Chapter 6

My head remained bowed, the weight of his stare pinning me down like a stone slab. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I could feel his gaze burrowing into me, probing every corner of my mind. The searing pain in my skull began to ebb, replaced by a dull throbbing, and I finally managed to find my voice, shaky and barely above a whisper.

“Who… who are you? What do you want?” I asked, every word trembling with both fear and curiosity.

My heart pounded, the urge to flee battling with the invisible force that kept me rooted to the ground. A part of me felt that this man, this shadowed figure, must be my captor. I didn’t dare voice it, afraid that the mere suggestion might worsen the strange control he held over me.

But before I could dig deeper into my own thoughts, he spoke again, his voice a harsh command that seemed to echo directly inside my skull.

“Silence.”

My head exploded in pain, a sharp, mind-numbing agony that erased every thought, every question, every attempt at resistance. I cried out, clutching at my head as if I could force the pain away.

My vision blurred, my body shuddering as I tried and failed to fight off the command. It was worse, so much worse than the physical pain of the bolt embedded in my arm. This was a pain I couldn’t grasp, couldn’t defend against, like something was being ripped from the inside of my mind.

I barely noticed when he reached for the lock, the sound of the cell gate clicking open reverberating through the haze of pain. A cold sweat broke out across my skin, a mix of fear and anticipation. He’d come for me, that much was clear. And I was powerless to stop whatever came next.

“Follow me,” he ordered.

I tried to resist, I really did. I willed my body to stay still, to refuse him, but it was no use. My limbs moved on their own, rising to my feet in a fluid motion that felt alien, unnatural. Panic surged through me as I found myself stepping forward, walking out of the cell and into the hallway. I wasn’t in control. I was a prisoner in my own body, watching helplessly from behind my own eyes.

We passed through the cell block, the echo of our footsteps bouncing off the stone walls. The large gate at the end swung open, revealing a dimly lit, expansive room beyond. As we entered, my heart sank.

The room was spacious and lined with more iron bars, more cells. But what caught my attention were the children. Five of them, all around my age, sat against the walls in eerie, unnatural silence. Their eyes were blank, their faces expressionless, as if they were little more than lifeless dolls. A heavy desk stood at the center, empty and foreboding, overseeing the entire chamber like a watchful sentinel.

The man led me towards a corner of the room, his steps steady and purposeful. My own followed, obedient, betraying my every wish to stop, to turn back, to run. He pointed to a spot on the ground, and I knew what would happen before he even spoke.

“Sit.”

My legs folded beneath me, and I dropped to the ground, joining the other children in their silent vigil. I tried to scream, to fight, but my voice was trapped inside my mind, echoing futilely against the walls of my own skull. The room felt colder now, the air heavy with something I couldn’t name.

I glanced around, trying to catch the eye of the others, but they didn’t seem to notice me, or even each other. They stared blankly ahead, their expressions empty. It was as if they were all hollowed out.

Was I like them now? Was this what he had done to me?

The man walked towards the desk, his steps slow, deliberate. But before he sat down, I felt his eyes on me again. This time, his gaze seemed to settle on my arm, the place where the bolt still jutted out from my flesh.

Blood had soaked through the fabric of my shirt, dripping down in slow, steady drops. I could see the concern in his stance, the way his head tilted slightly as he took in the injury.

For a moment, I wondered if he would help me, if he would at least take out the bolt and end the throbbing pain that radiated from the wound. But then he turned away, his cloak swaying as he took a seat behind the desk, leaving me there, bleeding and bewildered, surrounded by these silent, unblinking children.

I sat there for what felt like hours, my stomach growling in hunger, and I realized I wasn’t the only one. All the other children around me had the same hollow, gnawing sound coming from their bellies.

As I looked closer, I noticed that many of them were injured too—some had claw marks, others bite marks, and some even bore injuries similar to mine, like bolts embedded in their limbs. I could see traces of blade wounds on a few as well.

It struck me then that, despite the eerie silence and the vacant expressions on their faces, their eyes weren’t empty. They were observing, just like I was, trapped in their own bodies, unable to do anything.

The hooded man, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be doing much. He sat quietly at the desk in the center of the room, his presence heavy and foreboding. I couldn’t quite see what he was doing, but I knew he was there, just waiting. For what, I didn’t know, and the thought of it made me feel uneasy.

Then, a sound broke the silence, the creak of a door opening somewhere beyond my sight. I heard footsteps, slow and deliberate, followed by a faint rattling on the stone floor, like something being pushed along. A shiver ran down my spine as I tried to make out what it was.

The footsteps grew closer, and soon, a figure emerged from the shadows—a woman dressed in dark apparel, her outfit resembling some twisted, gothic version of a maid’s uniform. She was pushing a trolley, and her voice, melodic and disturbingly cheerful, filled the room as she spoke.

“It’s feeding time,”

She had said whilst humming a tune that felt out of place in this quiet, oppressive atmosphere. She moved gracefully, almost gliding across the floor, and began placing a piece of potato and a bowl of water in front of each child.

When she reached me, she didn’t even look at my injuries, just set the meager meal down before moving on. Finally, she approached the desk and stood beside the hooded man, waiting silently.

After a long moment, the hooded man finally spoke.

“Eat,” he said, his voice cold and commanding as I felt an invisible force compel me.

My body moved on its own, like a puppet on strings, reaching for the food and eating it in mechanical, practiced motions. All around me, the other children did the same, the room filled with the sound of quiet chewing and the clink of metal bowls against the stone floor.

It was like some twisted routine, and despite my revulsion, I couldn’t stop myself. I ate, because I had to.

I sat there, my mind a whirl of confusion and pain, as the woman started speaking again, her voice carrying through the room with an unsettling ease. She was talking to the hooded man, or at least it seemed like she was, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t even move. It was as if he wasn’t even listening, and yet, she continued, her tone light and casual, as if this one-sided conversation was the most natural thing in the world.

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“I wonder how many more will make it out this time,” she mused, her tone sounding with a strange excitement.

Make it out? I repeated in my head, what was she talking about?

Was she referring to the sealed door I had stumbled through, the one that had separated me from the darkness and traps? My mind raced, trying to piece together the meaning behind her words, but she kept talking, her voice almost drifting as she continued her twisted musings.

“The last batch was so... mediocre,” she sighed, sounding almost disappointed. “So many didn’t even make it to the end.” She shook her head as if recalling a minor inconvenience. “But this batch... well, hopefully, they won’t disappoint.” I felt her eyes flickering over us briefly, like a collector appraising a collection.

I listened intently, trying to dissect her words, looking for any hints that might tell me what was happening here, what I was caught up in. But it didn’t make sense.

All I could grasp was that there was something we needed to survive. The way she talked about the other children, about the “batch,” made it sound like we were part of some twisted test. How many will survive? she had said. I clenched my fists, the pain in my arm throbbing dully, but it was nothing compared to the fear twisting in my gut.

I stole a glance at the five children sitting around me, all of them silent, their eyes haunted but still observant. Their injuries stood out in stark relief under the dim light—claw marks, bites, bolt wounds, blades.

Wait—

The wolf, the trap-filled tunnels—had they faced the same horrors? My gaze shifted to the sealed doors of the cells, each one identical to the one I had escaped. Were there more children still inside, still fighting their way out, just like I had?

My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. If the woman was right, I swallowed hard, my throat dry and aching. How many more of us were there? How many more would make it out?

The woman’s voice broke through my thoughts again, her words a twisted melody in the quiet room.

“It’s always so exciting to see how many survive in the end,” she said with a smile.

“I’m really looking forward to it this time.”

I clenched my jaw, fighting the wave of nausea rising in me. I didn’t know what was happening, or why, but one thing was clear—I need to survive.

The woman’s voice filled the room once more. Her tone shifted slightly, taking on a more conversational lilt as she directed her words toward the silent man at the desk.

“It’s still so strange, you know,” she began, her words dripping with casual curiosity, “that you’re letting the pawns sit out in the open like this. It’s not what the previous warden would have done.”

Warden? Is that what he is?

Undeterred by his prolonged silence, she pressed on. “I mean, letting them out of their cells already?” She gestured vaguely toward us, our eyes watching her every move. “Back then, they would’ve been kept locked up until... well, until it was time.” She gave a small, almost awkward smile, as if sharing a joke only she understood.

Her voice dropped slightly, taking on a more thoughtful tone. “But I suppose you’re different, aren’t you?” She tilted her head.

“So different from the last warden, even though I can’t say I miss him much.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand, like she was swatting away an unpleasant memory. “Still, it makes me wonder why you’re doing things this way.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with tension as her words hung between them. And then, for what felt like an eon, he finally answered.

“I prefer silence,” he said, his voice low and almost emotionless.

There was something unsettling in the way he said it, like he wasn’t just talking about the noise in the room. It felt more like a reprimand, a subtle remark, directed at her incessant chatter rather than the question she had asked.

The woman, however, didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps she just didn’t care. She simply laughed, a light, airy sound that felt out of place in the oppressive atmosphere.

“Oh, you’re so serious!” she said with a teasing smile, brushing off his response as if it were nothing. “There’s no need for it.” She waved her hand again, dismissing his words as her expression shifted back to one of almost kindred delight.

“I guess everyone has their own perverted sense of doing things” she seemed to whisper.

“But never mind that. What do you think of my outfit?” She twirled slightly, the fabric of her dark, gothic dress swirling around her as she posed for him.

“Do you like it?”

I watched with a sickening feeling twisting in my gut, as she continued to prattle on, her voice bright and carefree. It was surreal, the way she kept talking, as if this was all perfectly normal, as if we were all just sitting in a parlor instead of this cold, dimly lit chamber with its iron bars and lingering scent of blood.

I glanced back at the other children, their eyes reflecting the same confusion and unease that I felt. None of us understood what was happening, why we were here, or who these deranged people were.

The woman’s voice, with its inane prattle, suddenly cut off, replaced by a loud, echoing sound of a crash.

The noise reverberated through the chamber, causing everyone, even the hooded man, to pause. My head snapped in the direction of the disturbance, eyes widening as I strained to see past the bars of a specific cell at the sidelines. The sound had come from one of the sealed doors, just like the one I had emerged from.

There, struggling through the doorway, was another child.

Bloodied and clutching his injured arm, he stumbled into the dim light of the cell. His ragged breathing, the way his body swayed unsteadily—it all mirrored my own experience.

My heart pounded in my chest as I watched him, my gut twisting with a sickening confirmation of my earlier suspicions. There were more of us, behind those sealed doors.

The woman let out a delighted squeal, clapping her hands together as if she had just received an unexpected gift.

“Oh, here’s another cutie!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with a disturbing excitement. She turned to the hooded man, a knowing look on her face.

“Just in time,” she added, her tone carrying an unsettling hint of anticipation.

I watched, my body tensing, as she made her way towards the cell where the child had appeared, the hooded man following in her wake. The child, still panting from his ordeal, looked up, eyes wide and filled with confusion and fear.

I could almost see the same thoughts racing through his mind, the same desperate struggle to understand what was happening, why he was here, and who these people were.

The hooded man stopped in front of the cell, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached for the lock. I felt a cold dread settle in my stomach, knowing what was coming. He swung the gate open with a low creak, the sound of metal scraping against stone filling the air.

And then, in that same flat, emotionless voice, he spoke the word that I had come to fear.

“Pawn.”

The effect was immediate. The child’s knees buckled, his body folding in on itself as if some invisible force had taken hold of him. He fell to the ground in a kneeling position, his head bowed, his whole form trembling.

From where I sat, I could see the confusion and fear in his eyes, the desperate struggle against whatever compulsion had overtaken him. But, like me, he couldn’t fight it. He couldn’t resist.

The moment that word left the man’s lips, I felt my own body tense. My back straightened, shoulders pulling back as if an unseen hand had reached into my very mind and forced me into submission.

I bit down hard on my lip, trying to test my will, to break free from whatever hold this man seemed to have over me, but it was useless. The pain in my head flared up, a searing reminder of my helplessness.

The hooded man led the new escapee to an open clearing before instructing him to sit just like the rest of us, I felt weird seeing all this play out in the matter it did, almost like a mirror to my experiences.

The woman, oblivious or uncaring, gave a little sigh of satisfaction. “Perfect,” she said with a pleased smile.

She reached down, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, her fingers brushing against his bloodstained skin. “Welcome, sweetie,” she cooed, her voice dripping with a false kindness that reeked of misplaced amusement.

“You made it out. You’re one of the lucky ones.”

The child didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was locked in that kneeling position, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. I could see the pain etched on his face, the confusion, the fear. And I knew that he was feeling the same thing I had felt, the same unbearable compulsion to submit, to obey.

The hooded man stepped back, his gaze sweeping over the child with the same detached indifference that he had shown to the rest of us. He didn’t say anything more, didn’t offer any explanation or comfort. He simply turned away, his cloak billowing slightly as he moved back to his place at the desk.

The woman lingered for a moment longer, her eyes lingering on the child as if he were some fascinating creature she had just discovered. Then, with a small, almost dismissive pat on his head, she straightened up and returned to her place beside the hooded man.

“It’s time.”