A boy jolted upright, gasping for air as if he had been drowning. He tried to clutch his chest as he panted heavily but noticed something cold around his wrist.
He glanced down and saw they were bound with chains. Then he looked at his feet—they were bound too.
The boy scanned the area and saw others like him, all bound. They were in a cramped military cargo truck, its tarp pulled tight overhead.
A small window near the driver's side let in a sliver of light, but he couldn't see where they were going.
Wait a minute, he thought.
Where am I? No… who am I?
The scent of diesel and sweat from the other captives made his stomach churn. He pressed a hand to it and lowered his head, bending his arm to try to filter some of the stench. After a few moments, his stomach settled enough for him to look up.
The faces around him said it all—fear, panic, and paleness with dread. Some of the captives wore military uniforms. Are we some kind of war captives? he thought.
A voice called out from his side. "Kloric? What's wrong?"
He slowly turned toward the sound and saw a boy around seventeen. His brown hair was messy, and though his features were striking, grime covered most of his face.
The boy repeated, "Kloric? What's wrong? Why aren't you answering?"
Wait… are you talking to me? He replied, confusion written across his face.
"Yes, Kloric," the boy said, noticing his distress. "What's the matter? You're clutching your stomach… are you sick—or… do you need to, you know, use the bathroom?"
"Wait… you called me Kloric. So that means you know me, right?" he asked, grabbing the boy by the shoulder. The chains made it awkward and painful.
"Yes," the boy replied. "Did you hit your head or something? You're kind of scaring me here. You can't go breaking down now."
Breaking down? Kloric thought. Does he mean losing it because of where we're going… or something else? But the name… It didn't ring a bell.
Is he lying? Could this be a manipulation tactic? Hmm. Better play along for now and try to gather information about myself and what's really going on.
The boy touched Kloric's forehead as if checking for a fever. Instinctively, Kloric recoiled.
"Okay," he said, keeping his voice low and friendly. "You say you know me… so what exactly is the relationship between us?"
Terren's face shifted from casual concern to worry, then confusion. "Okay… Kloric, this isn't funny anymore."
Kloric leaned back slightly, still wary, and replied quietly, "Just… answer me. I think I might've hit my head… my memories are fuzzy."
Terren twisted his face, processing the words slowly. "Oh… okay. Maybe you're just under stress. But… let me bring you back.
Your name is Kloric Varne… And my name is Terren Varne. I'm your… brother."
"My brother…" Kloric thought. The word felt foreign, almost like it belonged to someone else. He shook his head slightly and forced himself to focus. "Okay… then… what's going on here?" he asked Terren.
Terren's expression darkened. "We're foot soldiers for the Kingdom of Valyrith," he said quietly, glancing around at the other captives.
"We're at war with the Kingdom of Therys Fal… and right now, we're basically their war captives."
Kloric swallowed hard. "And… what… do you think they'll do to us once we reach their base?"
Terren's jaw tightened. "I… don't know. That's the problem. Could be interrogation… or worse. We just have to stay alert until we get there."
The truck rattled over a pothole, making the chains around Kloric's wrists and ankles bite into his skin.
Kloric dropped his head onto his knees, pressing his palms against his face. I don't even know where to start… how do I handle this? He thought about asking Teren about his past, but before he could speak, a voice rang out from the middle of the truck.
"Everyone, gather around!" the man barked. "We can't become slaves of the Kingdom of Therys Fal, right?"
Heads turned. Some hesitated, unsure whether to speak, but the man continued, his jet-black hair and pale skin catching the sliver of light.
"I know you're scared," he said, his voice steady. "I'd be scared too. We all have one life, and nobody wants to waste it. But think—if we submit now, we're lost forever. Bound, broken, with nothing left.
"So why not try escaping? When the truck stops, we scatter. Some might die… yes. But the rest of us—our future—depends on it."
Kloric pressed a hand over his ears for a moment. What? Run blindly into enemy territory? Shackled? Are they insane? He scanned the others—grim nods told him the plan had traction.
Teren glanced at him. "So, brother… what do you think? Follow the plan or not?"
Kloric met his gaze. "What do you think? Is it smart?"
Teren scratched his head, looking uncertain. "Honestly? It's risky… probably stupid. Shackled like we are, who knows if the enemy is waiting? But… if we use some people as shields—take bullets for the rest—we might make it."
Then he laughed, a short, hollow sound. "Ha! Just kidding."
Kloric didn't laugh. He didn't even flinch. If someone as young as Teren could joke about human shields, the world was far worse than he had imagined.
Slowly, Kloric could feel that the heat had reduced, and cool air flowed around them. He wondered if it was nighttime. Then, suddenly, the engine came to a stop.
A voice from outside the truck called something like, "Open the gates!" Metal groaned, and the truck roared back on, moving forward.
Kloric gulped; that meant they had reached their destination. He could feel his heart racing and noticed that the others were even more panicked. Terren cuddled closer to him, seeking comfort in the small space.