had been a relentless torment—unlike anything he had endured before.
He had never been beaten so badly. Not even when surrounded by bullies as a child, nor when his teacher had pushed him to the limits during brutal martial arts training.
The false Elf swept his gaze across the chaotic scene.
The soldiers continued their merciless slaughter, committing unspeakable atrocities. Women were raped, children ripped from their families—all happening simultaneously.
Colin was too exhausted to care. In his weakened state, he could do nothing but watch in silence, his mind clouded with fury.
He was treated with less dignity than a dog, and this humiliation ignited a rage unlike anything he had ever known.
His past had been marked by an upbringing rooted in kindness and compassion—values his mother had instilled in him since childhood. He had tried to live by them, but ironically, those very ideals had dragged him into an abyss he could rarely escape.
His hands, raw with hatred, gripped the cold bars of the cage as his eyes scanned the faces of the soldiers, one by one.
A dark flame flickered in his gaze, and his mind raged with macabre thoughts.
I'm going to kill you. All of you. I'll disembowel you, throw your remains to the dogs… to the worms. You will regret this—I swear it!
A frightening, lopsided smile curved his lips.
Colin was unwilling to accept death as his fate.
Fury burned in his chest, and he was determined to fight for his life—whatever the cost.