Chapter 11 - Breaking Grounds

Dawn in the clearing was a cold, unforgiving thing. The sun, barely risen, cast a weak, pale light through the dense canopy of trees, painting the world in shades of gray. The air hung heavy, thick with moisture and the scent of damp earth. There was no warmth in the light, no comfort. It was as if the sun itself had turned its back on the children who huddled together, their bodies trembling, their eyes wide with the fear that had settled deep into their bones.

Ravian stood among them, his small body rigid, his heart pounding in his chest. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, each one clouding the cold morning air. He hadn't slept. None of them had. How could they, when fear gripped them so tightly, when the silence of the night was broken only by the distant, muffled sobs of children who, like him, had been torn from their homes and thrust into this nightmare?

They were all waiting. Waiting for the men to come. Waiting for whatever horrible thing would happen next.

And then, as if on cue, the sound of heavy boots crunching on the ground reached their ears. The children flinched as the men entered the clearing, their faces cold and hard, their eyes gleaming with something dark and cruel. Ravian's stomach twisted as he watched them approach. His breath caught in his throat as he saw them carry thick, leather-wrapped clubs and long, rusted chains. The kind of tools used to break wild animals.

The men said nothing as they formed a line, their eyes sweeping over the children with disdain. Then, without a word, one of them—a tall man with a jagged scar across his face—stepped forward. His voice, when he spoke, was sharp, like the crack of a whip.

"Listen, you pathetic little whelps," he began, his voice booming across the clearing. "You are here because you are weak. Useless. And it is our job to turn you into something of value. But not all of you will make it. Most of you will fail. Most of you will break."

His words cut through the air like a blade, and Ravian felt the sting of them deep in his chest. The children around him shifted uneasily, their eyes darting to one another, seeking reassurance where there was none.

"You will not eat unless we say you can eat. You will not sleep unless we say you can sleep. You will train until your bones break and your muscles tear. And when you think you can't take anymore, we will push you harder." The man's smile was a thin, cruel line. "This is how the Asraar make warriors."

There was no kindness in his words, no attempt to soften the blow. He wanted them to fear, to understand the depths of what awaited them.

Without warning, he raised his hand, and the other men moved forward, dragging a heavy wooden cart into the clearing. Ravian's breath hitched as he saw what it carried—piles of thick iron shackles, ropes, and brutal-looking leather straps. The children began to murmur, fear thick in the air.

"Silence!" the man barked, and the clearing fell deathly quiet once more. He nodded to the other men, and they began their work, dragging children forward one by one, binding their hands and feet in shackles.

When it was Ravian's turn, the rough iron was cold against his skin. The weight of the shackles dragged at his limbs, making it hard to move, hard to breathe. His heart pounded in his chest as they secured the bindings tightly around his wrists and ankles, leaving him barely able to stand.

"Run," the man commanded. His voice was laced with malice. "Now."

Confused murmurs broke out among the children. Ravian glanced around, bewildered. Run? In these shackles? How could they?

The man's gaze darkened as he pulled a long, barbed whip from his belt. "I said, run!" he roared, and the whip cracked through the air like thunder, striking a child who had hesitated at the edge of the clearing.

The sound of the whip hitting flesh was sickening—a dull thud followed by a piercing scream that echoed through the trees. The boy collapsed to the ground, his body writhing in pain, his face twisted in agony.

Ravian's heart stopped, his breath catching in his throat as he watched the boy convulse on the dirt, blood seeping through the thin fabric of his tunic. The air seemed to freeze in his lungs, and his legs refused to move. But then the whip cracked again, this time closer, and Ravian knew that if he didn't run, he would be next.

So he ran.

The shackles dug into his skin, their weight making each step feel like he was dragging a mountain behind him. His legs screamed in protest, every muscle burning with the effort of moving. The cold air tore at his lungs, and the world became a blur of pain and confusion. But still, he ran. The other children ran too, some stumbling, others falling to the ground only to be struck by the whip if they didn't get up fast enough.

Beside him, a small boy struggled to keep pace. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his face pale with fear. He was no older than Ravian, with dark eyes wide and terrified. The boy stumbled, tripping over the iron shackles, but caught himself just before he fell.

Ravian slowed, grabbing the boy's arm, helping him up. "Come on," he whispered, his voice hoarse with fear. "You have to keep running."

The boy—Niaz, he would later learn—nodded weakly, his face streaked with dirt and tears. Together, they ran, pushing through the pain, the cold, the weight of the shackles. Their legs moved in a rhythm that felt more like survival than anything else.

They ran until their lungs burned, until their legs gave out beneath them, and then they were yanked to a halt by the men's cruel voices.

"Stop!"

Ravian collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, his chest heaving. Beside him, Niaz did the same, his small body trembling, his hands shaking violently. Ravian could hear the sobs of the other children, could feel their terror like a living thing crawling beneath his skin. But the men weren't finished with them yet.

One of the men approached, his face a twisted mask of amusement. He knelt beside a child who lay sobbing on the ground, too weak to stand, and with a casual flick of his wrist, brought the whip down hard on the boy's back. The sound of it echoed through the clearing, followed by the boy's high-pitched scream.

"You will learn," the man said coldly, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "Or you will die."

Ravian felt bile rise in his throat as he watched, his mind reeling from the cruelty unfolding before him. He had known the world could be harsh, but this... this was something beyond cruelty. This was a place where fear was the air they breathed, where pain was the only thing that reminded them they were still alive.

Niaz shifted beside him, his voice barely a whisper. "What do they want from us?"

Ravian shook his head, unable to find the words. He didn't know. He didn't know what these men wanted, what they were trying to make them become. All he knew was that he had never been so afraid in his life.

The hours stretched on, a relentless blur of running, beatings, and cold, suffocating terror. They were given no food, no water. The sun had risen high in the sky, burning overhead, but the warmth did nothing to ease the cold that had settled deep into Ravian's bones.

At some point, the men dragged them back to the center of the clearing, lining them up in neat rows. Their faces were blank, their eyes hollow, as they surveyed the broken children before them.

"Weak," one of the men muttered, his lip curling in disgust. "This lot is even worse than the last."

Another man chuckled darkly. "We'll break them soon enough."

And they would. Ravian could feel it, in his bones, in the air that clung to the clearing like a thick fog. They would break them, one by one, until there was nothing left but the hollow shell of who they had once been.

He glanced at Niaz, the boy's face pale and streaked with tears, his body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Their eyes met, and in that moment, Ravian knew—there was no escape. No mercy. They would have to endure. Somehow.

As the men's cruel laughter echoed through the clearing, Ravian's gaze dropped to the ground, his vision blurring with tears. He couldn't understand why this was happening, why these men were so cruel, why the world had suddenly turned into this nightmare.

But it had. And no matter how much he wished to wake up from it, he knew there was no escape.