Onyx Pov:
*My head throbs with a dull, persistent ache, a heavy weight behind my eyes. The world is a blur of dim light and cold, hard stone. I try to move, to push myself up, but a sharp, biting pain shoots up my leg. I look down, my vision slowly focusing. A thick, rusted iron band is locked around my ankle, the cold metal biting into my skin. From it, a heavy chain leads to a large ring bolted to the floor. A cold knot of dread forms in my stomach as I realize I'm not alone.*
*Around me, other teenagers are stirring, just as confused and terrified as I am. Beastmen with fur matted with dirt, others of species I don't recognize, their faces a mask of fear. The air is thick with the smell of fear, sweat, and damp stone. Whimpers and soft sobs fill the air, the sound of broken hope. Then, the heavy, echoing footsteps begin. They get closer, and with them, the sound of coarse laughter.*
.*The footsteps stop in front of our cage. Three beast-men loom in the dim light, their frames casting long, distorted shadows. The one in the center, a hulking brute with a jagged scar running down his cheek, doesn't say a word. He just points a thick, clawed finger at three teenagers across from me—a young cat-boy, a girl with delicate, gossamer wings, and a boy who looks mostly human but with faint, glowing patterns on his skin.*
*The other two men unlock the massive padlock on the cage door with a loud, grating clang. They step inside, grabbing the chosen teens by their arms and dragging them out. The cat-boy screams, his voice raw with panic, as he's pulled away from a girl who reaches for him. The winged girl just sobs silently, her small body trembling. They are herded out of sight, the sounds of their terror fading down a dark corridor.*
*One by one, the scarred man points, and the men drag another child from our cage. The scarred brute's gaze sweeps over the remaining prisoners, his eyes lingering on each face with a cold, appraising look. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of terror. I shrink back, pressing myself into the corner, trying to make myself as small as possible. Please, don't let him see me. Please, papa, find me.*
*His eyes land on me. He stops, his head tilting slightly. He studies me for what feels like an eternity. I can feel his gaze, heavy and invasive, taking in my face, my human features, the way I'm chained and trembling. A cold sweat breaks out on my skin. Is he going to choose me? Is this the end?*
*But then, with a dismissive flick of his clawed hand, he turns away. He says nothing, gives no reason for his choice. He simply walks off, his two lackeys following in his wake.**The first rays of weak morning light struggle through the high, barred window, casting long, cold stripes of illumination across the stone floor. The silence of the night is shattered by the heavy grating of the cage door being unlocked. A beast-man roughly shoves a figure inside, and the door slams shut with a deafening clang, the lock clicking back into place.*
*I watch in horror as the girl collapses onto the filthy ground. She's barely recognizable. Her once-beautiful wings are now a tattered, bloody mess, one of them torn off almost entirely. Her clothes are rags, soaked in dark, crusted blood. Her hair is a matted, shriveled mess, and her face is a swollen, bruised canvas of purple and black. A low, broken whimper escapes her lips, which quickly escalates into a hysterical, keening wail that pierces the morning stillness. The other teens shrink away from her, their own terror magnified by her agony.*
*The girl's sobs slowly dissolve into a low, broken laugh, a sound that is more terrifying than her screams. It's the sound of something fragile shattered beyond repair. The other prisoners recoil, their eyes wide with a mixture of pity and primal fear. No one dares to get close.*
*But something inside me stirs. It's not pity, not exactly. It's a memory of my own pain, of feeling utterly broken and alone. A memory of a father's warmth that feels a universe away. The sight of this broken, sobbing girl awakens a fierce, protective instinct I didn't know I still possessed. Before I can think better of it, before the fear can stop me, I shuffle across the cold stone floor on my knees and wrap my arms around her trembling shoulders.*
*She stiffens instantly, a sharp gasp escaping her swollen lips. She tries to shove me away, her weak blows hitting my back with no force. But I don't let go.*
..*I tighten my grip, not out of force, but out of a desperate need to offer some small comfort. Her struggles falter, her energy spent. The frantic energy in her body slowly seeps away, replaced by a bone-deep limpness. For a long moment, she remains rigid, a statue of silent agony held together by my embrace.*
*Then, a single, shuddering breath escapes her, and her body sags against mine. Her broken sobs return, but now they're different. They're quieter, muffled against my shoulder. They're the raw, ragged sounds of someone finally letting the pain out, no longer holding it back for fear of what might happen. I just hold her, letting her cry, my own heart aching for this stranger in this hellish place. I don't know her name, her story, or why she was chosen. All I know is that she's hurting, and for now, that's enough.*
*After an eternity of silence, a heavy iron plate is slid through a slot in the cage door. It holds a few scraps of stale bread and a single, desiccated piece of meat. The moment it appears, a frenzy erupts. The prisoners scramble and shove, a desperate, ugly fight over the meager scraps. The beast-men outside laugh, their voices echoing cruelly in the confined space.*
*In the chaos, I manage to snatch a small piece of the tough meat. I clutch it tightly in my hand, its rough surface a small comfort. I glance over at the girl. She hasn't moved. She sits huddled in the corner, her gaze distant, unfocused. She didn't fight for the food, as if she'd already given up, already accepted that this was the end. It's a look I know too well—the look of someone who has lost their will to live.*
*I look from the meat in my hand to her hollow face. A decision is made in an instant. I crawl over to her, my own hunger forgotten. I kneel beside her, my movements careful and slow. Gently, I take her cold, limp hand in mine. It's startlingly still. I pry her fingers open one by one, her skin rough with dirt and grime. I place the small piece of meat into her palm, closing her fingers around it.*
"Eat," *I whisper, my voice raspy but firm.* "You need your strength."
*Her head shakes weakly, a feeble rejection. She looks away, her gaze fixed on some terrible point on the far wall. I insist, pushing her hand gently towards her mouth, my expression soft but unyielding. After a moment, she gives in. She looks at the meat, then at me, and gives a single, grateful nod. Her movements are slow at first, almost mechanical, but as the taste hits her, she begins to chew with a desperate, greedy need, the first sign of life I've seen in her since she was thrown back in.*
*As the girl eats, my own gaze drifts towards the beast-men. They're still watching, their jeering laughter having subsided into something more contemplative. And then I see him. The scarred brute, the one who chose who would be taken. He's not laughing with the others. He's just standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, his face a mask of stern, rigid observation. His eyes are fixed on me, on the way I'm sharing my food with the broken girl. There's no amusement in his gaze, only a cold, unnerving stillness.*
*A chill, colder than the dungeon stone, runs down my spine. I instinctively curl myself further into the corner, pulling my knees to my chest and trying to make myself as small as possible, as if I can disappear into the shadows. I keep my head down, but I can still feel his heavy, unwavering presence on me, a silent promise of things to come.*
*The days blur into a monotonous cycle of fear and hunger. The sun rises and sets through the high barred window, but it means little. More children arrive, their faces etched with the same terror we first felt. And more are taken, their screams becoming a familiar, horrifying soundtrack to our imprisonment. A few return, but they are hollowed-out versions of themselves, their eyes vacant, their spirits broken. Others simply stop moving one day, their bodies claimed by the cold, the hunger, or the sickness that festers in the damp air.*
*The girl, who still hasn't spoken a word, stays close to me. She has become a silent shadow, a constant presence in this nightmare. Since she has no name, I begin to think of her as Glizz, a name that comes to me in a moment of quiet desperation. We develop a simple, crude sign language. A tap on the shoulder for attention, a slow downward sweep of the hand for 'sleep', a clenched fist for 'hungry'.*
*One evening, as Glizz shivers uncontrollably, her breath misting in the cold air, I make a decision. I carefully tear a long, clean strip from the bottom of my own kimono—the only soft thing I have left. It's a sacrifice, leaving me with even less protection from the chill, but the sight of her pain is a sharper sting. I gently wrap the fabric around the ruined stump of her wing, tucking it as snugly as I can. It's a poor bandage, but it's something. It's a small act of care in a world that has none.*
*Glizz watches my hands, her expression unreadable. When I'm done, she looks from the makeshift bandage to my face. She raises a trembling hand and slowly, deliberately, touches the fabric. Then, she looks at me and gives a single, slow nod. It's the most acknowledgment she has given me, and in this place, it feels like a victory.*
*The days stretch on, marked only by the sporadic arrival of food and the ever-present threat of being chosen. Glizz and I exist in a small bubble of silent understanding amidst the chaos. I've learned to read her subtle shifts in posture—the slight tensing of her shoulders when the beast-men approach, the way she presses closer to me when the screams from the corridor echo too loudly.*
*One afternoon, as the light slants through the bars, Glizz is tracing a pattern in the dust on the floor with a broken fingernail. She pauses, looks at me, and then slowly brings her hand up to her chest. She taps her own chest twice, then points to me. It's her first attempt at a sign, a clumsy but clear question: 'Me. You.' I stare at her, my heart swelling with a strange mix of pride and sorrow. I tap my own chest in return. 'Me.' Then I point to her. 'You.' A small, almost imperceptible twitch touches the corner of her swollen lips.*
*The cold is a constant companion, but tonight it feels sharper, deeper. Glizz and I are pressed close, sharing what little warmth our bodies can generate. It's a fragile, precious thing, this small act of defiance against the dungeon's chill. I'm drifting on the edge of sleep when a massive, calloused hand closes around my arm. It lifts me away from Glizz with an inexorable strength, pulling me from our small haven of warmth. My eyes fly open to find myself face to face with one of the beast-men. His breath is hot and foul, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that chills me more than the stone. Two of his comrades stand at the cage door, their silhouettes blocking the meager light, their posture expectant. A raw shriek tears from my throat, a sound of pure terror that rips through the dungeon's silence, waking the other prisoners who had finally found some fitful rest.*
*The shriek dies in my throat as the back of the beast-man's hand cracks against my cheek. The force of the blow sends a shockwave of pain through my skull, my head snapping to the side. My vision explodes in a shower of white-hot stars. I'm dimly aware of hitting the cold stone floor, a sharp, wet pain blooming on the side of my head. A thin trickle of warm blood snakes from my ear, painting the stone a dark, sticky red. My vision blurs and swims, the world tilting at a sickening angle.*
*I manage to turn my head, my cheek pressed against the filthy floor. Through my hazy, tear-filled vision, I see the other prisoners. They are huddled together in the far corner, pressed against the bars, their faces masks of terror. They make no sound, their cries choked back by primal fear. And then I see Glizz. She's a small, furious blur, her tiny fists beating uselessly against the thick arm of the beast-man holding me down.*
.*He shoves her away with a casual backhand that sends her small body crashing against the stone wall with a sickening thud. She crumples to the ground, limp and unmoving. The sight of her still form, a broken doll in the corner, is the final blow. All the fight, all the terror, drains out of me, leaving a hollow, echoing void. I stretch out a trembling hand in her direction, my lips forming a silent, desperate 'no.' The word is a whisper, lost in the ringing in my ears.*
*Just as the beast-man above me shifts his weight, preparing to do who-knows-what, a commotion erupts at the cage door. A shadow falls over us. There's a blur of movement, a sickening wet crunch, and the weight on me disappears. A figure stands over me, silhouetted against the dim light from the hallway.*
*The figure looms over me, a dark silhouette against the flickering torchlight in the corridor. My vision is swimming, a kaleidoscope of blurs and shadows, but something about the shape, the way he stands, is achingly familiar. The ringing in my ears is deafening, but through the haze, I hear a low growl that vibrates through the stone floor. try to focus, my gaze tracing the outline of the figure. The sharp angles of his shoulders, the set of his jaw... My mind, addled by pain and blood, struggles to connect the image to the reality. It can't be. *The name is a whisper, a fragile, desperate sound that escapes my cracked lips.* "Papa?"
*The figure doesn't answer. He doesn't turn, doesn't look down at me. Instead, his attention is entirely on the beast-man who had been holding me. The intruder moves with a speed that's a blur, a dark streak of lethal grace. There's a sickening, wet crack as his fist connects with the beast-man's jaw, the sound echoing sickeningly in the small space. The creature roars in pain and surprise, stumbling back, clutching his face. Befure my vision fades away*.