The biting chill of the stone floor seeped through Sorah's thin clothes as he sat cross-legged with his eyes closed in meditation. The other occupants of the cramped cell – Elara, Anya, Brokk, and a handful of other villagers – lay huddled together in restless slumber, shrouded in the gloom of the dull chamber.

Ignoring the aches that pulsed through his aged body and the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, Sorah focused his mind inward, seeking solace in the familiar rhythms of the Zephyrswept Waltz. The swirling patterns of the dance unfolded within his Neural Dojo - a sanctuary of swirling leaves and gentle zephyrs that stood in opposite to the harsh reality of his imprisonment.

He could feel the Ethereum Handguards restricting the flow of Aether Steam through his meridians, but they could not touch the ethereal dance of the wind within his consciousness. With each graceful movement, each synchronized breath, Sorah felt the restorative energies of the Waltz mending his battered body and spirit. The fiery grip of the Sage Curse, ever-present yet subdued, pulsed in harmony with the dance's gentle rhythm.

He was adrift in this meditative state, floating amidst a sea of swirling leaves and ethereal winds, when a sudden BANG jolted him back to reality.

"Wake up, you lazy maggots!" a gruff voice bellowed from beyond the barred cell door. "It's feeding time!"

Sorah opened his eyes, blinking away the remnants of his inner sanctuary. The other prisoners stirred from their slumber, looking terrified and exhausted.

Elara sat up with a start. "What's happening?" she whispered, clutching Anya closer.

"It's just the guards," Brokk grumbled, rolling over and burying his face in his tattered cloak. "They treat us like animals and we’ve done nothing wrong."

The harsh clang of metal against metal echoed through the cell block as guards unlocked the doors. Their faces were obscured by helmets and their bodies encased in iron-plated armour. They gestured for the prisoners to step outside with their disabled Aether Sabres.

"Move it!" one of the guards barked, shoving Brokk roughly towards the exit. "No dawdling!"

They were herded like cattle out of the cell and down a un-sanitized corridor. Sorah glanced around, taking note of their surroundings. They were on the third floor of the prison, and through the barred windows that lined the passage, he could see glimpses of the dusty courtyard below. A small squadron of Sand Devils were gathering in formation with their Aether Sabres activated and their bodies tensed.

“What’s going on out there?” Brokk asked a nearby guard.

The guard glared at him. "None of your concern. Just keep moving."

Sorah continued to observe the soldiers and frowned, a flicker of curiosity battling against the ever-present anxiety that gnawed at his insides. What were they up to? Were they preparing for another raid, another act of barbarity against some unsuspecting village? Or perhaps they were merely engaging in training exercises, honing their skills for the next conflict.

“Move it!”

As they were marched down a flight of stairs, they arrived at a large, open area with rows of long tables and benches. This was the feeding grounds for Sector C, a place where prisoners were herded like cattle to consume their meagre rations.

Sorah's gaze remained fixed on the courtyard below. He couldn't shake the feeling that something significant was about to transpire.

…

Outside, in the dusty expanse of the training ground, the Sand Devils stood at attention with Aether Sabres held before them in a synchronized salute. The stern determination on their faces was highlighted by the morning sun penetrating through the heavy dusts covering the courtyard.

They had gathered for their daily combat drills, a gruelling routine designed to push them to their physical and mental limits. However, today was different. Today, they were determined to prove themselves, to show Warden Poahf that they were more than just mindless brutes following orders. They were warriors, capable of strategy, skill, and unwavering resolve.

"Remember, men," Squad Captain Chek barked. "This time, we fight as a unit. We coordinate our attacks, we watch each other's backs, and we do not falter."

He paused and swept his gaze over the assembled soldiers. "We will show Warden Poahf that we are worthy of her respect, that we are more than just fodder for her morning exercise."

“ORAAAH!”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the ranks. They had all experienced the humiliation of being defeated by the Warden, of being tossed aside like rag dolls during her brutal training sessions. Today, they would stand their ground.

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"And if we fall," Chek continued, hardening his tone, "We fall together. We show no fear, no weakness. We fight with honour, with the pride of the Dune Empire in our hearts."

"For the Dune Empire!" the soldiers roared in unison.

Thud!

Just then, a figure emerged from the shadows of the prison gates. Warden Poahf strode confidently into the training ground, wearing a form-fitting armour that was accentuating her lithe figure and every movement. With a self-assured smirk on her face, she observed the warriors gathered.

"So, the worms have decided to crawl out of their holes," she remarked with a hint of amusement. "Let's see if they've learned any new tricks."

She cracked her knuckles and rolled her shoulders, her body loose and relaxed despite the tense atmosphere. "Come at me, then," she challenged, spreading her arms wide. "Show me what you're made of."

“ORAAH!!”

The hot-blooded Sand Devils lunged forward. With a burst of coordinated attacks, their Aether Sabres ignited with energy.

Poahf stood motionless, tracking every movement with uncanny precision. At the last possible moment, she twisted her body, effortlessly dodging the incoming attacks.

Whoosh!

The blades whistled past her, mere inches from her skin, yet she remained untouched.

With lightning-fast reflexes, she retaliated. Her fist shot out, connecting with the jaw of the nearest soldier, sending him sprawling backwards with a satisfying crunch. She spun around, lashing her leg out like a whip, striking another soldier in the chest and knocking the wind out of him.

Bam!

Bam!

The soldiers faltered, momentarily stunned by the Warden's speed and ferocity. They had expected a challenge, but they hadn't anticipated such overwhelming power and skill.

“Gah!”

“She’s a monster!”

“No, she’s a demon!”

"Fuhuhuhu!" Poahf let out a chilly, humourless laugh that reverberated throughout the courtyard. She asked mockingly, "Is that all you've got? Pathetic."

She moved quickly, raising a cloud of dust that blocked the troops' view. They sputtered and coughed, trying to get their bearings while their eyes stung.

Poahf took advantage of their momentary disorientation, moving like a wraith through the dust cloud. Her fists and feet struck with precision, each blow sending a soldier reeling.

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!

The Sand Devils tried to defend themselves, but their efforts were futile. Poahf was too quick, too skilled. She anticipated their every move, countering their attacks with ease and exploiting their weaknesses with ruthless efficiency. The worse part, she wasn’t even using her TerraFlow Kana.

Yet, within minutes, the once-proud squadron lay scattered across the courtyard, groaning in pain. Poahf stood amidst the carnage with an unblemished armour and her breathing steady.

"Get up," she commanded coldly, devoid of any sympathy. "We're not finished yet."

As the soldiers struggled to their feet, Poahf drew her Aether Sabre. It was unlike any other Sabre they had seen, instead of a solid blade, it pulsed with pink energy, forming a whip-like extension that crackled and hissed with each movement.

"Now, let's see how you fare against this," she purred with a hint of sadistic pleasure.

Lash!

With a flick of her wrist, she sent the energy whip lashing out. It struck a soldier across the chest, leaving a searing red mark that sizzled and smoked. The soldier screamed in agony, clutching his wound.

Crack!

Crack!

Poahf continued her assault, whipping the soldiers mercilessly. Each strike was precise and calculated, designed to inflict maximum pain without causing lasting damage. She was a master of torture, a sadist who relished in the suffering of others.

“Stand Firm!”

The Sand Devils endured the punishment stoically, their faces contorted in pain but their spirits unbroken. They had come here to prove themselves, and they would not give up, no matter how much Poahf tormented them.

…

Back inside, Sorah stood by a grilled window overlooking the courtyard. He watched the one-sided training session, slightly awed and disgusted. He couldn't deny Poahf's martial arts skill and power, but her cruelty, her sadistic pleasure in the suffering of others, filled him with revulsion.

A guard yanked him back roughly, causing the tray of food in his hand to clatter to the floor. "Sit your old ass down and eat your gruel. It's the only meal you're getting today."

Sorah was led to a communal eating area, a hall with long, rough-hewn tables and benches. The other prisoners from his cell – Elara, Anya, Brokk, and the rest – were already seated, picking at their meagre rations with sullen expressions.

The food was a watery gruel with a few chunks of unidentified meat floating in it. It smelled rancid, and Sorah's stomach churned at the sight of it.

"If they think they're feeding birds, they're wrong," Brokk grumbled, pushing the bowl away with disgust. "Even the vultures wouldn't touch this slop."

Anya who was a snivelling drool, stared at her tray with a look of abhorrence. Elara tried to coax her daughter to eat, but Anya shook her head, pushing the tray away.

"I'm not hungry, Mama," she whispered, burying her face in her mother's shoulder.

Sorah barely touched his food, content to observe his surroundings and gather information. He listened intently as the guards chatted amongst themselves, voicing snippets of conversation that hinted at the prison's inner workings.

"The sorting's happening today," one guard mentioned casually.

"About time," another replied. "This place is overflowing with new arrivals."

"Where do you think they'll send us?" a third guard asked nervously.

"Sector A, most likely," the first guard answered. "They need more bodies for the mines."

Sorah's ears perked up at the mention of "sorting." What did it mean? Were they going to be separated based on age, sex, or elemental affinity? And what were these mines they spoke of?

He glanced around the hall, noting the diversity of the prisoners. There were men and women of all ages, their clothing tattered and their bodies bearing the marks of hardship. The only child among them was Anya, who sat huddled close to her mother.

Sorah suspected that this area housed those who had been recently captured, as they were not yet wearing the standard-issue prison uniforms. The sorting, he surmised, was a way to categorize and organize the prisoners, to assign them to different sections of the camp based on their skills, affinity, or perhaps some other criteria.

He yearned to explore the prison, to search for his students and to gather information about the camp's layout and security measures. But he had to be patient, to wait for the right opportunity.