CHAPTER 7: THE FOOD
In the training ground, a group of children lay sprawled across the stone floor — bodies trembling, lungs heaving, sweat pooling beneath them. Some curled in on themselves, others stared blankly at the ceiling, too broken to move. The hall echoed with ragged breaths and silence, as if the room itself was waiting to see who would rise again.
Bootsteps cut through the quiet.
Rauk stood over them, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"Pathetic," he muttered. "But not dead. A decent start."
Nico groaned into the floor. "I want to argue… but I can't move my face."
Thalia let out a weak wheeze. "We're… alive?"
John pushed himself upright, shaking all over. "I think so."
Rauk's shadow fell over them, swallowing what little comfort the glowing magic-orbs offered.
"You survived the first day," he said. "Barely."
He scanned them one by one. John held his gaze for the first time.
Just for a second.
Rauk's eyes narrowed—maybe in approval, maybe in disappointment. It was impossible to tell.
"Get up."
No one moved.
Rauk raised an eyebrow.
"I wasn't asking."
Malric staggered up first, then John, then Liora. One by one, the rest forced their shaking bodies off the floor, some using each other for support.
Before anyone could speak, the sound of synchronized footsteps approached.
Half-masked figures stepped into the hall, each one moving to stand before their assigned group. Their presence alone forced the children to straighten—trembling, exhausted, but standing.
Rauk waited until all squads were lined up, his cold gaze sweeping the room.
"We continue tomorrow at dawn," he said, voice echoing through the chamber. "For now, follow them back to your rooms."
A few children let out weak groans of relief—or dread, it was hard to tell.
Rauk's expression didn't shift.
"You will eat. You will sleep. You will rest. If you collapse before reaching your cell…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…your squad carries you."
Nico whispered, "I refuse to be carried. My pride won't let me."
John replied, "Your pride died an hour ago."
"Yeah, well… it was just resting."
The half-masked figures turned sharply and began walking. The children had no choice but to follow.
Their bodies protested with every step. Sylas dragged his vines behind him, the ends twitching weakly. Nyara moved like a sleepwalker, her eyes distant and unfocused. The twins leaned against each other, muttering about whose fault it was that they were dying.
After a while, the hall opened into a familiar chamber — the same vast stone room where they had first been gathered, judged, and branded. The air still carried a faint scent of scorched flesh, as if the marks on their skin were burning all over again.
Nico shuddered. "Great. Memories."
Amara murmured, "Don't remind me."
From the center of the chamber, the masked supervisors split into different directions, each guiding their assigned group to a different hallway branching from the room.
John's group was being led by One — their half-masked supervisor. His steps were silent, but the children fell into line the moment he turned.
"This way," One ordered.
They followed obediently.
The hallway he led them through was narrow and lined with floating blue mana-orbs embedded into the walls. Their cold glow mixed with the grim shapes scattered along the passage — old skeletons chained to the stone, some slumped as if they had died begging, others frozen mid-scramble toward freedom.
A silent reminder of what kind of place they were in now.
The orbs flickered faintly, casting long, warped shadows that made their exhausted faces look hollow and ghostlike. Every step echoed, too loud, too sharp, as if even the stones wanted to expose their weakness.
They passed the same iron doors, the same branching paths, the same cold draft seeping into their bones. Each familiar corner twisted something in their stomachs — this place was no longer confusing.
It was a prison.
And then, finally, they reached it.
The row of stone cells they had been living in since their capture — where they slept, shook, whispered in fear, and tried to pretend they still had something human left in them. The doors loomed ahead, heavy and iron-barred, etched with runes meant to keep things in… not out.
Nico let out a tired laugh. "Home sweet hell."
Amara shot him a glare, but even she didn't have the strength to punch him this time.
One stopped in front of the first cell and turned.
His gaze swept across them, unreadable behind the half-mask.
"You will be collected at dawn. Food will arrive at your cell in a moment."
And with that, he stepped back into the darkness of the corridor, mana-orbs dimming as his shadow passed — leaving the Ashen Blade Squadron standing before the cold stone cages that now counted as beds, safety, and fate.
The silence lingered after One vanished, broken only by the sound of iron doors creaking open. The children shuffled inside, collapsing onto the stone benches and straw mats that passed for beds.
Nico flopped down dramatically and shivered. "Why is it colder down here? Is this where they store the corpses?"
Amara sighed. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"Only when I am alone…maybe."
John looked at all the group members and thought back to their performance. Thomas had faltered early, lungs too weak, already a liability. Thalia's despair slowed her more than exhaustion, her words dragging morale down like chains. Nico joked through pain but looked like he was gonna die— his humor a mask for fragility.
Elowen carried herself with quiet grace, though hesitation clung to her every step.
Malric was steady, but even he was struggling a little.
Sylas endured with stubborn grit, vines curling tighter each time, as if his body itself refused surrender.
Nyara drifted half‑present, her mind somewhere else, a ghost in motion. Amara pushed hard, anger fueling her stride, but rage burned fast. The twins wasted energy competing, yet neither would quit — reckless, but unyielding.
Liora was calm, efficient, detached, her strength precise but cold.
'Thomas and Thalia are the ones who might fall first,' John thought grimly.' If we don't learn to cover each other's flaws, the Covenant will break us one by one. And if I don't sharpen myself, I'll be the one dragging them down.'
A grinding noise echoed from the corridor. A hatch slid open, and a tray scraped forward. Bowls of gray sludge sloshed inside, thick and lumpy, with a smell that made stomachs twist.
Thalia stared at it, horrified. "That's… food?"
Nico leaned over the bowl, gagged, and pulled back. "Correction, that's a monster in disguise."
Amara clenched her jaw. "Eat. Or starve to death."
She hesitated, staring at the sludge, then muttered, almost to herself:
"…I'd rather live."
Nyara dipped a finger into the sludge, staring at it as though it wasn't real. Her voice drifted, soft and distant.
"It looks… like one of my friends."
The cell went still. Nico froze mid-gag, spoon halfway to his mouth. "Okay… that's officially worse than the taste."
Thalia shivered, pulling her bowl closer as if shielding herself. "Don't say things like that…"
Lucian leaned back, muttering, "She's losing it."
Orion tilted his head. "She wasn't sane to begin with."
Amara forced down a bite and muttered. "Ignore her. Eat."
Elowen's prayer faltered, her golden eyes dimming as she glanced at Nyara with quiet concern.
Malric stayed silent, but his scarlet eyes lingered on her a moment longer, unreadable.John swallowed hard, the sludge burning down his throat.' She's drifting further… if she slips too far, we'll lose her.'
Before the silence could thicken, Sylas scooped up a handful and swallowed without hesitation. His face didn't even twitch. The others stared at him in disbelief.
Nico whispered, "He didn't even flinch."
Lucian muttered, "Monster."
Sylas shrugged, vines curling lazily. "What? Food is food."
Thomas pushed his bowl away, shaking his head. "I can't," but His stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. He winced, then snatched the spoon and shoveled a bite in, grimacing as if swallowing poison.
Elowen bowed her head and finished her prayer before lifting the spoon. Her golden eyes dimmed, but she forced herself to eat.
Malric stayed quiet, expression unreadable, but he ate steadily, never complaining.
The twins immediately turned it into a contest.
"I'm winning."
"You're choking."
"Victory has many forms."
Liora scrunched her face, disgust plain, but she ate without hesitation, each bite mechanical, efficient.
John forced himself to take a spoonful, choking it down like ash. "It's disgusting… but it will keep us standing."
Nico smirked faintly. "Spoken like someone already broken."
John shot him a look. "Spoken like someone who wants to live."
The squad ate in silence after that, broken only by Nico's gagging noises, Thomas's reluctant chewing, and the twins' bickering. The sludge sat heavy in their stomachs, but exhaustion weighed heavier.
After everyone had finished the death meal, they drifted to their respective beds—if the slabs of stone and straw could even be given that title—and began making themselves as comfortable as exhaustion allowed.
Nico flopped onto his mat with a groan. "I think the sludge is staging a rebellion in my stomach."
Amara, already trying to sleep, muttered without opening her eyes. "Then stop it."
Orion blinked innocently from his corner. "I don't think it works that way."
Lucian rolled over with a sigh. "Idiot."
Orion shot back instantly. "You are."
Nico chuckled weakly, clutching his stomach. "If I die, I'm haunting both of you."
Thalia groaned from under her blanket. "Please… just be quiet."
The twins snickered, but the chamber slowly fell into uneasy silence. The mana‑orbs flickered dimly overhead, shadows stretching long across the stone.
John lay back against the cold slab, listening to the squad's ragged breaths fade into stillness. His mind was heavy with the weight of what they were all enduring—children broken, forced into cages, stripped of hope.
'They don't deserve this, he thought,' jaw tightening. 'Not Thomas, not Thalia, not even Nico with his endless jokes. They're just kids. And me… I won't let this be the end of us.'
His eyes narrowed at the flickering light above.' I don't care who I have to face—a god, a monster, an army—we're getting out of here.'
He exhaled slowly, shaping his anger into something sharper, steadier. 'Or at the very least, I'll try. To give them a chance at a life without chains and suffering. A life where they can laugh without fear.'
John looked at the group one last time, their faces slack with exhaustion, and whispered into the silence:
"Whatever it takes."