More days crawled by within the oppressive confines of the cave. Elara and the others maintained their vigilance, whispering observations in the quiet hours. They learned that the guards, typically two, rarely left their posts by the flickering light, and when they did, it was only for short intervals, never leaving the main chamber unsupervised. The passages leading deeper into the cave seemed to be warded with some form of anti-magic, making Elara's attempts to sense a way through agonizingly difficult. Each time she pushed her mana, it met an invisible, unyielding barrier that sapped her strength without offering any insight.
They tried to find loose rocks, small crevices, anything that might hint at a weak point in their prison. Kaelen, despite his injured arm, meticulously felt along the rough walls near their sleeping area, his fingers searching for any irregularity. Lyra, nimble and light, even attempted to climb a short, craggy section, only to slide back down, the rock too unstable and the ceiling too high.
"There's nothing," Kaelen whispered one evening, his voice heavy with despair, his bandaged arm throbbing. "It's solid rock, everywhere. And that barrier... it's like trying to push through a wall of lead."
Lyra, her face streaked with tears and dirt, huddled closer to Elara. "They even put wards on the floor. I can feel them sometimes, a coldness, if I try to push my magic down."
Elara frowned, her frustration mounting. Every avenue they explored, every observation they made, led to a dead end. The cave was a perfectly constructed cage, designed to nullify their magical abilities and physical strength. She tested the walls again, a faint tremor running through her fingertips as her mana met the familiar, crushing resistance. There was no hidden passage, no ancient crack, no forgotten lever. They were truly trapped.
Then, a chilling conversation drifted from the guard post, carried on a sudden draft of air.
"The master says the convergence is in two cycles," one of the guards muttered, his voice gruff. "The 'spark' will be at its peak. No more delays."
"Two cycles?" the other grunted. "Good. These brats are getting tiresome."
Two cycles. Elara's blood ran cold. That meant two days. The harvesting was drawing closer, their unknown fate looming just beyond the flickering light. They had found no loophole, no weakness in their prison. Time, their most precious commodity, was rapidly running out. The unyielding walls of the cave seemed to mock their desperate attempts at freedom. And unknownly desperation began to seep in slowly.