At the end of the corridor in the Eighth District, several vacant prison cells had been converted into temporary classrooms.
Caelan stood in the center of the long, narrow corridor, his thin shadow stretching across the mottled walls. Inside the cells, rows of young faces crowded together, their eyes gleaming with curiosity and hunger for knowledge.
The old lumen lamps flickered weakly, but with a simple wave of Caelan's hand, like casting some ancient spell of illumination, bright white light filled the corridor, washing over everything in a near-sacred glow.
"We are humans," Caelan said, his back turned to them. His fingers traced invisible letters in the air, writing the word human in many tongues. "That is the most important lesson I will ever teach you."
"Civilization is not cold, lifeless cities, nor the codes carved into stone tablets, nor relics preserved behind museum glass. Those are only the traces of civilization, proof that humanity once existed."
"It was humans who created civilization. We built it, shaped it, and gave it meaning. Civilization belongs to humanity, without humans, civilization is meaningless!"
Caelan's gaze slowly swept over every young face. "Perhaps not long from now, months, or maybe a few years, many of you will gain power beyond any mortal. But remember this always."
He tapped his chest lightly. "Power may change your bodies, but it must never change your hearts. No matter how strong you become, never forget that within your chest beats the heart of a human."
"True strength isn't measured by how much weight you can lift, it's measured by whether you can keep your humanity within your power."
"Anyone who abandons their humanity for the sake of strength will become a slave to it."
Suddenly, clang, clang!
Someone knocked at the end of the corridor. It wasn't a school bell, it was the foremen's warning before an inspection.
Rough voices barked orders as several foremen shoved aside chatting workers and marched down the corridor, faces dark with anger.
"What the hell are you doing here?" one of them snarled.
"Taking a walk," Caelan replied evenly.
The foremen almost laughed from sheer disbelief. "A walk? You think we're idiots?"
Their faces twisted with fury, the stun batons in their hands crackling with blue electricity.
Standing at Caelan's side, Corax watched them silently. His black eyes were like twin pools of cold water, calculating, like a butcher studying livestock before slaughter.
That calm, predatory stare made the foremen's skin crawl. It was as if two poisoned daggers were pressed against their throats.
"What are you looking at?!" one of them shouted. "I'll only warn you once, back off!"
But Corax saw through their bluster to the fear beneath.
They stepped closer, electric arcs sparking brighter.
Caelan grasped Corax's arm and pulled him back.
As the foremen peered into the cells, they saw the children gathered around a rough drawing on the floor, charcoal lines forming a crude grid, with thirty-two smooth stones arranged symmetrically, strange symbols etched on each one.
"What's this?" one overseer asked, frowning.
"Chess," Caelan said.
"Chess?" the man sneered. He kicked the stones, scattering them across the floor, then ground the fragile grid beneath his boot until only smudges remained.
"You think you're worthy to play games? Get back to work!" He spat at the ground.
But the children only stood silently. Their pale faces were blank, their eyes calm and cold as they watched him destroy their game.
That look unnerved him. He had expected rage, tears, protests, something he could punish. But their stillness was worse than defiance. Their eyes were like a stagnant pond, too deep to see the bottom.
He hesitated, then turned stiffly away. Even his usual curses caught in his throat.
Caelan's voice broke the silence. "Anger is like a drawn sword, sharp, but it exposes your weakness. Until you decide to strike, anger is useless."
"It clouds judgment and alerts your enemy. The finest hunters never roar, they wait in silence, letting their prey lower its guard before the perfect strike."
"Mastering your emotions is an art. And you've all shown more restraint than most adults. I am proud to teach you."
At last, faint smiles appeared on the children's faces, their eyes brightening under Caelan's praise.
"Today's lesson is over. Free time."
Caelan clapped his hands, and the children began moving at once. They gathered the scattered stones and charcoal, carefully cleaning the floor. From beneath a blanket, they pulled out a dark green box engraved with maps, inside were freshly made chess pieces.
Caelan didn't have to mine like the others; he carved these sets by hand during his idle hours underground, chess, Go, war games, hundreds of sets.
They weren't worth much, but in a prison with no joy, it was one of the few comforts the children had.
And then, there was Corax.
"Checkmate," Corax said calmly.
His twin rooks had trapped Caelan's general.
The game should have been a contest of wit, but against a Primarch's mind, it was like facing a pre-written execution.
Corax could see thirty-two moves ahead from the very first turn.
Caelan groaned dramatically. "No fun! I'm done!" He threw his piece down and crossed his arms.
Corax said nothing, he merely reset the board, waiting patiently.
Caelan glanced at him, sighed, then grinned. "Fine, one last round!" He slammed a cannon piece onto the center, an aggressive opening.
When Corax miscalculated for a moment and lost a rook, Caelan barely scraped out a narrow win. Both knew Corax had let him win, but neither said it.
For Corax, the joy was in playing with Caelan. For Caelan, the joy was knowing Corax cared enough to lose.
Later, Caelan yawned lazily. "Corax, I'm gonna nap. Wake me later."
Corax silently watched over him, the rhythm of Caelan's breathing steady and soft.
Primarchs could go weeks without sleep, and Corax had done so often. But now, his duty was to watch over Caelan, always.
A quiet voice whispered from the doorway. "Corax... can I play too?"
It was Ephrenia, peeking in.
Corax didn't answer, he simply pressed a finger to his lips, motioning for silence, then gently began setting the pieces again, each click softer than a falling leaf.
Ephrenia crept inside and knelt across from him. As she played, her eyes lingered on his face, the once-boyish child who had, in mere weeks, grown into a solemn young man.
"You're dead," Corax said suddenly.
"Huh?"
She blinked, realizing she'd already been checkmated.
"Again!" she insisted.
Twenty-seven losses later, tears welled in her eyes.
Corax suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth. His tone was sharp. "Cry outside."
Ephrenia bit her lip and ran from the cell. Only once she was far enough that he couldn't hear her sobs did she finally cry aloud.
Corax shut the door. He didn't mind the noise, but he wouldn't risk waking Caelan.
"Caelan," Corax murmured, shaking his shoulder gently. "It's starting."
Caelan blinked, returning to wakefulness bit by bit. "Let's go see."
When they stepped into the main hall, it was already packed.
The slaves' twelve hours of rest were over, and the foremen, shouting and swinging batons, herded the exhausted workers toward the cargo lifts like cattle.
But this time, no one moved.
Batons cracked, electricity hissed, some fell, twitching on the floor, but still, no one backed away.
"Do you maggots want to rebel?!" a overseer screamed.
A miner named Erin spoke calmly. "Not rebellion, strike. Until our demands are met, no one works."
The overseer whipped him hard. Erin bent in pain, then straightened, blood dripping from his lip. "Go on, hit me again. Or use your taser. Doesn't matter."
"You're not afraid to die?" the overseer sneered.
Erin smiled faintly. "I hear death by exposure's pretty painful."
"Very."
Exposure didn't mean sunlight, it meant vacuum. Outside the mines, there was no air. A man would die in two minutes, and die horribly.
Erin shrugged. "Then let's find out. I've never died before."
The overseer's hand twitched. "You-!" He grabbed Erin's collar.
Erin spat blood. "Go ahead. Kill me. But think, how many of us can you kill before the quotas fall short? And when they do, will your guild masters spare you?"
That struck home. For the first time, the overseer hesitated. He'd always thought of slaves as dogs, but weren't they also dogs of the Tech Guild?
Without quotas, they were all dead men.
"Back to work! Now!" he snarled, trembling. "I'll pretend none of this happened!"
Erin laughed coldly. "Didn't you hear me? Not until our demands are met."
The overseer's face flushed purple. "You want to die?!"
Erin nodded. "Then we'll die together. We're slaves. Our lives are already worthless, what's death to us?"
The foremen's fear spread. If the slaves rose up, they couldn't stop them.
Suddenly, the tower alarms blared, deafening sirens cutting through the silence. The massive Gate 12 ground open, and a fully armed suppression unit stormed in, their visors glowing red in the dark.
They fanned out in perfect formation. Laser rifles charged with a hiss. Heavy guns loomed from the balconies above.
This wasn't a show of force, it was preparation for a massacre.
Panic rippled through the slaves, but Erin stood firm at the front.
A woman stepped out from the ranks of soldiers, her sharp gaze swept over the crowd.
"I am Supervisor Elena," she announced. Her voice was calm, yet every word carried like steel. "If you all return to work now, I will overlook this incident."
Erin looked straight at her. "Kill me."
Elena laughed coldly. "You think a strike will change anything? The warehouses are full of ore. Even if you all die, it won't matter."
"Kill me," he repeated.
Her eyes narrowed. "You're not afraid of death?"
"I am," Erin said softly. "Aren't you?"
Elena's jaw clenched. "I told you, there's enough ore already!"
"Then why not just kill us all," Erin countered, smiling. "Replace us with new slaves. Easier, isn't it?"
She froze. From the moment she offered pardon, he had known, she was bluffing.
Caelan had been right: true rulers never negotiate with ants… unless they fear the ants can bring down the pillars.
Elena's mask cracked. "Then I'll oblige you!" she snarled, drawing her pistol and pressing it to Erin's forehead.
Erin closed his eyes. "Shalokin, you're next."
The boy beside him stepped forward silently. They all knew someone had to die first.
"Kill him!" the humiliated overseer screamed.
"Shut up!"
Elena's slap sent him stumbling backward. She turned back to Erin, fury burning in her eyes.
"What do you want?"
The truth was, the warehouses weren't full anymore. Previous overseers had drained them to curry favor with the Tech Guild.
If she failed her quotas, she'd be the next one executed.
Erin spoke clearly. "Thirty-six hours of rest between shifts. Double food rations. Better care for the old and the young."
"Impossible!" she spat. "You'll never meet quota!"
"Then we'll take the punishment ourselves," Erin said. "We know the risk."
Elena sneered. "I thought you weren't afraid to die."
Erin's voice was quiet but firm. "If we can live like humans, then yes, we're afraid."
Elena glared, grinding her teeth. "Twenty hours. That's my limit. But your output must rise by thirty percent."
And in that moment, under the trembling hum of the black tower's lights, the slaves realized, they had won their first, fragile victory.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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