Goburo woke to the feeling of eyes on him.
It wasn't the gaze of the Reintelligence state—cold and calculating. It was something softer, more curious.
He opened his eye.
Layla was sitting cross-legged on the stone floor just outside the iron bars of their cell, staring at him. The silver light of the dungeon seemed to cling to her, making her pale skin glow. She looked rested, or at least, she looked like she had made peace with where she was.
Goburo sat up slowly. The stone was cold against his back. He looked to his side.
Watabei was still asleep, curled into a tight ball, her hands tucked under her cheek. Even in sleep, her brow was furrowed, her body tense.
Goburo stood up and walked to the bars. He gripped the cold iron.
"How long was I out?" he asked Layla quietly.
"A few hours," she whispered back. "The sun rose an hour ago. Or... what passes for sun down here."
Goburo nodded. He looked around the dimly lit chamber. The other prisoners—the dwarf, the merchant, and a few others rounded up during the night—were waking up too. Fear hung heavy in the air, thick enough to taste.
"We need to tell them," Goburo said.
Layla tilted her head. "Tell them what?"
"The truth."
He turned to the group. He cleared his throat, the sound echoing slightly in the damp space.
"Listen," Goburo said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of the exhaustion and the devastation he felt. "I know why we are here."
The prisoners looked at him. The dwarf sat up, rubbing his broken arm.
"The map," Goburo continued. "The one they took from us. It's not just a map. It's a key. And to turn the key... it needs a sacrifice."
A murmur of terror rippled through the group.
"Sacrifice?" the merchant whispered, his eyes wide. "You mean... death?"
"Yes," Goburo said flatly. "To reveal the path to the Vial of God, someone has to die."
The silence that followed was absolute. The merchant started to sob quietly. The dwarf cursed under his breath.
Layla stood up. She brushed off her dress and looked at the terrified group.
"Hey," she said, her voice cutting through the panic. "Whatever happens... we stick with each other. Understand? We don't let them break us before the fire does."
Her voice was steady, reassuring in a way that surprised Goburo. She wasn't the lewd, teasing elf from the street anymore. She was an ally.
Up above, on the main floor of the facility, the atmosphere was businesslike.
The members of the Organization moved with efficient haste. They were preparing the lower tunnels.
Harry, a young man in leather armor, stood by a rack of weapons. He was watching his friend, a burly man named Gareth, try to sharpen a blade with a bored expression.
Harry nudged Gareth and pointed to a group of prisoners being led down a hallway.
"Look at them," Harry whispered. "Scared out of their minds. They look like sheep."
Gareth snorted. "Sheep for the slaughter, mate. Better them than us."
They both laughed—a low, callous sound.
"Hey!" A senior officer marched over to them, his face red with anger. "You two think this is a holiday? Stop standing there like statues! Go help round up the rest of the cage members. The Leader wants everyone in the lower chambers. Now!"
Harry and Gareth jumped.
"Yes, sir," Harry muttered.
They grabbed their gear and headed down to the holding cells.
Inside the cage, Goburo was speaking quietly to Watabei, who had woken up. She looked pale, but her eyes were clear.
"How many?" she asked.
"I don't know," Goburo said. "But we have to stay calm. Panic won't help."
The heavy iron door screeched open.
Harry and Gareth stepped in, followed by two more guards.
"Alright, listen up!" Harry shouted, trying to sound authoritative. "Line up! You're moving to the processing pit."
The prisoners scrambled to their feet.
"The Leader wants more," Gareth grumbled to Harry. "He says we need a full quota for this round."
They began unlocking the cage. The prisoners were ushered out into the corridor.
Goburo grabbed Watabei's hand.
"Stay close," he whispered. "We team up. Whatever happens, we stay together."
She squeezed his hand tight. "Okay."
They stepped out of the cage. Layla was right behind them.
As they entered the corridor, the guards began splitting the group.
"You, that way!" Harry shouted, pointing to the left tunnel. "You, to the right!"
It was chaos. The group was being fragmented.
Goburo and Watabei tried to step toward the left tunnel together.
Suddenly, a hand shot out and grabbed Goburo's shoulder.
"Not you, green-skin," Layla said, her voice tight.
She yanked him backward, away from Watabei.
"Layla, what are you doing?" Goburo hissed.
She looked at him with wide, urgent eyes. She didn't answer. She just pulled him into the line going right, separating him from Watabei.
"Watabei!" Goburo shouted.
She turned. Their eyes met. She looked terrified.
"Goburo!"
A guard shoved her forward. "Move it!"
She was forced down the left tunnel, disappearing into the shadows.
In the chaos, Nettle—the little girl who had been silent the whole time—grabbed the hand of the Puppet Healer.
The healer stood motionless, her dead eyes staring straight ahead. But when Nettle touched her, the puppet's head tilted down, looking at the child.
"Come on," Nettle whispered. "We have to move."
She pulled the healer toward a small alcove, trying to hide from the pushing guards.
But they were too visible.
The Leader, a tall man in a black coat, stood at the junction of the tunnels. He saw the little girl trying to drag the heavy corpse-woman away.
He pointed a gloved finger.
"Harry," the Leader said, his voice smooth and cold. "The girl. She's small. Useless for labor. Push her down the chute."
Harry froze.
He looked at Nettle. She was tiny, clutching the Puppet's hand, her eyes wide and innocent.
"Sir?" Harry asked, his voice trembling slightly. "She's... she's just a kid."
The Leader turned his gaze to Harry. It was a look of pure, unadulterated malice.
"I said," the Leader enunciated slowly, "push her down."
Harry swallowed. He looked at his friend Gareth. Gareth looked away.
Harry looked at Nettle again. She looked so small.
"Please," Watabei's voice echoed from the left tunnel. She had seen it. "No! Please!"
The Leader walked over to Harry. He leaned in close.
"Do it," the Leader whispered, "you little shit. Or you'll join her."
Harry closed his eyes for a second.
He walked over to Nettle.
"It's okay," he lied, his voice cracking. "Just... just go."
He grabbed her arm.
The Puppet Healer's head snapped toward him. Her dead hand tightened on Nettle's.
But Harry pushed.
He shoved Nettle toward the dark, circular pit in the center of the floor—a shaft that led straight down to the fires of the processing plant.
Nettle stumbled.
She didn't scream.
She just looked at Harry with a confused, sad look as her small body tipped backward.
And then she fell.
She vanished into the darkness.
A second later, there was no sound.
The Leader nodded, satisfied.
"Good," he said. "Proceed."
Goburo, watching from the right tunnel, felt his heart stop.
*Nettle.*
The little girl was gone.
The first sacrifice had been made.
TO BE CONTINUED...