Silence reigned in the still-rough cavity where the slaves had gathered, but it wasn't a peaceful silence. It was the silence of tension, thick and oppressive, weighing on shoulders like a lead shroud. Some slept directly on the cold rock, huddled in uncomfortable positions, their battered bodies seeking rest that would never truly come. Others, too nervous to close their eyes, stared at the rough walls with eyes reddened by fatigue and worry, their trembling hands clutching makeshift blankets.
The air smelled of sweat, fear, and that particular odor of damp earth mixed with residual magic. A few children wept softly in their mothers' arms, who tried to reassure them with muffled whispers. The eldest, those who had survived other purges, maintained stoic masks, but their gazes betrayed deep anxiety.
