The Tomb of the Hidden King

I could barely see five metres in front of me.

The slaves were shackled together, myself included. It made walking in this dreary place even harder. Whenever the person in front of me stumled in the darkness, I invariably ended up on the ground. I'd tried pulling them up numerous times, but it never really helped. They'd start to panic and drag the others down. Somehow the interaction always ended up in the most pathetic way imaginable.

It was humbling, in a way. Too often, in the past, I thought that I was better than this. That this situation didn't fit me. That it would pass.

I was better than the other slaves, you see. "I wasn NOT born to serve.", I thought to myself: "I'm made of sterner stuff!"

But I'd lost that confidence. Everyone does, eventually. Invariably.

By the fiftieth time your knees hit the ground, "confidence" is a word without meaning.

The truth is clear and unambiguous: I am nothing. I will die here. In the darkness, forgotten by all.

...

We were stopping. Again.

Every few minutes, one of the officers barked an order and we ended up bumping into each other. Yet again, it resulted in a litany of curses being spewed by slaves and soldiers alike. Probably because nobody here, soldiers included, spoke the language. "High Valerian", what a farce...

Again, the man in front of me fell and dragged me down with him.

I tried to pull him up. But unlike before, he didn't even respond. "Move! Just stand up, already!" I whispered.

Nothing.

"You fucking idiot... ", I crawled closer to him, laid my head on his chest to feel his breath. There was barely anything left of him. The man was fading away, his breath quick and ragged. Shallow.

I don't remember how often he had apologized to me for his weakness. There was no aplogy this time. He just stopped.

I never learned his name.

"Currite!", on the soldiers yelled.

We stopped. It was one of the few commands that everyone understood by now. "Stop" (or die).

"Reporta.", a calm voice echoed.

Legate Flavius Valerius Falx, dipshit in command.

Some distant relative of the emperor, trying to make a name for himself in this gods-forsaken place.

Like all Valerians, the man stood tall. Way tall. At around 2,80 metres (9,2 feet) in height, muscle-bound and clad in golden plate armor, he had no difficulty inspiring loyalty.

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The soldier was stammering, despite his equally imposing build: "One of the slaves died. Should we... call for a rest, Sir? The slaves are exhausted."

I didn't dare to get my hopes up. Valerians were hard-asses to the last, especially those in command. There would be NO rest.

"No. Cut him loose. Pass out some torches among the thralls. Visibilty may be limitied, but we are far from done here. Rest will have to wait."

"Understood, Sir!"

I couldn't tell if the soldiers were disappointed or relieved.

"Faxes!", he yelled.

Without delay, a dozen soldiers forced torches into our hands. It didn't have to be said: "These are not weapons. Don't even bother."

...

I counted. Twelve soldiers, one commander, thirty-two slaves. How can I--

Somebody touched my right shoulder.

"Hey!", someone wisphered.

The voice came from behind me. Who was walking behind me? I never once dared look back since we entered this place.

I don't want to know. Leave me alone.

"Leave me alone!"

It escaped my lips before I could even formulate a thought.

"... Sorry." The voice said. Soft. Feminine.

I couldn't resist. I looked back. I looked at her.

...Oh, dear gods!

I ignored her. No distractions!

Twelve soldiers, one commander, thirty-two slaves.

What weapons do we have? Every eighth slave has a torch. That's five torches. Maybe we can kill one valerian if we all attack at once?

We just have to coordi--

"Hey!", someone wisphered.

It was her again. The voice made me shiver. No. No distractions! Don't distract me!

"His backside! Look!", she hushed into my ear.

I couldn't think straight. All I could see was the legate strutting before me. Distateful.

"The scroll, idiot! Look!", she urged. "Take it! Now!"

Finally it dawned on me. Legate Flavius Valerius Falx was walking right to my side. And there was some piece of paper sticking out of his pockets.

I pondered this life-changing decision for a minute and decided:

You know what? I can either die in this tomb, unbeknownst to all, OR

I can stick it to this douche-bro... and THEN die.

Let's do the latter. Fuck it!