Chapter 3: Chains of Despair

Three relentless moons cast shadows over Snow's tormented existence in the mythril mines. Each day, he confronted the cruel reality of his enslaved life—beaten by guards, scorned by fellow slaves, and subjected to the agonizing demands of the unforgiving mines. His once formidable body now bore the map of his suffering, a tapestry of injuries etched into his flesh.

Hatred became his only sustenance, feeding on the bitterness that permeated his every breath. His spirit, tarnished by the relentless misery, swirled in the vortex of despair. Snow despised everything—himself, his weaknesses, the cursed fate that bound him.

Today, as the cycle of agony repeated, Snow grasped a pickaxe, hands calloused from unending toil. A passing slave shoved him to the ground, deeming him nothing but trash. Another spat upon him, echoing the chorus of disdain that surrounded him.

A guard, the embodiment of cruelty, noticed Snow on the ground and unleashed the whip, the lashes echoing through the cavernous expanse.

"What are you doing on the ground, trash? Start working!"

The command cut through the air, punctuated by each vicious strike, as Snow, broken but defiant, rose to his feet, the flames of hatred burning brighter in the crucible of despair.

Snow continued working, Snow's relentless toil echoed alongside the rhythmic beat of his hatred. As his seething resentment reached its zenith, an eerie resonance emanated from the depths, a voice that seemed to pierce through the very rock and soil.

"Do you want revenge?"

it whispered, a spectral presence that beckoned from the unseen recesses of the mine.

"Do you hate your accursed fate?

" Come "

" come"

"come…"

whispers continued to echo in his mind but snow continued working but the echoes never stopped. Soon it was dinner time and everyone stopped working to eat.

Snow as usual was eating in the mine away from everyone as he was always scorned.. He then prepared to sleep but the whisper still persistent as ever were preventing him from sleeping.. Snow thus decided to follow the whispers. What was the worse that could happen. At most he would die