Third POV
Three months.
That was how long Elias had been in the Iron Fang Sect's slave camp.
The days blurred together — the same cold mornings, the same back-breaking work, the same eyes of the guards watching for weakness. In those months, he'd learned the rhythms of the place. The way the guards grew more relaxed in the late afternoon. The way certain sect disciples liked to prowl near the work pits, searching for excuses to punish someone. The way food rations were always "accidentally" short if the overseers disliked you.
He'd also learned who mattered among the slaves.
First POV
Garon was the first. The man was built like a forge — broad chest, thick arms, hands that looked like they'd once shaped iron and steel. He rarely spoke, but when he did, people listened. He had a way of making fights stop with just a look.
Tyrek was the opposite. Quick with words, quicker with his hands, though I'd never seen him try to steal in the camp — maybe he knew better. He claimed he'd once been a street merchant's apprentice, but the truth slipped in pieces, and I knew it involved stealing from someone with power.
And then there was Lydia. Quiet, watchful. She kept to herself except for the boy, Sam, who followed her like a shadow. She worked without complaint, but her eyes — they hadn't dulled yet.
Third POV
It happened in the middle of a hot, dust-choked afternoon.
Elias was hauling a load of firewood toward the storage shed when he heard voices — not the weary mutters of slaves, but the mocking laughter of sect disciples.
They stood near one of the smaller huts, four of them in gray and black robes marked with the fanged wolf emblem. The leader was a tall man with narrow eyes and a smirk that didn't reach them. His hand gripped Lydia's arm.
She was struggling, trying to twist free. Her hair was pulled loose, strands sticking to her sweat-damp face.
"Feisty for a camp rat," the leader drawled. "Thought you'd be grateful for the attention."
One of his companions laughed. "She'll learn."
First POV
Something in me snapped.
I didn't think about the chains, the whips, the fact that they could kill me with a word. I just saw Edith. My sister, cornered, scared, refusing to break.
I dropped the wood and started walking toward them.
"Let her go," I said.
The words weren't loud, but they cut through the noise. All four disciples turned to look at me. Lydia froze, her eyes widening.
Third POV
The leader's smirk deepened. "And who's this? Another rat trying to squeak?"
Elias stopped a few paces away, his gaze locked on the man's hand gripping Lydia's arm. "You heard me."
The leader chuckled and shoved Lydia back toward the hut wall. "You've got spirit. Let's see how long it lasts."
He stepped toward Elias — but before he could strike, one of the other disciples whispered something in his ear. The leader's smirk returned, sharper.
"Change of plans," he said. "Since you want to play hero, we'll give the camp a show."
First POV
I knew what that meant before they said it.
Whipping. In front of everyone.
The kind of thing meant to grind the defiance out of a person until there's nothing left but obedience.
Third POV
They dragged Elias to the central square, where a thick wooden post stood in the dirt. Slaves began to gather, drawn by the sound of the commotion.
The leader of the disciples raised his voice. "This one thinks he can stand in the way of the Iron Fang Sect's will. Watch closely — this is what happens to those who forget their place."
Two of them forced Elias to his knees, tying his hands to the post. The third disciple fetched the whip — a long strip of leather weighted at the tip.
First POV
The air felt too hot, too still. I could hear my own heartbeat, loud in my ears. I saw Lydia at the edge of the crowd, Sam clutching her sleeve. Her face was pale, her eyes locked on me.
The first strike came without warning. The crack of leather split the air, followed by a line of fire across my back.
I didn't cry out. I wouldn't.
The second blow was harder. My shoulders jerked against the ropes.
By the fourth, my teeth were clenched so hard my jaw ached.
The crowd was silent. Slaves didn't cheer — but they didn't stop it, either. Not because they didn't care. Because they couldn't.
Third POV
When it was over, Elias's shirt hung in tatters, his back marked with angry red welts. The leader leaned down, close enough for only Elias to hear.
"Next time, I'll take the girl. And you'll watch."
He straightened, tossed the whip aside, and walked off with his companions, laughing.
First POV
The ropes were cut, and I slumped forward onto the dirt.
A hand gripped my shoulder. I looked up to see Garon's face, shadowed and unreadable.
"Come on," he said, hauling me to my feet like I weighed nothing.
He half-carried me to the shade of one of the huts, setting me down with my back against the wall.
"You've got a strong spirit," he said quietly. "That'll keep you alive — or get you killed. But whatever happens, don't let them break it. They'll try. Every day."
His eyes locked on mine, and for the first time since I'd met him, I thought I saw something like respect there.
First POV
Garon left me sitting in the shade, his footsteps heavy in the dirt.
I let my head rest back against the wall, breathing slowly, trying not to let the sting in my back pull me under. The sun was dipping lower now, the heat softening, though the dust still clung to everything.
I heard the soft patter of feet before I saw them.
Lydia was standing there, Sam tucked half behind her like a shadow. She looked like she wanted to speak but wasn't sure how to start.
"You… didn't have to do that," she said quietly. Her voice was steady, but her hands were clenched in her skirt.
I gave a small shrug. "Wasn't going to stand there and watch."
Sam stepped forward, fumbling with something in his hands. It was a small, misshapen lump of bread — probably stolen from a ration, the edges dry and crumbling.
"I saved it," he said, holding it out like it was treasure. "For you."
I stared at it for a moment. I hadn't eaten since morning, and my stomach was a knot of emptiness. But I pushed his hand gently back toward him.
"Keep it," I said. "You need it more than I do."
He looked like he was about to argue, but Lydia touched his shoulder. She met my eyes — not with pity, but with something sharper. Something like respect.
Then they left, Sam glancing back twice before disappearing behind the huts.
I sat there alone again, the taste of dust in my mouth and the echoes of the day still ringing in my head. My back throbbed with every breath, but the fire in my chest hadn't dimmed.
They could try to break me.
They'd fail