“The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.” — Gordon B.
Hinckley Cold.
That was the first thing Riven felt.
An unbearable, numbing cold that seemed to seep into his very bones.
His body trembled involuntarily as he slowly regained consciousness.
‘Where…
am I?’ His head throbbed.
He tried to move, but his entire body felt strangely heavy.
The ground beneath him was hard and uncomfortable.
Loose stones were embedded into his skin.
He slowly opened his eyes.
Darkness.
For a moment, he couldn’t make sense of anything.
Then his vision gradually adjusted.
He was lying on a filthy stone floor.
The room was dimly lit, with only a few torches mounted on the walls.
The air was stale, carrying the unpleasant smell of sweat, dirt, and something he couldn’t quite identify.
Riven slowly pushed himself up.
His arms trembled.
‘What the hell happened?’ The last thing he remembered was the train.
The fire.
The little boy.
Then the crowd.
He remembered tripping.
He remembered the pain.
And finally…
Darkness.
He was supposed to be dead.
So why was he here?
Riven looked around.
The room was considerably larger than he had initially thought.
Rows of filthy mattresses lined the walls, with several people lying on them.
He counted at least twenty.
Some were sleeping.
Others were simply staring at the ceiling groaning.
Nobody seemed to pay him mind.
Riven frowned.
‘What is this place?’ He looked down at himself.
His clothes were gone.
In their place was a filthy, oversized set of rags that barely covered his body.
He pulled the coarse fabric closer.
It irritated his skin.
It did little to protect him from the cold.
Then he noticed something strange.
His hands.
They were small.
Far too small.
His fingers were thin and bony, callused in a way that didn’t fit their small size.
His nails were black, filthy, and caked with dirt.
He stared at them.
‘What…?’ Slowly, he raised his hands in front of his face.
They were the hands of a child.
A sudden sense of unease crept over him.
He struggled to his feet, stumbling slightly as he made his way toward a puddle of water near the wall.
The water was filthy, but its surface was still enough to act as a mirror.
Riven stared down.
A young boy stared back.
He had black hair, dark grey eyes, and surprisingly delicate facial features.
Under different circumstances, he might have grown into a remarkably handsome young man.
But that wasn’t what caught Riven’s attention.
His skin was deathly pale.
He looked ghostly.
His cheeks were sunken.
His arms were little more than skin stretched over bone.
His ribs were clearly visible beneath his ragged clothing.
He looked malnourished.
No.
That was putting it mildly.
He looked like he hadn’t eaten anything in weeks.
Riven touched his face.
The reflection did the same.
‘This…
is me?’ He stared at himself for several seconds.
Then he pinched his cheek.
“Ouch.” He frowned.
‘Definitely real.’ ‘This isn’t a dream.’ He took a deep breath.
Or at least, he tried to.
His lungs felt strangely weak.
He broke out in a coughing fit.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Before he could think any further, a loud metallic bang echoed throughout the room.
“GET UP!” Riven flinched.
A man stood in the doorway, holding a metal bucket.
He was large, with a thick neck and a scar running down one side of his face.
“ALL OF YOU!
GET UP!” The man kicked one of the mattresses.
Several people immediately scrambled to their feet.
Riven watched in confusion.
The man turned toward him.
Before Riven could respond, the bucket was thrown in his direction.
A torrent of freezing water struck him.
“Gah!” He stumbled backward, landing hard on the floor.
The cold water soaked through his already filthy clothes.
His entire body began trembling.
The cold seeped its way into his bones.
“What’s the matter?
Still sleepy?” The man cackled.
“Get moving, you little rat.
You’ve got work to do.” Riven stared at him.
‘Work?’ The man grabbed him by the collar and roughly dragged him toward the door.
“Move!” Riven had no choice but to follow.
Whatever this place was, he was beginning to get the feeling that he wasn’t here voluntarily.
The moment Riven stepped outside, he was greeted by the sight of an enormous stone fortress.
Or at least, that’s what he assumed it was.
Tall stone walls surrounded the compound, with several watchtowers overlooking the buildings below.
He could see armed men patrolling the walls.
Beyond them stretched a vast, mountainous landscape.
Riven barely had time to take in his surroundings before the man shoved him forward.
“Keep moving!” He stumbled but managed to regain his balance.
As he walked, he examined his surroundings.
Most other slaves were considerably older than him, and many looked exhausted.
Their bodies were covered in dirt and sweat, while several had visible injuries.
Some were so thin that their ribs showed through their clothing.
Others had scars covering their arms and faces.
Riven swallowed.
‘Are these people slaves?’ ‘Am I a slave?’ He didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
“YOU!
GET IN LINE!” A guard shouted at him.
Riven quickly joined the other workers.
His jaw dropped.
There were hundreds of them.
Some carried pickaxes, while others pushed carts filled with rocks.
A few were so exhausted that they could barely stand.
Riven noticed that nobody spoke and no one smiled.
They looked more like machines than men.
They simply stared at the ground, waiting for instructions.
A large man wearing a leather vest stepped forward.
He had a thick beard and a nasty looking scar across his cheek.
“Listen up, you worthless bastards!” His voice echoed throughout the yard.
“Today, you’ll be working in the eastern mines.
I don’t care if you’re tired, hungry, or sick.
You’re here to work, and that’s exactly what you’ll do.” He pointed toward the mountains.
“Anyone who fails to meet their quota will be punished.” ‘Great.
Just great.’ The overseer gestured toward a nearby building.
“Get your tools and move!” The workers immediately began moving.
Riven followed them.
Inside the building, he was handed a small hammer and a worn out sack.
He stared at the tools.
‘That’s it?’ He looked around.
The other workers were receiving pickaxes and larger sacks.
Some were even given carts.
Riven glanced at the overseer.
“Why am I getting a hammer?” The man grinned.
“Because you’re too small to do anything useful with a pickaxe.” Riven frowned.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” The overseer pointed toward the entrance of a nearby mine.
“You’re going to crawl into the smaller tunnels and collect the ore the others can’t reach.” Riven looked toward the mine.
The entrance was enormous, but he could see several smaller tunnels branching off from the main passage.
Some were barely wide enough for even him to crawl through.
“You’re small enough to fit into those holes.
So that’s where you’ll be working.” The overseer laughed.
“Now get moving!” Riven tightened his grip on the hammer.
He didn’t particularly like the sound of that.
The mine was dark.
The only sources of light were the torches mounted along the walls and the occasional lantern carried by the workers.
The air was thick with dust.
Every breath he took, his lungs were assaulted by the sting of dust.
Riven followed the other slaves deeper into the mine.
The sound of pickaxes striking stone echoed throughout the tunnels.
Occasionally, he could hear someone coughing.
Others groaned as they struggled to push heavily loaded carts.
It was an unpleasant place.
And he was apparently expected to work here.
“YOU!” Riven turned.
A guard was pointing toward a narrow tunnel.
“Get in there!” Riven stared at the opening.
It was a hole so small he almost glanced over it.
“What?” The guard frowned.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” Riven hesitated.
The tunnel looked unstable.
Loose stones littered the entrance, and the ceiling seemed dangerously low.
“There’s ore in there.
Collect as much as you can before the end of the day.” Riven looked at the tunnel again.
“How far does it go?” The guard shrugged.
“Far enough.” He shoved the sack into Riven’s hands.
“Now get moving!” Riven sighed internally.
‘I really don’t have a choice, do I?’ He crouched down and began crawling into the tunnel.
The stone scraped against his shoulders.
His ragged clothes caught on sharp edges as he crawled deeper into the darkness.
The passage grew narrower.
Still not used to his new body, every movement felt like a slog.
His small sides scraped against the thin walls.
‘This is ridiculous.’ He continued crawling until he finally reached a small opening.
Several strange, dark colored rocks were embedded in the walls.
He stared at them.
‘Is this the ore?’ He reached for his hammer.
Then he began striking the rock.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
The sound echoed throughout the narrow passage.
It took several attempts before a small shard finally broke loose.
‘All that effort for this small piece.’ Riven picked it up and placed it in his sack.
Then he moved on to the next one.
And the next.
And the next.
Before long, his arms began to ache.
His hands were already sore from swinging the hammer.
He stopped for a moment to catch his breath.
‘How long have I been doing this?’ He had no idea.
There was no clock.
No sunlight.
No way of knowing how much time had passed.
He continued working.
Eventually, he filled his sack.
He was about to turn around when he noticed something.
A small opening in the wall.
It was even narrower than the tunnel he had crawled through.
He could barely see inside.
But he noticed a faint glimmer coming from within.
‘What is that?’ He leaned closer.
There was more ore inside.
A lot more.
Riven frowned.
He glanced back toward the tunnel entrance.
Nobody was watching him.
At least, not that he could see.
He considered ignoring it.
He was already exhausted, and the opening looked dangerous.
But then he remembered the guard’s warning.
Anyone who failed to meet their quota would be punished.
‘Honestly, he was terrified of what might happen to him if he missed quota.’ He sighed.
Then he began squeezing himself into the opening.
His shoulders scraped against the stone.
His ribs ached as he forced himself forward.
He could feel his core tightening from the constant abuse.
The passage was so narrow that he could barely move his arms.
For a moment, he wondered if he had made a mistake.
Then he saw it.
A small deposit of dark ore embedded in the wall.
He reached for his hammer.
And began working again.
By the time Riven returned to the main tunnel, his entire body was trembling.
His arms felt like they were about to fall off.
His knees were scraped and bleeding.
His hands were covered in small cuts.
And his stomach…
His stomach was practically eating itself.
He had never felt so hungry in his life.
He stumbled toward the entrance, dragging his sack behind him.
When he finally emerged from the mine, the sunlight nearly blinded him.
He squinted.
A guard immediately approached.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” Riven handed over the sack.
The guard inspected its contents.
“Hmm.” He frowned.
“Not bad for a little rat.” Riven said nothing.
The guard tossed the sack aside.
“Get in line.
You’ll be going back tomorrow.” Riven stared at him.
‘Tomorrow?’ He wanted to say something.
Anything.
But he was too tired.
And what would even change if he did?
He simply lowered his head and followed the other slaves.
The journey back to the slave quarters felt endless.
Riven’s legs were trembling so badly that he could barely walk.
Every step sent a dull ache through his body.
He wanted to lie down.
He wanted to sleep.
More than anything, he wanted something to eat.
When they finally arrived, he collapsed onto the floor.
He didn’t care how dirty it was.
He just wanted to rest.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t given much time.
A guard entered the room carrying a large pot.
“FOOD!” The slaves immediately began lining up.
Riven slowly got to his feet.
His stomach growled.
He shuffled toward the line.
When his turn finally came, he was handed a worn wooden bowl.
Inside was a thin, watery soup with a few pieces of vegetables floating on the surface.
Beside it was a small piece of stale bread.
Riven stared at the meal.
‘That’s it?’ He looked around.
Nobody else seemed surprised.
Some of the slaves were already eating.
Others were desperately trying to scrape every last drop of soup from their bowls.
Riven sat down in a corner.
He dipped the bread into the soup.
It was stale and hard.
Almost impossible to chew.
‘Is this even safe to eat?’ But he ate it anyway.
He was too hungry to care.
The soup tasted awful.
It was watery and bland, with a slightly metallic aftertaste.
Still, he forced himself to finish every last drop.
When he was done, he stared at his empty bowl.
‘I could eat another ten of these.’ Unfortunately, there wasn’t any more food.
He sighed and leaned against the wall.
His entire body hurt.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this exhausted.
Actually…
He couldn’t remember ever being this exhausted.
He closed his eyes.
Just for a moment.