Chapter 27: In Chains, We Bleed the Same
Chapter 27: In Chains, We Bleed the Same
A few minutes earlier...
While the world outside slumbered beneath a blanket of silence, deep within the cage, most souls had drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Even Oliver, plagued by compulsory nightmares was lost in fighting against the creatures in his dreams of blood—his body still, breath steady, trapped in a torment only he could see.
In the shadows of the cage, a hulking man stirred.
He was massive, nearly rivalling Garron in size. Even though his body bore the grime of captivity, his muscles told tales of hard labour and survival. His clothes, or what was left of them, were once plain and patched—rags of a simple life now torn and filthy. But those who looked closely could tell: this was no noble, no warrior. He was of a common bloodline.
He moved silently through the sleeping bodies, his sight was set on the corner where Oliver lay, curled beside a rotting wooden plank.
With one rough hand, he shoved the boy aside like a sack of grain.
Oliver didn't stir—he couldn't even if he wanted to. The Nightmares were compulsory.
The man crouched, prying open the broken plank with practised fingers. Beneath it, half-hidden by straw and dirt, was a stale, blackened hunk of bread. This was Oliver's hidden stash.
This man had been observing Oliver like a hawk ever since food was brought the first time.