The world sank into a quiet buzz inside Daniel's head.
The scared breaths from people nearby, yet the deep shouts from those horned beasts, also that awful sound when his dad died - everything faded into an empty echo.
He stayed kneeling in the dirty square, feeling nothing, even when everyone left and they took down the stage.
The look in his dad's empty eyes burned into his mind, yet it was the thought of his mom, Linda, that crushed him deep inside.
A moment - just five seconds - cut through the chaos. Her eyes held grief, just like his. Yet she whispered his name without sound. That quiet cry? It stuck in his chest, sharp as broken glass.
He staggered toward Jedediah's place, half-lost, the usual route smeared in his mind.
The other workers stayed back, their normal teasing swapped for wary glances - something cold in his stare had thrown them off.
He flopped down on his lumpy bed filled with hay inside the barn - yet rest didn't come. Every time he closed his eyes, there it was again: the glint of steel, the quick look of knowing on his mom's face, or that bright rift which took his sister away.
The sadness he'd carried every day for twenty-four months finally vanished.
That heavy, suffocating sadness vanished when the gunfire echoed across the courtyard.
In its spot, a fresh but awful shape took form - cold, firm, built tough. Not soft or giving, just there, heavy with purpose.
It dropped heavy in his stomach, like a clenched fist full of pure anger.
He stayed put all day, completely still, his belly empty but numb to the ache it once knew.
That next evening, someone limped toward his bed in the dim light of the stable. Turns out it was Silas - thin, aged worker from the fields, hands scarred where fingers should've been.
He squatted low, shadows flickering across his worn features from the weak glow inside the barn. Then he stretched out a dry piece of bread.
"Eat, kid," Silas said, his voice, rough and low. "Starvin' yourself won't bring 'em back."
Daniel stayed still, staring at a split in the wood. His gaze locked there. "My mom's with them," he muttered, tone dull, no feeling behind it. They'd grabbed his sister earlier
Silas exhaled slow, tired-like, then dropped onto the grimy ground - grabbed a chunk of bread, started chewing it too.
"Yeah, well," he mumbled through the mouthful, "they took everything from everyone. Welcome to the damn club. No t-shirts, just misery."
He stopped, glancing at the kid's side view.
The kid once slack as a rag, barely worth a slap, had vanished. What lay on the cot now felt off. Not moving. A threat.
"You got that look," Silas said quietly, after a long silence. "The kinda look that gets a man killed. Or gets him to do the killin'."
Daniel slowly looked up, gaze meeting Silas's. "What's it take to get better?"
The query hit hard - no sadness, no panic, just straight to the point - leaving the elderly guy stunned.
He let out a short, humourless laugh. "Stronger? Kid, you can't get 'stronger' than them. They're monsters. We're cattle. That's the way of it now."
"There has to be a way," Daniel insisted, sitting up slowly. The fire in his eyes was unnerving. "Someone, somewhere, has to be fighting back."
Silas bit his lip, eyes jumping across the quiet barn like it could hear him.
He moved nearer, then spoke quieter - like sharing a secret.
"There are stories. Rumours. The kind you hear from drifters passing through, the ones crazy enough to still be wanderin' the roads."
He looked back once more.
"They talk about a place. An academy. Run by some fella who ain't from around here. Not one of them," he gestured vaguely towards the world outside, "but not one of us, either.
People claim he dropped outta nowhere, just like the others - yet here he stands, ready to push back
Daniel shifted closer, each muscle tight. "Which spot?"
Nobody's certain - what's out there stays buried. A mystery," Silas muttered while moving his head side to side. Yet it comes at a price.
The tales mention the entry cost - could snag every inch of this crummy ranch. Word is, this guy... he'll show you ways to drop beasts. Or grab strength if you're hungry for it.
People claim he shoves folks into a different realm - one where you're either crowned ruler or end up lifeless. Silas scoffed.
"Probably just a fancy way to take your coin before they stick you in a stew pot. But... it's a story."
That night, under quiet shadows in the barn, a promise took hold. Daniel made up his mind - he'd track down that school. No matter the cost, he meant to cover it.
He'd step into the flames without blinking. To track down the beast who took his sister, he'd rip everything apart - no hesitation. For his mom's freedom, he'd torch every rule they built. They'd be together once more. Whatever it takes.
The following day, a different Daniel appeared - suddenly changed, as if overnight.
The lazy kid got replaced by someone who never quit working. Instead of sleeping, he'd already be out there when it barely turned light. Not just early - everyone else showed up later. When daylight faded, he stayed behind while others headed home. His shirt stuck to him from sweating so much. That old version of himself? Gone.
Jedediah, the greedy farmer, stared wide-eyed - his most sluggish hand now worked like a machine. One moment he was slacking; this time? Full speed ahead.
The whip stopped cracking - now there were just approving noises, along with added food portions, which Daniel usually swapped for money.
He did whatever work others refused. Cleaning Garon pens was part of it - nasty jobs with stinky, pig-shaped beasts raised for chewy meat.
He fixed broken fences at the edge of the farm - spots where creepy bug-eyed hunters often crept around. A few had sharp claws, maybe even venom. One wrong step there could mean trouble real quick.
He hauled heavy bags of wheat till his spine ached, while exhaustion washed over him like sweat after hard work.
Check him out," folks on the farm would grumble while Daniel sat quiet, tallying up his meager pile of change under the dim lamp glow.
"Jedediah's little pet. What's he savin' for? A pretty new shovel?"
Daniel paid no attention. Since their talk was just empty sound, he kept busy - cooking meals, earning cash. One thing after another, his days moved forward.
He got lean, yet his frame tightened with tough muscle. The roundness in his cheeks faded, replaced by hard edges plus a gaze that noticed all but shared none.
The following 30 months brought nonstop effort, pain, tough grit. Yet every day pushed forward somehow.
At last, it happened. Five years - give or take a few hours - had passed since daylight disappeared.
In a tiny gap under his bed, there was a thick leather bag. Out spilled everything inside it - right onto the worn-out sheet.
A pile of dirty coins, some wrinkled bills from the past picked up here and there - also a tiny gold tooth yanked off a dead body during a haul back then.
It was wealth born from suffering. Once he tallied it, later again. That much would do.
He just left without a word.
Under cover of darkness, he crept from the barn, a little bag of coins fastened to his waist. While shadows stretched, he moved quick - money hidden close. As silence held, he stepped beyond the old wooden walls, cash kept tight against him. No one stirring, just starlight guiding his way out.
He glanced again at the spot where he'd been stuck so long, yet walked away cool-headed, not looking back, vanishing into the night.
His trip lasted several weeks. Using the rough clues plus hushed tips from Silas, he moved past hollow city shells while sneaking through woods packed with beasts.
He picked up how to glide without sound, take lives only if he had to - using quiet methods - and make do with what little the ruined earth left behind.
He stumbled on it at last among the remains of a run-down factory zone - where metal crumbled and empty frames stood silent.
It wasn't marked or flashy. Instead, one heavy steel door stuck out from the wrecked building, blending right into the broken pieces around it.
A tiny cam sat just above - barely noticeable, really.
Daniel faced it, pulse thumping slow and even inside him. Then - just one sharp rap on the surface.
A little flap slid open right in front of his face - two sharp, watchful eyes stared back.
"What're you after?" a voice snarled from inside.
I'm here to sign up," Daniel told them, voice calm but firm - though he barely moved a muscle.
The eyes narrowed. "You got the fee?"
Without saying anything, Daniel loosened the thick bag from his waist then lifted it high.
The load from two and a half years - each bit of effort, each moment lost - sat heavy inside that bag.
The slot snapped closed. A series of clunks followed - metal sliding into place - then the thick steel door creaked outward, barely wide enough to squeeze through.
He moved past the doorway, ditching the broken place he'd known.
The door banged closed after he left, metal latches clicking into place - like a grave sealing up.
He was standing in a narrow hall where the lights barely worked. The big guy, face full of scars, grabbed the bag without saying anything. He checked its weight, sort of flipped it once in his palm, then just nodded quick.
Daniel made it happen. A learner by trade. Years of hard work, beatings, empty stomachs, heavy regret - each piece brought him here now.
He moved nearer to the control he'd been chasing hard. Closer now to getting even. Getting near - right toward their path.