A whip cracked against the young man's back, tearing open a fresh gash, and sounded out through the night air, he didn't flinch. The whip snapped again, slicing through his skin, leaving another wound. He didn't understand why they hadn't killed him yet—this was his third escape attempt this week. As he pondered, the whip struck once more, reopening old scars along his back.

He had long since grown numb to the pain. The sting of the lash barely registered anymore. each beating had toughened him, even raising his stats a few times.

"Alright, on your feet, sand rat," the whip-wielder sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "And don't try running tonight. My arm needs a break, y'know." The man chuckled, clearly amused with himself.

The young man slowly rose to his feet, his glare fixed on the round, grinning man holding the whip. He was powerless to fight—at least for now—but one thing was certain: that man would die by his hand.

As he walked back to his living quarters, a female voice called out from behind him. "Oh, Kaelen, when will you learn? There's no escaping. You were born here, and you will die here."

She placed a hand on his wounded back, her touch a mix of mockery and sympathy. With her other hand, she grasped his chin, forcing him to look at her. "And such a pretty face, too. It's a shame, really. If only that man would sell you as a pleasure boy."

She released his chin and leaned in closer, a smirk playing on her lips. "I would love to show you some things, but alas, it's against the rules, and I have no intention of losing my job."

With a dismissive shove, she pushed him backward and sauntered off, leaving Kaelen staring at her retreating figure. "Bitch," was the only word that escaped his lips as he continued on his way to the living quarters. 

Kaelen stepped into his quarters, where four other slaves slept fitfully. He walked over to his blood-stained bed and sat down heavily. Reaching behind the bed, he grabbed his bandages and began to dress his wounds, managing to stop most of the bleeding.

Once he finished, he lay down, letting out a weary sigh, and stared at the slave mark on the back of his hand. He might as well prepare for the next day's labor; he didn't have any escape plans in the works just yet.

Kaelen sat up, startled by an incessant banging. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and moved to leave the quarters, but before he could step out, a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

"Are you giving it up for the fattie or something?" a voice jeered. "It's a wonder you still have your head and haven't been thrown in the hole. What's your secret?"

Kaelen shrugged the man's hand off his shoulder. "I don't have a secret. I'm just as shocked as you are. But I'm not going to complain about it," he replied defiantly.

He stepped out of the quarters, and there was Bradwell—the same rotund man who had whipped him earlier—beating on a drum like a monkey. Kaelen's anger flared as he locked eyes with him, but Bradwell merely smiled wider, the malice in his gaze unmistakable.

With each thump of the drum, the man's laughter echoed in the corridor, a taunting melody that seemed to mock Kaelen's struggles. Kaelen clenched his fists, the urge to retaliate rising within him, but he forced himself to walk away, knowing that patience was a weapon he could wield.

Kaelen stood at attention alongside the other slaves as Bradwell barked orders, he took twisted pleasure in torturing slaves who weren't even his own. Kaelen had witnessed many die from his "punishments," yet Bradwell had never crossed that line with him—though the boy had no idea why.

Kaelen made his way toward the mine, his footsteps heavy with resignation. He grabbed a pickaxe from the wooden rack, its handle worn and familiar in his grip. Today's task was to mine arcanite, the precious red crystals that pulsed with a faint inner light.

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As he began to strike the rock, memories flooded back to when he first started working here. The mine had been filled with small, vibrant red crystals scattered like gems in the dirt, easy to find and collect. But now, it felt as though the mine was drying up. With each swing of his pickaxe, he could sense the dwindling supply, each strike yielding less and less of the precious material.

Kaelen wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing around at the other slaves. Their faces were etched with fatigue, the weight of their labor apparent in the way they moved. Some were hunched over, laboring in silence, while others exchanged weary glances, silently acknowledging their shared plight.

"Hey, Kaelen," one of the older miners called out, a grizzled man named Eldon. "You think we'll have to relocate soon? This place feels like it's drying up faster than the desert."

Kaelen paused, resting the pickaxe against his shoulder. "I wouldn't be surprised. They can't keep us here if there's nothing left to mine." His voice was steady, though unease stirred within him. The thought of moving to another mine filled him with dread.

"Just our luck," Eldon replied, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "We'll end up somewhere worse, mark my words. They'll push us until we're nothing but husks."

Kaelen nodded, the truth of Eldon's words hanging heavy in the air. He returned to his work, the rhythmic sound of metal against stone filling the silence. With each swing, he focused on the task at hand, trying to drown out the anxiety swirling in his mind.

Kaelen eventually filled his bucket with the small red crystals, their vibrant color reflecting the dim light of the mine. As he carried the heavy load to the deposit, memories of his mother flashed in his mind. She had succumbed to illness two years ago when he was just fifteen. Kaelen had begged the owner for the medicine that could have saved her, but the man had refused without a second thought.

With a heavy heart, Kaelen dumped his arcanite into the deposit and turned back toward the mine, the weight of his memories pressing down on him.

His mind drifted back to those painful days. He could still see his mother suffering, her frail body racked with pain, and he felt utterly helpless. The owner had known she was sick—he had even come to check on her—but he had turned a blind eye to her suffering. Kaelen had never understood why he bothered to visit.

As his workday came to an end, Kaelen headed back to his quarters. But before he could make it, Eliza—the woman from the day before—approached him with a smirk on her lips.

"Your owner has called for your presence," she said, her tone teasing. "Looks like all your troublemaking has finally caught up to you.

Kaelen ignored her mockery and changed direction, heading toward the owner's quarters. He hadn't known the man was back; perhaps Eliza was right, and these were his final moments on this earth. The thought sent a chill through him; it would be a terrible way to end his life.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside the man's quarters. The owner sat there, a smile spread across his face, and motioned for Kaelen to take a seat. Reluctantly, Kaelen obliged, settling into the chair across from him.

"Do you know why I called you here, Kaelen?" The owner leaned back in his chair, a sly grin on his face. Kaelen paused for a moment before answering. "No, not really."

The man laughed softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess you wouldn't." He picked up a glass sitting in front of him and took a sip before continuing. "It's simple, really. You turn eighteen in a week, and I thought it was time to let you in on a little secret. I'm your father. I got Selena, your mother, pregnant during a drunken stupor. But I have a name to uphold, and I can't have slave children running around, so I hid your existence."

Kaelen opened his mouth to speak, but the man cut him off. "I know it's shocking, especially considering I let her die quite miserably. But I held no love for your mother. You, however, I truly consider my son. Why do you think you still have your head? I see the rage and determination in your eyes even now. If you had the means, you would reach across this desk and kill me, and I like that about you."

He leaned forward, a calculating glint in his eyes. "Originally, I was going to bring you to the city as a personal slave and simply allow you to escape. But my wife proposed a test."

With a satisfied smile, he placed a bag on his desk. "This is potent wyvern bait. I've spread it around this mining outpost—luckily, it's dried up anyway, and most of the slaves here are worthless. But back to the point: a flock of wyverns should be arriving in a few minutes. All you have to do is survive. Make it to the imperial capital, greet me face to face, and I'll graciously accept you into my line."

The man swiped his hand, and the slave mark on the back of Kaelen's hand vanished.

Kaelen let out a sound of confusion, reeling from the revelation that this man was his father. Before he could fully process the weight of this new reality, an explosion echoed in the distance. Kaelen turned sharply.

"Well, looks like the test has started," the man said one last time. But as Kaelen turned back to face him, the man had vanished, leaving only a simple greatsword in his place.

Kaelen grasped the sword, feeling its weight and promise in his hands. He would have time to process everything later; for now, he had to survive. He had just gained his freedom, and he wasn't planning on dying now that he finally had it.