The soldiers shoved Agan and Garik forward through the mud, the heavy iron chains biting into their wrists. The swamp felt colder now, each damp step dragging them deeper into a nightmare they couldn’t wake from. Murkrest was gone, but this—a foreign hell where chains rattled and boots stomped in ruthless unison—was their new reality.

Agan stumbled, the weight of the chains jerking him off balance. He caught himself just in time, only to feel a boot slam into his back, sending him sprawling into the mud.

“Keep up, swamp rat!” the soldier sneered, laughing as he pushed him harder. “If you can’t keep pace, we’ll see how much those skinny blue arms are worth in one of the pits.”

Agan bit back a retort, his jaw clenching as he pushed himself upright, mud caking his hands and knees. Beside him, Garik kept his gaze down, his face grim and pale.

They were led into the heart of the empire’s outpost, a sprawling, disorganized maze of tents and barricades, lit by flickering torches. Around them, guards patrolled, leering at the new arrivals, while other conscripts—dirty, hollow-eyed, broken—stood in lines or dragged themselves through drills. Shouts, curses, and screams filled the air, a cacophony of suffering that pressed down on Agan with suffocating weight.

A guard grabbed his arm, hauling him toward a line of other conscripts. “Welcome to Tethral, half-breed. Where even the piss on our boots is worth more than you are.”

Agan met the guard’s gaze, fury burning in his eyes, but he held his tongue. Now wasn’t the time. Survival, he reminded himself, survival first.

They were herded into a clearing, where a broad-shouldered officer surveyed them with a cold sneer. He stepped forward, his expression twisted with disdain as his gaze swept over the captives. He stopped in front of Agan, his lip curling as he looked him up and down.

“Another Saryin. Just what we need,” he drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Did you bring your pet frogs along, too?”

The soldiers around him laughed, a cruel chorus of mockery. Agan gritted his teeth, feeling the chains dig into his wrists as he clenched his fists.

“Look at him—still got a little fire left,” the officer sneered, reaching down to grab Agan’s chin, forcing him to look up. “Well, we’ll see how long that lasts once you’re knee-deep in corpses and stinking of blood.”

He released Agan with a shove, sending him stumbling back, the laughter of the guards ringing in his ears.

“All right, you miserable lot!” the officer barked, his voice cutting through the din. “Listen up, because I’ll only say this once. You’re nothing but meat here. You’ll do what you’re told, when you’re told, and if you so much as breathe wrong, you’ll be made an example of. I see another swamp-dweller, a mutt, even an Elf, and all I see is fodder.”

He stepped back, his gaze hard and unfeeling as he surveyed them. “Now, strip them of whatever dignity they think they have left. We’re here to break them in properly.”

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The guards moved in, tearing at the captives’ clothes, shouting orders and striking anyone who hesitated. Agan felt rough hands yank at his tunic, the fabric tearing as they pulled it off, leaving him exposed to the cold. He clenched his jaw, his heart pounding with humiliation and rage.

“Look at these scrawny arms. Bet you haven’t lifted anything heavier than a frog’s leg,” one of the guards jeered, elbowing his companion.

The guard beside him sneered, his hand closing around Agan’s arm with a grip that felt more like a vise. “They say these swamp rats have poison in their blood. We should let them bleed out and see if it’s true.”

Agan yanked his arm back, but the guard twisted it sharply, sending pain shooting up to his shoulder. “You’ll learn respect, swamp trash,” the guard hissed, his fingers digging into Agan’s flesh. “Or we’ll have your head on a spike.”

The officer’s voice cut through the noise, commanding and cold. “Enough! Get them to their posts. If they survive the night, they’re worth feeding in the morning.”

The guards hauled Agan and Garik to their feet, dragging them through the camp to a row of dilapidated tents. Inside, it was dark, the air thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and filth. The tent was packed with other conscripts, all staring with hollow, defeated eyes, their faces marked by bruises, cuts, and a weary resignation.

Agan and Garik were shoved into the back, where they collapsed onto the hard ground. A guard tossed a thin blanket onto the floor, a mockery of comfort.

“Get used to this place,” the guard sneered, giving them one last kick. “You’ll die here if you’re lucky.”

The guard left, leaving them in the darkness. Agan’s body ached from the rough treatment, but it was nothing compared to the fire of rage burning in his chest. He looked around, taking in the sight of the other conscripts, the defeated look in their eyes.

“This is what they do to us,” Garik muttered beside him, his voice rough with anger. “They want us to break, to accept this… this life.”

Agan shook his head, his voice low but filled with defiance. “We won’t break. I don’t care how many times they beat us or how they try to grind us down. We’ll find a way to survive.”

Garik’s eyes met his, a flicker of hope in the depths of his despair. “Survive, yes… but how long can we keep this up?”

Agan’s jaw clenched. He didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that giving in was not an option. He’d hold onto his defiance, no matter how small, like a shard of light in the darkness. The empire might try to turn him into a weapon, a tool, but he’d never forget who he was—or the lives they’d destroyed.

Just then, a voice called out from the other side of the tent, gruff but tinged with empathy. “You two,” an older man whispered, his face hidden in the shadows. “The empire won’t tolerate that kind of fire for long. If you want to make it, you’ll need to learn the art of silence. Pretend to give in—bide your time.”

Agan met the man’s gaze, his anger tempered by curiosity. “Who are you?”

The man shifted, the faint glimmer of scars visible in the dim light. “Just someone who learned the hard way. They break those who resist openly. But those who learn to hide their strength… they can endure. They can plan.”

Agan absorbed the man’s words, feeling a bitter frustration settle over him. The thought of bending, of feigning obedience, left a sour taste in his mouth. But he saw the truth in the man’s eyes, a lifetime of hard-won knowledge in his gaze.

“We’ll do what we have to,” Agan murmured, though the words felt foreign on his tongue.

The man nodded, his gaze shifting to the tent’s entrance as footsteps approached. “Then maybe, one day, you’ll walk out of here with something more than scars.”

The guard returned, ordering them into silence with a sharp, impatient gesture. Agan bit his tongue, forcing himself to follow the command, feeling the weight of the empire’s cruelty pressing down on him. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction, not yet.