We're doomed: that's all I've got to say. Everyone else knows it, too. The cart we're in is full - maybe around 12 people in it? But the atmosphere of dread is palpable. I was the last to be 'collected', and I haven't heard a single person make a noise apart from a sob.

Outside, the DeathGuards are also sitting in silence: do they even have the power to speak? I doubt anyone has ever dared ask them, but I would wager not. I wouldn't be surprised if they were some mockery of life made by the Overlords. Whatever they are though, I would not want to come on the wrong end of one of their polearms, which are of a terrible stygian metal.

I crane my head to try and peer over the people near me: and what a beautiful day it is! The clouds are fluffy in the sky, and two of our moons are just passing by each other. Were it not for the fact that I'm about to die, I'd be quite happy. The wonder of the sky is, however, dulled by the sight in the distance - the Border Mountains of the Hunting Ground: and, deeply embedded into the rock, a great tower of dark stone that looks as if it has burst from the ground like a spear. I settle back down. Suddenly my appetite for the view has gone: is it, I wonder, the last I will ever have?

From the back of the cart, there comes a cry from another captive - a heart-wrenching, terrible cry, from someone who has lost all hope. Haven't we all? But the noise is unwelcome: one of the Guards, their faceless helmet mocking, unsheathes a dagger and levels it at us all. The ride proceeds in a deathly hush - apart from the rattle of bones under the cart wheels, which sound like cracking bones.

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An Overlord's castle! What. A. Dump. I have decided I may at least enjoy my last few hours (O Ayrn, I hope not!) by verbally (or at least mentally) abusing my captors. I mean - and I have to stop myself from yelling this aloud - when you are one of the greatest predators on the planet, does this mean you have to forget about carpet? Just because you lack many visitors, does this mean you can ignore the fact that a fire does wonders for a cold room? I ask you. Were I some sort of Auditor, I would be distinctly displeased. As it were, I am displeased anyway, more from my imminent death than anything else.

On the bright side, they have at least been kind enough to provide vittles. However, I fear this is more because they want us to be able to provide better sport. I was half tempted to ignore it due to that, but the scent of mushroom pie won me over - and I have always been partial to roast potatoes. It is lucky for me that I did, because had I not I would never have found my saviour.

"Enjoying your roast, sir?" said a voice from somewhere behind me. I span around in horror, half-convinced that a guard's vindictive nature had made them decide to kill me before the hunt just because I was enjoying my dinner so much. Thankfully, it was not. Rather, it was a young man, perhaps a few years older than me - but with a bearing so fantastic I could not help but be taken with him immediately.

My first impression was that he was an aristocrat, but his cloak was too plain, his shoes too ordinary. In one hand he, too, held a roast potato (I must admit, this probably led me to like him so quickly). But all the same, his eyes had a wonderful spark within them, and yet some sort of force behind them also. They were a deep, fathomless grey, like a lighter shade of his hair, and accentuated all the more by his insouciant grin: a grin in direct opposition to what awaited us in the Hunting Grounds.

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After a while, I recovered myself enough to answer, I hope, politely.

"I do beg your pardon," I said hastily. "I was, actually. After all, we may as well enjoy our last good meal."

I stuck out my hand.

"Your servant, sir. I'm Moss."

"Farthing," he replied warmly. "But I must admit, Moss, I did not come over here just to talk about tubers with you."

"Ah," I said.

"Yes," he continued, "I saw in you a fellow compatriot. A large sum of people, you will note, have given up."

I looked around when he said this - and he was correct. I saw people slumped blankly against walls, others in small huddles as if to shield themselves from the world. The potato in my hand suddenly felt less appetising.

"But you are here enjoying the - admittedly excellent - dinner on offer. Undoubtedly you yourself have come to the same conclusion about hope, or the lack of it, but you have met it head on. An admirable decision."

"Go on," I said cautiously. He had taken me in, but all the same I was wary - and scared. The terror of the day had taken its toll on me. He leaned in conspiratorially.

"Moss. I would like you to join me, and a few others. We are going to escape."

This took a moment to settle into my mind, and when it did I nearly leapt out of my skin. Rather than feeling as if I had come into contact with a madman, though, a series of goosebumps prickled over me - he spoke with an odd conviction, an ardent urgency behind his words. I could not help but be swayed. But I was not completely on his side.

"Many," I said lightly, with unease stirring behind my words, "have tried. What do you have that makes you so sure you will succeed?"

"Knowledge," he said simply. "I have spent years exploring the Hunting Grounds, in the time between the Hunts. I know a route out."

"Ah?" I said sarcastically. "And how close is this 'route'? A short walk, I hope? Nice and easy? No bloodthirsty Overlords racing after us?"

"Trust me," he said with a smile. And, Ayrn help me, I did. There was something completely disarming about his words.

"What about everyone else?" I said, gesturing. "I hardly think a band of a hundred will make for a stealthy escape."

At those words, his smile faltered. I saw a flicker of sadness behind those dark eyes.

"Our band will only be four of us," he said.

"You don't mean to say -" I began, but he cut me off.

"I do," he said harshly. "And if you are part of that four, you will do as I say. Understand? We can do nothing for them."

I remained quiet, and he surveyed me sadly. 

"You are very kind," he said, and cut short my protestations, "but kindness is worth nothing now. There is, I think, only one thing I can say that may sway you - I do this not out of selfishness, but of need. Because if we succeed, we will destroy the Overlords forever."

At this, I was shocked into silence even further. Destroy the Overlords? Impossible, I thought. But if we were able to...

"I don't have any family," I said brokenly. "Take someone else, who deserves to live. Do not take me."

At that, he started forward, and grasped my arm. His voice was fiery and full of passion.

"No! Tell yourself anything, but not that. I warn you now, those who come with me are not safe. Where we plan to go, no man is safe. But companions - don't we all need companions? And I myself would rather die with friends then alone."

I considered his words. And I thought of my old friends, who lay somewhere behind me. Perhaps their descendants would be collected for the next hunt. Perhaps...

I was very tired. I feared, whatever I chose, I would not live for long anyway. Maybe it was better to attempt some kindness. Maybe it was better to look forward than look back to my old hut in my fields.

"Very well," I said. "I will join you. I pledge to you now, if you remain as good to me as you are now, my loyalty to you shall not falter."

"Thank you!" he said, and his face broke into a wide smile. "Thank you, sir, and I promise you - "

But he was interrupted. The great doors at the end of the Hall opened slowly, like the gates of the Dark Realm itself. And through them walked an Overlord.