The bodies were still warm when Kael and Mira were ordered to clean the pen.
The guards didn't bother dragging the corpses. They simply tossed them onto the floor like sacks of rotten meat. The two boys—taken during the morning's selection—had been silent when they were hauled away. Now, one lay with his throat half-torn, the other with blood dried around his nose and ears.
The Dominors never explained their methods. Magic didn't need explanations.
Mira didn't move at first. She stood staring, fists clenched so tightly her nails drew blood from her palms.
Kael was already moving, grabbing the dulled iron scraper from its hook and kneeling beside the corpses. "Help me with the rags."
Mira blinked at him. "You're not… shaken?"
"I am," he said, not looking up. "But if we don't clean fast enough, the next corpses might be ours."
They worked in silence. Not a sacred silence—there was nothing sacred here—but the kind that settled over graves.
Kael wiped dried blood from a child's cheek and looked away. That could've been me, he thought. The kid had looked young, barely ten. Maybe younger than I was when they came to Serrel's Hollow.
He didn't remember the boy's name. That was the worst part.
After they were done and the bodies carted away like offal, the guards relocked the cage with a rusted snap and wandered off to drink mushroom ale.
Two new boys had been thrown into the pen that afternoon. Fresh captives. One of them was lean, wiry, with sun-dark skin and a lip that curled naturally into a sneer. The other was larger, thick through the chest and shoulders, with a buzzed head and a heavy silence to him. The kind of quiet that wasn't fear—something deeper.
Kael watched them from the corner of the pen as Mira curled up beside him.
The lean one made the first move.
"Hey," he said, crouching nearby. "You cleaned them."
Kael nodded once.
"You didn't even flinch."
"I've seen worse," Kael replied.
The boy tilted his head. "That doesn't make it better."
"No," Kael said, "but it makes me useful."
The boy let out a small grunt that could've been an agreement or dismissal. "Name's Renn," he said after a beat. "The big one's Brenn. My brother."
Kael glanced at Brenn. The bigger boy was sitting with his back to the wall, arms resting loosely on his knees. He hadn't looked up once.
"Kael," he replied.
Mira shifted beside him. "I'm Mira."
Renn gave a small nod. "Did they scream?"
Kael didn't answer right away. "The younger one did."
Renn's eyes darkened, but he didn't press.
"We're from the Emberline," he offered after a moment. "Hill country. Nothing fancy. Didn't even have a temple. But they came anyway."
Kael's voice was soft. "The Dominors?"
Renn scoffed. "Worse. Cloaked freaks with masks. One of them walked through the smoke of our village like a ghost. Didn't even touch a torch. Just whispered. And the houses caught fire."
Mira whispered, "Mindflensers."
Renn gave her a sharp look. "You've seen them?"
"Once," she said. "They float, don't they? Just an inch above the ground?"
"Yeah." Renn shivered. "Brenn hasn't spoken since he saw what they did to our mother."
Brenn stirred slightly but didn't raise his head.
Kael looked between the two of them and saw the weight they carried. Not boys anymore. None of them were.
He leaned forward. "If I told you there was a way out—someday—would you believe me?"
Renn snorted. "There's always a 'someday.' Doesn't mean it ever comes."
"I'm not talking about running," Kael said. "I mean rising."
That got their attention.
Kael's voice lowered. "There's a tunnel. Forgotten. I've been mapping it—scratching notes when the guards aren't watching. The Dominors don't know it exists."
"What good is a tunnel?" Renn asked, skeptical.
Kael tapped his temple. "Tunnels lead out. But more importantly, they lead down. There are things under this mountain. Old things. Magic they don't talk about."
Mira added quietly, "He's been drawing symbols. Glyphs. Some of them glow when you touch them."
Renn raised an eyebrow. "That's madness."
"No," Kael said, holding his gaze. "It's memory."
A long silence stretched between them. Then Renn looked at Brenn, who finally met his eyes. Something passed between them—unspoken, but solid.
Renn turned back and stuck out his arm. "Alright, Kael the Delusional. If you're dreaming of escape, I'd rather dream with you than rot here awake."
Kael grasped his forearm. The grip was tight. Firm. Real.
Then Brenn stepped forward. Without a word, he did the same.
Kael looked them both in the eye. "We watch each other's backs. We don't break. We don't sell each other out."
"Not even if they promise food," Renn added with a grin.
"Or freedom," Kael said darkly. "They lie."
Mira nodded. "They always lie."
The four of them sat in a loose circle as the other slaves slept. Kael scratched a new symbol into the dirt, and the shard in his palm hummed gently with the motion.
"This one means binding," he whispered.
Renn leaned closer. "You sure?"
Kael nodded. "No. But I feel it."
"You're mad," Renn said.
"Probably," Kael replied.
They all smiled.
The brotherhood had begun—not with swords or grand oaths—but in blood, ash, and broken whispers in the dark.
And sometimes, Kael thought, that was the strongest kind.