The silence between them was oppressive, broken only by the repetitive sounds of their bloodied hands clawing at the unyielding dirt. Zayn's mind raced, but he didn't reply to Lain immediately. Minutes passed, and for a moment, he thought Lain might give up.

"Hey," Lain's voice came again, a tinge of impatience seeping through. "You still there? Or did I suddenly lose you?"

"No, I can still hear you..." Zayn responded curtly.

Lain paused, his tone more measured this time. "So? What's your answer?"

Zayn narrowed his mental focus. "Why do you even think I'd be of any help?"

"What do you mean?" Lain asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"I mean, you've got this... gift," Zayn replied. "Why not pick someone better suited for this? Why not escape on your own? Hell, why even believe someone like me would have a chance at escaping at all?"

The words weren't intended to antagonize Lain, but Zayn couldn't help the skepticism laced in them. Trusting someone he couldn't even see properly—a stranger who could talk in his head—felt like a gamble he wasn't ready to take.

Lain hesitated, then answered, "Because you're the only one who responded. The others... there's nothing left of them upstairs."

"Still doesn't—fine," Zayn countered, "but that doesn't mean I won't end up like the guy who tried to run earlier. You've seen how this plays out."

Lain sighed audibly in Zayn's mind, clearly frustrated. "I don't expect this to be easy, but what's the alternative? Waiting until we drop dead? I have no plan right now, but I do have information—information that says we're all going to die if we don't do something."

Zayn's curiosity piqued. "Information? What kind of information?"

"I'll share it," Lain said firmly, "if you agree to help me."

Zayn mulled over the offer, skepticism, and desperation warring within him. He had been fumbling through this twisted Story ever since he arrived, with no control or plan to speak of.

As much as he didn't trust Lain, he had no better options. Death felt inevitable, but maybe—just maybe—Lain's gamble was a way out.

"Fine," Zayn said. "But if this is a waste of time, we're both dead. So spill it."

Lain's mental sigh of relief was almost palpable. "Alright. First, I need you to close your eyes."

Zayn bristled. "What for?"

"Just trust me. Close your eyes and block out the pain. Try to empty your mind completely," Lain instructed.

Zayn hesitated but ultimately relented. If this guy was going to do anything strange to him he might as well. It was not like he could resist this mindfuckery.

His body was still working mechanically, and his sight wasn't needed for the monotonous task. He closed his eyes and tried to drown out the agony coursing through his veins.

Almost immediately, he felt something shift. Lain's voice came again, but this time it felt... different. He wasn't just hearing Lain—it was as though the voice carried him somewhere else.

Suddenly, Zayn found himself plunged into a vivid, memory-like scene. He stood amidst a gathering of guards near the base of the mountain. The oppressive landscape was unmistakable, the jagged terrain and the half-missing peak eerily familiar.

At the forefront was the lead guard, the one with the ornate purple crystal, addressing the group with grim determination.

"What is this?" Zayn asked inwardly, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

"A memory," Lain explained. "I've been... listening. Trying to dig through the guards' thoughts, looking for something—anything—that might help. Instead, I found this."

"Whose memory is this?"

"Does it matter?" Lain countered. "Just focus. This is important."

Zayn reluctantly complied, tuning into the scene. The lead guard was speaking, his tone cold and authoritarian.

"The work must be done quickly," the guard commanded, gesturing toward the mountain. "The deeper the holes, the greater the yield. The lower citizens don't need to know their purpose—they only need to dig. And if any of them falter, remind them of their place."

Zayn's stomach churned. Yield? Holes? What the hell are they planning?

Before he could dwell on it further, Lain's voice cut in. "See why I said we need to get out of here?"

"What does it mean?" Zayn asked, his unease growing.

"Keep watching," Lain said grimly. "It gets worse."

The scene continued, the lead guard standing tall before his subordinates, his posture commanding attention. One of the guards, a stocky figure with crimson skin and a deep voice, broke the silence.

"Sir, with all due respect, while the Lower citizens don't need to know the purpose of this task, we would like to understand why the plans changed so drastically. This wasn't what we were initially briefed on."

The lead guard sighed, rubbing his temple as though the question annoyed him but also acknowledging its validity. "You're not the only one caught off guard," he admitted, his voice steady but tinged with irritation.

"I wasn't even meant to be here. This task was originally beneath my station, but the royal council sent word—direct orders for a change of plans. They insisted that my presence and power were necessary to oversee this operation."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances.

"What exactly are we doing here, then?" another guard asked, his tone careful.

The lead guard crossed his arms. "I wasn't told the full specifics, only that a siege of some sort is anticipated. The council's instructions were clear: dig the holes as large and as deep as possible, following the designs provided. That's all they shared."

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

The unease among the guards deepened. A few murmured amongst themselves, clearly uncomfortable with the lack of transparency.

The lead guard raised a hand, silencing them. "Relax," he said firmly. "I'm here. As long as I'm overseeing this, there will be no mishaps. The Lower citizens are the only ones who might suffer—and frankly, their deaths would be a benefit to the kingdom. The council's orders ensure that even their demise would serve a purpose."

The guards seemed reassured by his confidence. The tension in the air eased, and several of them nodded in agreement. "We'll see to it that everything proceeds smoothly," one of them promised.

The lead guard dismissed them with a wave. "Good. Now get back to work. I want progress."

As the guards dispersed, the scene around Zayn began to fade, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Zayn analyzed the new information, his mind racing to connect the pieces.

A siege? he thought. What kind of siege needs these massive holes? And why change the plans at the last minute?

The lead guard's lack of awareness about the full plan disturbed him. If someone of his apparent rank was being kept in the dark, it meant the real purpose of this task was highly sensitive—possibly even sinister.

The royal council must be desperate—or ruthless—to go this far, Zayn mused. And we're supposed to die here... because it's beneficial? What kind of stuff is this kingdom up to that requires this?

His thoughts spiraled further. The strange metals in their bodies and the intense control over their movements added another layer of complexity.

His internal monologue was interrupted by Lain's voice. "Now do you see why we need to escape? This isn't just about being worked to death—we're going to be sacrificed for whatever twisted plan they have."

Zayn sighed inwardly. "I was already planning to escape. Knowing that death is almost guaranteed doesn't change that."

Lain sounded relieved. "Good. But now we have a problem: we still don't have a way to act. All we've got is this information, and it's not exactly helpful for forming a plan."

Zayn groaned inwardly. Despite having an ally, he felt just as stuck as before. The information, while troubling, didn't present any immediate solutions.

"We need to start thinking of plans," Zayn said. "Even if we don't have control over our limbs right now, I don't think this state is permanent."

"Why do you think that?" Lain asked, curious.

"Think about it," Zayn explained. "If they could use this strange metal and the monolith to control us indefinitely, they would've done it from the start. There's a reason we didn't have this in us before now. Either it's unstable, limited, or there's a specific reason they don't rely on it full-time."

Lain paused, considering Zayn's reasoning. "That... actually makes sense. If it's temporary, we might regain control soon."

"Exactly. So, we need to be ready when that happens."

They both fell silent, their minds working as they tried to piece together any semblance of a plan.

.....

Two more hours had passed, and the Lower citizens continued their relentless digging, their bloodied, skinless hands scraping against the hardened ground. The holes they had been tasked to create were now massive, nearing the size specified by the guards' earlier orders.

The guards, still overseeing the process, stood with visible impatience, their eyes darting toward the lead guard as though silently urging him to signal that the task was complete.

During this time, Zayn and Lain had been discussing and refining their plans in whispers of thought, all while their bodies continued their grotesque labor. Zayn occasionally found his attention drawn to the grotesque state of his hands—skinless, with exposed tendons that should have been useless by now.

Yet, upon closer inspection, he noticed that the silver metal coursing through his veins had replaced the missing muscles, weaving through the joints and bones to maintain the grotesque mechanical precision of his movements.

This stuff is monstrous, he thought bitterly, his stomach turning. It's not just controlling us—it's literally keeping us together, piece by piece. How much of my body would it replace if it had to?

Before he could dwell further on the horrifying possibilities, a long, sharp whistle pierced the air. The sound reverberated through the mountain's base, reaching the other holes and signaling a pause in the grueling work.

The guards barked commands for the Lower citizens to stop, and at last, the monotonous digging came to a halt. Many of the slaves collapsed where they stood, too weak or too pained to hold themselves up any longer. The guards, of course, showed no concern for the sight of broken bodies littering the massive ditches.

Zayn, through sheer force of will, managed to stay upright, his limbs trembling violently as he fought against the pain and exhaustion. His eyes scanned his surroundings and eventually found Lain, who was also still standing.

The sight of his accomplice's perseverance brought Zayn a small measure of comfort, though it was fleeting as his attention turned back to the pitiful state of the other citizens.

They don't stand a chance. Not like this, he thought, his chest heavy with guilt and anger.

His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the lead guard, who stood at the edge of their ditch, looking down at the citizens below. The lead guard's gaze swept over them, cold and detached, as though surveying livestock. Zayn clenched his fists instinctively, feeling his anger rise. He doesn't even see us as people, he thought bitterly.

"You're letting your anger show," Lain's voice echoed in his head, pulling him back to reality. "You're lucky the ditch is deep. If they noticed, we'd be dead."

Zayn exhaled through gritted teeth and gave a short mental thanks for the reminder. His attention was drawn back to the lead guard, who, to Zayn's surprise, had somehow already inspected the other ditches and returned to theirs in an unnervingly short time.

The lead guard stepped forward, placing his hand on the purple crystal at his waist—the one connected to the monolith. Zayn watched warily as the guard muttered something under his breath, his voice lost to the distance.

Suddenly, the rune markings on Zayn's neck, wrists, and ankles began to glow violently. A wave of dread washed over him, and before he could brace himself, he was overtaken by searing, agonizing pain.

The silver metal in his veins came alive, moving like molten lava under his skin. It began seeping out in thin, needle-like streams, tearing through his flesh as it exited his body. The sensation was excruciating—like thousands of red-hot needles stabbing him from the inside out. Blood poured from the fresh wounds as the metal gathered into its original form, solidifying into small, floating spheres above the citizens.

Zayn fell to the ground, convulsing in pain, his screams caught in his throat as he felt his body betraying him once again. He could hear others vomiting and crying out around him, their suffering echoing through the massive ditch. Zayn himself began coughing violently, blood splattering onto the ground in front of him as his body shuddered uncontrollably.

The lead guard remained unfazed, his cold eyes watching as the collected metal spheres rose from the ditch and floated upward, where the guards above began collecting them with casual efficiency.

Once the process was complete, the lead guard addressed the group, his voice dripping with mockery. "For once, you'll hear praise for a job well done. You've managed to finish an hour ahead of schedule. Impressive, really."

Zayn felt no pride, only hatred, as the words washed over him. The praise was hollow, meant to demean rather than uplift. The lead guard seemed ready to continue his speech when the monolith behind him began to glow ominously, its vibrant energy signaling an incoming message.

The lead guard's attention shifted immediately, his face tightening with focus as he turned toward the pulsating monolith. Zayn, still sprawled on the ground and fighting the remnants of his pain, forced himself to watch, his instincts telling him that whatever was about to happen would change everything.

Zayn and Lain waited tensely as the lead guard finished his interaction with the glowing monolith. The swirling purple and black runes on the monolith pulsed rhythmically before fading, signaling the end of the transmission.

The lead guard turned away from the monolith, his expression unusually severe, and began issuing instructions to the other guards. Though Zayn and Lain couldn't make out the exact words, the shift in the guards' demeanors was palpable—their stiffened postures and furtive glances toward the ditch betrayed that something serious was unfolding.

The guards began backing away from the edge of the ditch, their movements careful and deliberate as though distancing themselves from something dangerous. This sudden retreat set Zayn and Lain on edge.

"What are they doing?" Lain asked in Zayn's mind, his tone laced with unease.

"No idea, but it's nothing good," Zayn replied. His stomach churned as a sharp sense of dread clawed its way into his thoughts.