The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the stale air and the creaking of old wooden boards beneath me. The hut was small and suffocating, barely lit by a sliver of light sneaking through the cracks in the walls. A musty smell clung to the rough-hewn timbers that made up the walls and roof. Only a few small windows at the top edges of the walls let in dim light, and a single door barred our way to the outside. When I got up and tried the door, as expected, it was locked.

I turned back and saw Sylas, already awake. Relief surged through me, overriding every other emotion. Without thinking, I ran over and hugged her tightly.

“Sylas! I thought we’d never see each other again!” I whispered, my voice trembling.

She stiffened at first, then relaxed into the embrace. Her expression was a mix of happiness, confusion, and worry. “You’re alive,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “What happened…? Do you remember anything?”

I nodded slowly, my head pounding as fragmented memories of the raid surged back. “We were attacked. The village... I don’t know how long it’s been since they took us.” I hesitated, swallowing hard. I couldn’t tell her the truth about her dad—about Thailon. Not now. Not in this place.

“They’ll come for us, right?” Sylas’s voice cracked, her uncertainty breaking my heart. “Our dads... they’ll save us, right?”

I forced a smile, even though it felt hollow. “Of course they will,” I said, my voice steady despite the dread creeping into my thoughts. I didn’t trust myself to say more, so I just nodded and hoped that was enough.

As I scanned the room, I saw eight other kids scattered about the small space, huddled together in groups. Fear was etched into their faces; some sobbed quietly, while others stared blankly at the floor. A heavy weight settled in my chest. We weren’t the only ones taken—there were more of us, far more than I’d realized.

“Where are we?” I muttered, glancing around. My senses were sharpening, and the desperation to act gnawed at me. If we didn’t get out soon, who knew what the bandits would do to us?

A large boy sitting in the corner caught my attention. He was huge—far bigger than any of us—with thick fur covering his body, resembling a bear. A beastkin, I realized. His gaze was sharp yet distant, and he hadn’t said a word since I woke up.

I approached cautiously. “Where are you from?” I asked, keeping my voice calm but steady. He didn’t answer right away, so I continued. “I’m Duke Hevas Caddel, from Redmount Village. I don’t know where we are, but we need to figure this out.”

For a long moment, he stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the floor. Finally, he spoke, his deep, gravelly voice breaking the silence. “I’m Kaldor, from the Katrija branch. Second son of the beastkin patriarch.”

My eyebrows shot up. “The beastkin... from the south east? That’s far from here. And... the second son of the patriarch? Why would they kidnap you?”

Kaldor nodded slowly. “I was traveling north west, on my way to the Nethis Grand Magical Academy. They ambushed me along the road.” His tone was emotional, but there was a simmering anger beneath it.

Nethis Academy. I’d heard of it—a prestigious place for studying magic and combat. That was months away from Redmount. If Arthur was just a normal leader of a raid, this couldn’t be happening. But it is just an ‘if’. This wasn’t a random raid; these bandits had been operating on a massive scale, targeting anyone they could.

Sylas, who had been listening quietly, nudged me and pointed to another boy sitting across the room. “That elf over there,” she whispered. “He’s from my race, but I’ve never seen him before. He’s not from our village.”

The elf boy sat in the corner, about 20 cm taller than me, his white hair hanging over his face. He seemed withdrawn, avoiding eye contact with everyone. “Hey,” I called softly, not wanting to startle him. “What’s your name?”

He hesitated before answering, his voice quiet but steady. “Elyndor, 11 years old. I’m from the village of Sylwen, far west of the forest.”

Sylwen. That was deep within elven territory, far from where I’d been taken. But something is more concerning is that Elyndor’s battle aura, his is way stronge than anyone else. Probably because he is 3 years older than me, but still impressive. Or it’s just that i’m weak. “They’ve been taking people from all over,” I murmured, more to myself than anyone else, trying to push aside Elyndor’s strength.

Elyndor nodded. “We were on a trade route. They attacked so fast... burned our wagons, killed the traders. I tried to fight back along with other adults, but took me and some others before anyone could react.”

I clenched my fists, anger boiling beneath my skin. These bandits weren’t just kidnappers—they were destroyers of lives.

Sylas turned her attention to a silver-hair human girl sitting nearby. “What’s your name?” she asked gently.

The girl hesitated, her knees pulled up to her chest. “Mira, Mira Velorn.” she said finally. “From Greystone Village, southeast of here.”

As the group continued exchanging stories, a heavy silence lingered after Mira spoke about her village. Something in her demeanor felt different—hardened, almost resigned. Sylas, ever perceptive, was the first to notice.

"Mira," Sylas asked softly, leaning forward. "You seem... like you've been through this before. Is this the first time you've been taken by them?"

Mira stiffened, her arms tightening around her knees. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. But then she let out a shaky breath.

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"No," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "This... this is the third time."

Everyone froze. The air grew heavy as her words sank in.

"Third time?" I repeated, disbelief coloring my tone. "What do you mean, Mira? How... how is that even possible?"

She looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears but filled with a quiet strength that made my chest ache.

"The first time they came to my village, they took me and a few others," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "I was just a kid—maybe six or seven. They needed slaves for the mines. I don’t even know where it was. They kept us underground most of the time, hauling rocks and digging tunnels."

Her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white. "I escaped after a few months," she began, her voice tightening with each word. "There were others who tried to run, but... I was the only one who made it. I ran as fast as I could, hiding in the forests, starving and terrified, until I collapsed outside a small house. An old couple found me, nursed me back to health, and let me stay with them."

Her expression softened briefly, a flicker of gratitude crossing her face before the storm of memories returned. "They were kind to me—like the grandparents I never had. They lived in a secluded area, far from any towns. For a while, I thought I was safe."

"But it didn’t last, did it?" Sylas asked gently, her voice full of understanding.

Mira shook her head, her jaw tightening. "No. A year later, they came. Searching for runaways, sweeping through every isolated home they could find. They recognized me. Dragged me out while the couple tried to stop them." Her voice cracked, and she looked away. “But,... they killed them. Right in front of my eyes.”

Her trembling hands curled into fists. "This time, they sent me to another camp. And... it was worse."

Her voice trembled, and I clenched my fists, anger boiling inside me.

"But you’re here now," I said, trying to steady my voice. "How did you get away again?"

Mira’s lips pressed into a thin line. "The camp got attacked. I don’t know who they were—mercenaries, maybe. In the chaos, I managed to slip away. I wandered for weeks before I found another village that took me in." She paused, her gaze hardening. "But it didn’t matter. No matter where I went, they kept finding me. This is the third time they’ve taken me, and I..."

Her voice faltered, but she quickly shook her head, her eyes blazing with a defiance that took me aback. "I’m not going back to another camp. Not again. I’d rather die fighting than live as their slave."

The room fell into a heavy silence. Even Kaldor, who had been mostly quiet until now, looked up, his expression somber.

"You’re strong," Sylas said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, but there was admiration in her tone. "To survive all of that... to still be standing here with us."

Mira gave a weak smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "I’m just tired, Sylas. Tired of running, tired of hiding. I don’t want to be strong anymore. I just want to be free."

"You will be. We’re getting out of here,” I said, my voice firm, cutting through the oppressive tension. “All of us.”

The response wasn’t what I hoped for.

“You sound confident,” Mira said, her tone flat, almost accusing. “But have you even thought about what we’re up against? There are bandits out there—armed to the teeth, trained, and ruthless. And us? We’re just kids.”

Her words stung, but they weren’t wrong.

Elyndor nodded, his voice quieter but no less skeptical. “She’s right. You say we’ll make it, but how? We don’t have weapons, we don’t have experience. It’s suicide.”

Even Kaldor, who rarely spoke unless he had something important to say, finally chimed in. “I’ve seen the guards outside. They’re not pushovers. They’ve got strength, numbers, and weapons. You can’t fight that with just words.”

Their doubts piled on me, pressing down like a weight I couldn’t shrug off. I wanted to reassure them, but their arguments were valid. We’re just kids. Mira’s words echoed in my mind.

I paused, letting that truth settle in. My body was small, weak compared to the grown men outside. No matter how much knowledge or experience I carried from my past life, no matter how many battles I’d fought in my mind, it didn’t change the fact that I was just a 8 years old boy now.

What am I even doing, thinking I can lead them out of here?

My gaze shifted to Sylas. She stood close, her eyes meeting mine with unwavering determination. That spark of faith in her gave me the strength I needed to steady myself. I thought back to the raid, to how we had fought—how she had used her magic and how I had held my own, even in this small, fragile body.

I clenched my fists.

"We’ve fought before," I said, breaking the silence. My voice was steadier now, more confident. “Sylas and I—during the raid, we stood against them. It wasn’t perfect, but we survived. We’re not as helpless as you think.”

Sylas nodded beside me. “He’s right. I can use magic. It’s not strong yet, but it’s enough to cause problems for them. And Duke—he’s good at thinking on his feet. We’ve already shown we can fight.”

Kaldor tilted his head, his expression skeptical. “Plans are one thing, but fighting armed bandits is another.”

“I know that,” I said quickly, my frustration bubbling up. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but think about it—these bandits underestimated us when they took us. They didn’t think we’d resist because we’re kids. That’s their mistake.”

I glanced at each of them in turn, my mind racing. “Sylas and I can fight. We’ve done it before. Eryndor you’re strong—stronger than any of us here. If we work together, we can surprise them. Mira, Elyndor, the rest of you—you can distract them, use whatever you can find as weapons or shields. Every little effort matters.”

The room fell silent again. They exchanged uncertain glances.

“What if it’s not enough?” Mira asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I paused, the question hitting me harder than I expected. My mind wandered back to my old life, to all the times I had failed or given up when things got too hard. I wasn’t proud of those moments.

But this wasn’t then. And I wasn’t the same person anymore.

“It will be,” I said finally, my voice firm. “Because it has to be. I’m not giving up on any of you. Not now, not ever.”

I met Mira’s eyes, then looked at the others. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy. I can’t promise we won’t face danger. But I can promise you this—we’re not staying here. We’re getting out, together.”

Sylas stepped forward, her presence steadying me. “We’ve got this. Trust him. Trust us.”

Elyndor was the first to break. “If you have a plan... I’ll follow it. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

Kaldor crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “You’ve got guts, Duke. I’ll give you that. If you think we have a shot, I’m in.”

Mira hesitated, her hands trembling slightly. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll do whatever I can.”

I felt something ignite within me—a determination I hadn’t realized I had. Yes, we were kids. Yes, the odds were against us. But we had something the bandits didn’t.

Hope.

I straightened, my fingers brushing against the edge of my scarf. “Alright,” I said, my voice carrying more resolve than before. “Let’s get ready. We’re not waiting for them to decide our fate. We’ll make our own.”