Mondric laughed, slow and deliberate, then began to clap. The sound of his hands echoed off the stone walls like a cold salute. He smiled, voice celebratory: "Well done, Harris. It seems you're the only one here using your head."
They exchanged a brief, sharp look. Harris' smile faded into seriousness as he turned to Noel, his voice firm: "What's your choice, sister?"
Noel bit her lip until it whitened, remorse and fear painting her features. After a moment's hesitation she whispered, barely audible, "Fine… I'll join you."
Harris' face lit with the triumph of a victor. Mondric answered with a single clipped word: "Good."
Suspicion clouded the others' faces. Kabel remained squatting, calm and measured, like someone weighing the moment with deliberate care. Mik and Sandro flinched and then erupted—shouting at Harris and Noel, their faces strung with fear and rage. Kabel raised a steady hand and silenced them with a firm, low voice: "Lord Mondric, will you give us time to think?"
Mondric fixed him with an intent look, then replied in a tone as sharp as ice beneath calm: "I will give you time to think. But no food until you serve me willingly."
Silence fell. Kabel closed his eyes for a heartbeat as if considering the weight of the sentence, then opened them clear and steady, dropped to his knees, and spoke with unshakable calm: "I will serve you."
A satisfied, faint smile crossed Mondric's face as he turned his gaze to Mik and Sandro, measuring their hesitation. Shouts rose again; Kabel shut his ears to the chaos, ignoring the clamor as faces around him shifted between scorn and bitterness. He said plainly, with no softening of truth: "You have time to think—and that was the point of my question. It seems you won't decide quickly."
Mik and Sandro snapped back together, voices edged with defiance: "We'll take our time, you fools!" Kabel replied with dry sarcasm: "I don't think all that muscle will get you very far." Harris laughed loud, triumphant: "He's probably right." Noel remained silent, watching them with a grief-struck look.
Mondric cut them off with a voice that brooked no argument, regal and terrible: "Very well. Since most of you have chosen, they will come with me. The rest will remain detained here for one month—otherwise, your death will be inevitable."
Mik and Sandro met each other's eyes—raw anger and bitter resignation pooling there—yet they sat back down in the pit, wordless. Around them the darkness settled like a cold chain, closing in as the others rose and followed Mondric into the shadowed tunnel, leaving two boys alone at the bottom of the hole.