The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and dirt as Arlen trudged along the beaten path, the wooden yoke on his shoulders cutting into his skin. The weight of the water barrels pulled at his small frame, but he pressed on. This was routine—bringing supplies to the backlines of the battlefield, a grim rhythm that had marked his days for months now.

The soldiers barked orders at the slaves, their voices harsh and impatient. Arlen kept his head down, his steps steady despite the ache in his muscles. He had learned long ago that showing weakness only made things worse. His hands were calloused, his body thin, but his will was unyielding. He wouldn’t falter. Not here.

When they reached their destination, a familiar grim scene unfolded. Soldiers in bloodied armor milled about, some tending to wounds while others prepared to move forward. The slaves offloaded the supplies in silence, their presence barely acknowledged by the Empire’s warriors.

But today, something felt different. The air was colder, the tension sharper. As Arlen set down his barrels, his eyes flicked toward the horizon. The soldiers who had been sent ahead to hold the line were not returning. Whispers passed between the guards, their faces pale with unease.

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Then they saw it—the field beyond was littered with bodies. The soldiers who had been positioned there, once the Empire’s shield, lay broken and lifeless. Blood pooled in the dirt, the silence deafening. The slaves froze, their breath caught in their throats.

Before the shock could fully sink in, a new sound filled the air—the battle cry of the White Land soldiers. Emerging from the treeline, they moved swiftly, their weapons gleaming in the dim light.

“Spare none of them!” one of them roared. “No one is to escape!”

Panic erupted among the slaves. Some fell to their knees, paralyzed by fear, while others tried to run. Arlen didn’t hesitate. His survival instincts took over as he turned and bolted, his bare feet pounding against the dirt.

Behind him, chaos reigned. The screams of the dying and the clash of steel rang out, but Arlen didn’t look back. He ran with everything he had, his breath ragged and his heart pounding in his chest. The forest loomed ahead, dark and unwelcoming, but it offered the only hope of escape.

Hours passed as he fled, the world around him fading into shadows. He didn’t stop until, in the darkness, he spotted the mouth of a cave nestled in the hillside. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

Arlen stumbled inside, collapsing against the cool stone. His body ached, every muscle screaming for rest, but he forced himself to stay alert. The night was quiet, but the memory of the massacre lingered, a haunting reminder of how close he had come to death.

For the first time in months, Arlen was alone—completely separated from the war, the Empire, and its chains.