In the Kingdom of Castrum Vale, deep within the backstreets, inside a dark and desolate building, a baby lay on the cold floor. A thick crimson puddle spread beneath the child, soaking into the stone. Echoing wails reverberated through the empty room. It was completely abandoned.
Even the world itself seemed oblivious to the child—yet the baby continued to cry and scream.
In a mine shaft far away, a young boy—barely sixteen—swung his pickaxe again and again. His arms burned, his forearms screaming as if they might tear apart, yet the pickaxe never stopped.
Keep swinging.
That was what had been ingrained in him by the mines.
As he brought the pickaxe down one last time.
A splinter cracked along the shaft of the pickaxe.
Pain shot through his forearms before he could even register it.
"You."
It was the same voice—the one that still haunted his dreams, the one that never seemed to leave.
"Pick up another pickaxe and get back to work."
The shout came from a man—tall, clad in pristine armour that stood out sharply against the grime of the mine.
Without skipping a beat, the boy turned and walked toward a desk where an old man sat. He was missing a leg, his face etched with deep wrinkles.
"Damn it, kid," the old man said with a crooked smile. "You're really living up to your name."
The boy smirked.
"Well Peg, if you inspected the equipment beforehand, maybe I wouldn't."
Peg laughed softly.
"Well, take this one and get back before that oh-so-brave knight starts getting annoyed."
Peg manned the tool station. He earned the name because of his one leg. No one knew how he lost his leg. He claimed he lost it fighting a gigantic monster, though no one ever believed him.
The boy grabbed the pickaxe and returned to his vein of coal, swinging again and again.
Sweat poured down his forehead as he gritted his teeth.
His earliest memories were buried here, in stone and sweat. He knew there was a vast world beyond the tunnels, but down here it felt distant, unreal.
Slaves resided in the mines all over the kingdom, sent to feed the kingdom for their wars.
War had been running rampant throughout the four kingdoms for as long as he had lived, and the resources used to fund them were growing.
And that wasn't even the worst of it. Kingdoms didn't just fight each other—they fought monsters as well, creatures that plagued the world beyond the mines.
Grotesque monstrosities that know nothing but savagery and slaughter, it was poetic in a sense.
A brief sigh escaped him.
At least I've never seen one.
A horn blared. Everything stopped.
"Time to rotate shift."
He exhaled slowly. He'd held out another day.
Shift rotation was everyone's moment of relief—a brief mercy in a hellish life.
Whispers followed the workers as they moved toward their housing—if it could be called that. A single thirty-by-thirty-meter room, crammed with fifty bodies.
"Hey, kid. Come over here."
The one-legged old man motioned him closer, reaching into his pocket. He pressed something into the boy's hand.
"What's this—wait, really?"
It was a small piece of bread, hidden away from the guards.
"Take it," the old man said. "You worked hard today—like always. Think of it as an early birthday present."
The boy hesitated.
"But you know what would happen if—"
Peg interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.
"Yes, please—go ahead and tell everyone, why don't you?"
He chuckled, covering the bread with both hands as he placed it into the boy's lap.
The boy took the bread, his mouth watering instantly. In the mines, they were fed once every two days—and today wasn't one of them.
Hurriedly, he scarfed the bread down.
It was a good thing the knights didn't patrol here. A few starving miners couldn't do anything against the knights anyway. That was the point.
Keep them weak.
Keep them hungry.
He had seen what the knights did to rule-breakers before.
The thought scared him.
"How did you even keep this hidden?" the boy asked. "Where'd you get it?"
The old man smiled.
"Trade secret."
They had five hours to rest before the next shift. Time had to be used carefully.
Some slept.
Some talked.
Some sank deeper into despair.
A voice broke the silence between the boy and the old man.
"How long's it been now since you joined this mine group?" a middle-aged man with rough features and blistered hands asked.
"Coming up on five years now."
It had been a long time since he'd joined this group. He was the youngest among them—most were middle-aged, and the oldest was Peg.
Peg never said how old he was. He always claimed he still had youth in his soul.
The three of them sat together in silence. There wasn't much to say.
Nearly four hours passed. Only one remained. That was when the anxiety crept in. No one wanted to return to work—but there was no choice.
"So… when's your hour?" Peg asked quietly.
"I don't know."
Peg looked at him, a hint of sadness in his eyes.
"Then take it easy next week. Don't strain yourself."
As the hour finally came to a close, a horn sounded, signalling the end of rest.