Trapped

Despite having rescued nearly 400 people from the jaws of death, Logan carried the weight of his comrades' deaths like an anchor on his soul. The horrifying memory of the machine tearing through his men left scars deeper than the physical wounds he had endured. The creature's sheer brutality haunted him, and he couldn't fathom how they could ever defeat such a monstrosity in battle.

He pressed on, driven by the horror that had brought him to this point. Every step he took was a silent tribute to those who had fallen for his sake.

But soon, the ghosts began to press in.

They had sacrificed themselves to save his life—each memory a fresh wound to his soul. Blinded by hatred, consumed by a need to destroy his enemies at any cost, he had crossed a line... and taken the life of an innocent girl.

The nightmares began shortly after.

Her face, the screams, the silence—everything haunted him. His life, he realized, was never worth the price of another.

“Logan! Logan!” A voice pierced the torment. “Are you alright?”

One of the men who had escaped the mine with him was shaking him awake.

“You were screaming in your sleep,” the man said, concern in his voice.

“I’m fine,” Logan replied hoarsely.

“Dawn is almost here. We need to get moving. If we make good time, we’ll reach Lightshore City by tomorrow morning.”

They had chosen a longer, more secure route—one less likely to draw attention. As Logan looked at the small group around him, he knew it was time to part ways.

“I’m heading to Stork City,” he told them. “You’ll make it to Lightshore safely, just stay low and don’t draw attention.”

With them were nearly two hundred others—survivors rescued from the mine. After giving final instructions and ensuring they knew how to proceed, Logan turned and departed, the weight of his memories pushing him onward toward Stork City, where his friends awaited.

Their mission was far more dangerous than they had initially realized, and Logan felt an urgent need to warn them of the enemy's true power.

Rumors of the group's exploits had spread throughout Silvermoor. Despite the queen’s forces branding them as notorious criminals, whispers painted them as heroes who dared to stand against tyranny.

Their rescue efforts at the Wellington estate and the golden mine had ignited a spark of rebellion in the hearts of the oppressed.

Logan arrived at the outskirts of Stork City, exhaustion etched across his face. The city's towering walls loomed before him, its gates heavily guarded.

Without a pass to enter, he struck a deal with a merchant, trading his prized gun and horse for a place among the merchant’s entourage. Disguised as one of the merchant's companions, he slipped past the watchful guards at the gate.

Once inside, the grandeur of Stork City took his breath away. The cobblestone streets bustled with merchants, soldiers, and citizens going about their lives. The spires of grand buildings pierced the sky, while the aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the sharp tang of iron from the smithies.

Logan, however, had little time to marvel; his mind was fixed on finding Flisk’s tea house, their agreed meeting place.

As he navigated the labyrinthine streets, his senses remained alert, knowing the queen’s forces would stop at nothing to capture him and his comrades. However, a trap had been set. And not even him was going o escape from it.

Out of nowhere, a group of men emerged, surrounding him.

Logan’s hand instinctively reached for his weapon, only to remember he had traded it away.

“I finally caught you,” a familiar voice sneered from behind. “You’re not escaping this time.”

He spun around only to find the faces he loathed more than anything; Titus and Henry. Flanked by a squad of armed vanguards. The sight of their guns trained on him sent a chill down his spine.

“Where are your friends hiding?” Titus demanded, his tone cold and menacing.

Henry, his face twisted with fury, hit Logan’s head with his gun. “This is the brute who killed Rosie!”

Before Logan could react, the vanguards seized him, forcing him to his knees.

“How did you find me?” Logan asked, his voice steady despite the odds stacked against him.

Titus approached him.

“We captured the criminals you rescued from the mine. It didn’t take much persuasion to make them talk.”

“What?” Logan’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“It’s sad, really,” Titus continued, his voice dripping with mockery. “You betrayed me for this pitiful life? You’ll soon realize the gravity of your mistake.”

Henry leaned in close, his voice a low growl. “You and your little band of misfits have no idea who you’re dealing with. Where are they hiding?”

Logan clenched his jaw, refusing to answer.

Henry one again struck him with the butt of his rifle. “Where are they?” he repeated, his voice rising with frustration.

Even as blood trickled from his lips, Logan refused to succumb to their threats.

“Go to hell,” he spat. “I’ll never let you people win.”

Henry lashed out again, but his movements were weakened by the bullet wound he had recently sustained. “When I find Julius,” he hissed, “I’ll skin him alive for betraying my father!”

“Enough,” Titus said, his tone sharp. A crowd had begun to gather, their murmurs was growing louder. “We’re drawing too much attention.”

Henry’s eyes burned with hatred, but he relented.

Titus turned to his men. “Tie him up. We’re taking him to the palace. He’ll talk eventually, with the right encouragement.”

As the vanguards bound Logan’s hands, he struggled but was too exhausted to put up a fight. The group made their way through the city, the palace’s towering silhouette growing larger with each step.

And with chilling clarity, Logan's nightmares began to take form.