Unlike how some stories were overly fond of starting, moonlight refused to illuminate the boy’s path as he ran. He didn’t expect help; the Moon only assisted the honorable, pure-hearted main characters of old fables. Traits he didn’t possess, and people he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—ever be. Not a runaway delinquent like him.

Stones dug into the calloused soles of his feet, dirt and dust clinging to his skin. His arms, weary from the day’s work, ached as they clutched a tattered burlap sack against his thundering heart. With nothing other than his sight and strength to guide him, he tore through the lightless camp.

The gates are much farther away during the nighttime, he thought dryly as he slipped between the tents. Although time typically passes by quickly, its shadow lasts too long tonight.

Finally, he approached the front of the camp, and the front gates loomed before him. He knew others had tried to climb the iron entry gates before in their attempts to escape, but they never made it far enough—the security systems fused into their collars’ Souldrops were merciless and, judging by past events, severely underestimated.

But he had prepared beforehand. As he reached the bars of metal, he dropped his bag and fell to his knees, desperately clawing through the grass and weeds for the most crucial piece for his escape.

His fingers found nothing but soil. Panic erupted in his mind as bile rose abruptly in his mouth. As each second added onto his piling dread, he scrambled in the dirt. His heart fluttered frantically, and his breath hitched as it lodged itself in his chest.

Has someone figured out my plan? Where was-

Then his hand closed around a worn handle, and he almost wept with relief.

He knew he had no time to celebrate. Quickly, the boy stood up and picked up the handle, raising his pickaxe before his face. His tool wasn’t as big as the adults’, so hiding it after work proved to be less challenging than anticipated. If anything, he was more worried about the next step.

He rested the tip against the surface of his collar beside the Souldrop, and the light tap sent waves of anxiety through his body. With unease and fear churning in his chest, he licked his lips and steeled his resolve; this had to be perfect. Anything else would only be courting Death.

The ax drifted away from him, shaking ever so slightly. The night air clung warmly against his body. He gulped.

Took a deep breath.

And swung the pickaxe towards himself.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Then time slowed as the blade arced closer. His eyelids slammed shut, and he braced himself to feel the pain of the tool piercing into his throat. Preparing himself to meet whatever comes after this life. A quick prayer flickered past his mind. Sweat trickled down his cheeks.

But when he realized that he felt no pain, he pried his eyes open.

The tool had burrowed into the metal band. His clammy hands still clung to the handle, and for a moment, he was unsure of what to do next.

Suddenly, the camp exploded with light and yelling guards, and instinctively, he grabbed his bag and slipped behind the nearest box. A searchlight swept above his head, passing dangerously close to his small figure. He desperately pulled the pickaxe free as more guards ran past, none pausing to glance at his hiding spot. The collar splintered, falling mutedly to the dirt beside him. His trembling hand tightened around the ax at his side.

“Brother, where’d you go?”

The boy froze. A familiar, sweet voice crackled from the overhead speakers behind him. A voice he desperately didn’t want to hear tonight.

“Brother, I woke up, and I couldn’t find you,” the voice crackled again. “I went to the Manager, but he couldn’t find you either. But he said I could use the microphone to talk to you! Can you hear me, Brother?”

A moment of silence. Snaps and sparks as whispers began in the background. The boy held his breath, waiting to hear her voice one more time. Praying she was okay.

She took a shaky breath, the sound ripping at her brother’s heart. “Please come back. I don’t wanna be alone.”

Frustration and guilt burned like smoke in his lungs, and the boy gritted his teeth. A promise to protect her rippled against his tongue and crashed against snarling lips, but the words never escaped. His fist tensed as war raged in his mind. Could he reach her in time?

A deep voice took her place, and a familiar sense of fear and hatred washed over him. “You know what’ll happen if you don’t come back home, yes? We don’t want your friend to get hurt,” The Manager spoke, his voice like venomous honey, bitter malice hiding under the sugary faux concern. The boy could already imagine the man’s greased black hair and the striped suit he hated so much. “It’s best if you come back home yourself. She needs you here, and the rest of us will miss you very much.”

“Come, you can be brave,” he continued. “You remember the stories of the legends and their honor. You want to be a hero too, do you not? At least, for this little one?” He paused briefly. When he spoke again, the sweetness was gone, and only a pungent threat laced his words. “You know where we’re waiting. This is your chance to be a hero, just like in the stories.”

The boy shook his head and clenched his jaw until his ears rang. His nails dug into the bag. Fiercely, he reminded himself of his purpose, the reason why he had to leave tonight. It was too late to give up now.

Be honorable? Like the heroes in the stories?

If being a hero meant going back, then he knew he had to become the villain.

Taking a deep breath, he pretended his heart hadn’t shattered as her plea echoed in his head. His eyes sought the searchlight, waiting for it to swing past above him one last time, then grabbed onto the iron bars of the gate. Then with his gaze set on the moonless sky, he began to climb.