One Month After the Meeting
Imperial Year 155 AU, Second Moon
Kevron POV
Kevron moved through the mansion carrying a tray of wine cups, keeping his head down like every other servant.
The halls were crowded. Nobles laughed somewhere deeper in the estate while servants rushed from room to room.
Then Micheal appeared beside him.
"Kevron," he said quietly as they walked. "No matter what, try to get sent to the mines."
Kevron glanced at him.
"Why?"
"Forty slaves are being sent there," Micheal said, barely moving his lips.
"Okay... and—"
Then Kevron stopped.
He grabbed Micheal by the arm and pulled him into one of the empty servant chambers.
"You're trying to escape," Kevron whispered.
Micheal looked at him.
"We're going to."
Kevron stared.
"Where will we go? What will we do?"
"We'll figure it out once we're out."
Kevron let out a bitter laugh.
"The border with Rhuvsar?" he asked. "That border is packed with soldiers. Those religious fanatics keep slaves too. Same with the merchant cities."
"Do you trust me?" Micheal asked.
Kevron looked at him for a long moment.
Then he sighed and ran a hand through his black locs.
"Fuck it," he muttered. "I was planning on doing it eventually anyway."
A small smile crossed Micheal's face.
"What's the plan?" Kevron asked.
"I can't tell you all of it now. Too many people around."
"Quick version."
Micheal glanced toward the door, then leaned closer.
"I have the key to the shackles."
Kevron's eyes widened.
"I stole it weeks ago. When they transport us, there'll only be around twenty guards. They make camp at night. We wait until they're asleep, kill them, take their weapons, and run."
"Run where?" Kevron asked again.
"We'll figure that out later," Micheal said. "We always do."
For the first time in years, Kevron saw something in Micheal's face he had almost forgotten existed.
Hope.
"That's the spirit," Kevron said with a crooked grin.
They slipped back into the crowded servant quarters and went their separate ways.
⸻
Later that afternoon, Kevron entered his master's chambers carrying a glass of wine.
The room smelled of smoke and perfume. His master sat beside the fire reading a book.
Without looking up, he spoke.
"I'm sending you to the mines for two weeks. They need workers."
Kevron kept his face blank.
"You're tall. Lean. Strong enough to survive it."
"Yes, master," Kevron said.
Inside, he smiled.
Maybe this would be the last time he ever stood in this room.
The last time before he came back for revenge.
"When do I leave, master?"
"This afternoon."
Kevron bowed his head and left.
Behind him, his master turned another page, never noticing the dark smile on Kevron's face.
⸻
By sunset, forty slaves stood in the courtyard.
Chains wrapped around their wrists and ankles.
Twenty guards on horseback surrounded them.
Kevron found Micheal near the back of the line.
They exchanged the smallest nod.
Then the march began.
For three days they traveled.
The chains rubbed skin raw. Several of the older slaves stumbled. One woman nearly collapsed, but a guard struck her with the flat of his sword and forced her onward.
Each night the soldiers made camp.
Each night Micheal watched them.
Counted them.
Learned their routine.
On the third night, the guards grew lazy.
Most had been drinking. They laughed around the fire, then crawled into their tents.
Only two guards remained awake.
Kevron lay on the ground pretending to sleep.
Then he heard a whisper.
"Now."
Micheal was already moving.
He reached into the torn waistband of his filthy trousers and pulled out a small iron key.
The shackles around his wrists clicked open.
He crawled to Kevron and unlocked his chains.
"Remember the plan," Micheal whispered.
Kevron nodded.
Together they freed four more men.
Then six.
Then ten.
Each slave slipped their hands back into the open cuffs so no one would notice.
The two guards stood near the fire.
One yawned.
The other wandered away to piss in the dark.
Kevron had been watching.
Every night, the same thing.
Routine.
The second guard would be gone less than a minute.
That was all they needed.
"Go," Kevron whispered.
Two of the strongest slaves rose silently.
They rushed the remaining guard.
One wrapped the loose chain around the man's throat and yanked him backward.
Another clamped a hand over his mouth.
The guard thrashed wildly.
Then Micheal took the man's sword and cut his throat.
A moment later, the second guard returned.
He had just enough time to frown before four men dragged him into the darkness.
There was a struggle.
Then silence.
"Free everyone," Kevron whispered.
The key passed from slave to slave.
Chains clicked open all through the camp.
Forty people stood in the dark, free for the first time in years.
Then Kevron looked toward the tents.
"Kill them all."
No one argued.
They moved through the camp like shadows.
Kevron entered the nearest tent with Micheal and three others.
Inside, four guards slept soundly.
Kevron stood over one of them.
This man had whipped him two days ago.
Kevron drove the sword down into his chest.
The guard woke with a choked scream.
At the same moment, the others struck.
One man had his throat slit before he could rise. Another reached for a knife only for Micheal to bury an axe in his skull.
Outside, screams began to echo through the camp.
A guard stumbled from another tent.
"What in the—"
An old tribesman smashed a hammer into his face.
The man dropped.
"Move!" Kevron shouted.
The slaves rushed the rest of the camp.
Some guards died in their sleep.
Others came charging from their tents with swords in hand.
A young woman drove a spear into one guard's stomach.
An older man wrapped his chains around another's neck and strangled him.
The camp exploded into chaos.
One guard managed to reach the center of camp and blow a horn.
"Slaves!" he screamed. "Wake up! Wake—"
An arrow punched through his throat.
He collapsed into the dirt.
But it was too late.
The remaining guards poured from their tents.
There were ten of them left.
The biggest was a sergeant with a scar across his jaw.
"Kill every last one of them!" he roared.
The guards charged.
Kevron met them head-on.
Steel slammed together.
The sergeant swung hard, nearly knocking the sword from Kevron's hands.
"You think you can fight me, slave?" the man sneered.
Kevron stumbled back.
The sergeant attacked again.
Kevron ducked beneath the blade and slammed into him.
They crashed to the ground.
The sergeant punched him across the face and grabbed him by the throat.
"You should've stayed in chains."
Then Micheal appeared behind him and drove a knife into his back.
The sergeant froze.
Kevron ripped the sword from his hand and slashed his throat.
The man collapsed.
Around them, the fight turned ugly.
The slaves had numbers, but many had never held weapons before.
Five of them died.
An old tribesman.
Two younger men.
One woman.
And a boy no older than thirteen.
But in the end, the guards died too.
All twenty of them.
The camp fell silent.
Bodies lay everywhere.
One of the women stared at the dead guards.
"We're free," she whispered.
"No," Kevron said.
Everyone turned toward him.
"Not yet."
He pointed toward the road.
"By sunrise, someone will come looking for this camp. If we run now, they'll hunt us down before we reach any border."
"So what do we do?" one of the men asked.
Micheal looked down the road ahead.
"The mines."
Kevron frowned.
"What?"
"The guards were taking us there anyway," Micheal said. "If twenty guards arrive with forty slaves, no one will question it."
Understanding spread through the group.
"We keep going," Kevron said.
Micheal nodded.
"Half of us wear their armor. The other half stay in chains."
"And when we get there..." Kevron said slowly.
"We free the slaves in the mines."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then one of the older warriors let out a bark of laughter.
"That's madness."
"Probably," Kevron said.
"But it's the only chance we have."
They moved quickly.
The dead guards were dragged into the trees. Some were buried beneath dirt and leaves. Others were left for the animals.
Then the slaves stripped the bodies.
Twenty men put on stolen armor and took the guards' weapons.
The rest locked the chains loosely around their wrists again.
Before dawn, the camp was gone.
By sunrise, forty figures were back on the road.
To anyone watching, it looked like nothing had changed.
Twenty guards escorting slaves to the mines.
But beneath the armor—
The revolt had begun.