The Uneasy Road Ahead

The heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing the finality of the priest's decree. Sorken, Jorah, and Kesta stood in the dimly lit antechamber, the weight of their situation pressing down on them like a physical burden. The meeting with Soru had been a disorienting mix of cruelty and casual indifference, leaving them with a sense of profound unease.

"Did you see his eyes? It was like looking at a void," Kesta whispered, his voice trembling, his gaze still fixed on the closed doors, as if afraid they might open again. "I am sure he can kill us all without even batting an eye." He was barely above a murmur, afraid to be overheard even in this seemingly empty place.

Jorah grunted, his muscles still tense, a visible rage simmering beneath the surface. "Those self-righteous bastards, they think they can just dispose of us like garbage," he growled, his fists clenching. "That Ted, was not even ashamed of lying. He tried to hide how much of a sociopath he was, but I could tell." His voice vibrated with a barely contained anger, a desire to lash out.

Sorken remained silent, his mind racing, trying to process everything that had happened. The callous disregard for Elara's death, the casual announcement of their upcoming expedition, the blatant display of power—it all left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He thought about Tamara's calmness, her face a mask of serene detachment. Was it a facade, a way to protect herself from the horrors of this new reality?

"Did you see how she looked?" Sorken asked, his voice barely audible. He could still feel her gaze on him from the chamber, the mixture of worry and determination that had sent a shiver down his spine.

"Yeah, I did. It felt like she was sorry for us. Or for you, maybe," Jorah replied, a rare moment of empathy in his voice. He sighed and added, "Well, it is not our fault that she is also one of them now. At least you have some one who would understand how bad it is here."

"Maybe she can help us out now" Kesta chirped in, a rare moment of hope. 

Sorken sighed, he understood his fellow cellmates, but they were taking it a bit too far. He was not sure if that was their way to cope with everything, but he knew that he would never give up hope, no matter how worse it gets. "We need to focus on surviving the ruins," he said finally, his voice firm, trying to inject some pragmatism into the conversation. "We cannot afford to be distracted by fear or anger. The next exploration will determine our future." He looked from Jorah to Kesta. "We will need to train, to become stronger. We need to prove our worth to them, so that we can start on our own plan"

That night, they were led to a new barrack, a small, relatively clean space, far better than the cramped cells where they had spent the last few weeks. It was almost as if they were being given a taste of what was to come, a carrot before the stick of the upcoming challenges. They were given a simple but filling meal, meat broth with bread and some vegetables, a feast compared to the bland soup and black bread they were used to. Sorken ate with a newfound sense of urgency, his body craving the sustenance, his mind already strategizing their next moves.

The following days were a blur of intense physical training. Guards, clad in leather and chain mail, barked orders at them, pushing them to their limits. They were given training staffs, taught basic combat techniques, and made to run through the training grounds under the scorching sun, their bodies aching, their spirits tested. The guards, though brutal, did not hold back, pushing them to be better, pushing them to the edge. Sorken threw himself into the training, his muscles screaming, his lungs burning, his mind focused on one goal: survival. Every swing of the staff was an act of defiance, every movement fueled by the desire to protect himself and those he cared about. He couldn't stop thinking about Tamara, about her safety, her well-being. He knew that she would be doing the same and this thought was the only thing that was keeping him from completely losing it.

Jorah's brute strength served him well in the training, his powerful blows capable of sending even the burliest guards staggering. Kesta, however, struggled, his smaller frame less suited to the physical demands. Sorken did his best to help him, sharing what he had learned, helping him develop his own style that was more focused on speed and agility. He had to acknowledge the fact that, even though Kesta was not as physically capable as Jorah, he was quick and intelligent, maybe even more so than Sorken, and with his help, he can transform himself from a wimp to a full-fledged warrior.

During their grueling training sessions, Sorken also began to observe the guards, studying their techniques, and learning from their actions. Some of them moved with efficiency, their movements precise and controlled, while others were more brutal, relying on raw strength and aggression. He learned to differentiate between them, identifying their weaknesses, and finding the areas where he could surpass them. His mind was always analyzing, always strategizing, turning every moment of the day into a lesson. He even started keeping a count in his mind as he kept whipping his chain. That was another coping mechanism to make everything tolerable.

They had very little time to rest, and whenever they did rest, they would be given small tasks like polishing weapons, cleaning barracks, or even sewing leather. Sorken hated doing all of that but he had to, they had to. These jobs that were given to them were done in silence, they all knew that any form of complaints will result in a brutal punishment. In those moments, as their hands toiled, their minds wandered. Sorken's thoughts often turned to Tamara, wondering if she was facing the same challenges, if she was fighting to survive as he was.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting day, Sorken and Kesta were walking back to their barracks, Jorah trailing behind. Kesta was massaging his arms as he slowly limped through the training grounds.

"How do they expect us to fight when we can't even lift our hands?" Kesta groaned, his voice laced with fatigue. He was doing his best, but every part of his body was hurting. Sorken understood the frustration. He had also felt that too.

"We will get used to it," Sorken said, trying to sound confident. "We have no other choice, we need to endure it." His words were not just for Kesta but for himself as well. "If we show them that we are worthy, then they will think that it was a good investment and we will get better treatment."

"I am going to kill them all" Jorah grunted, finally catching up with them. His rage had not diminished and his face was a mask of grim determination. "If they give me a weapon, I will show them how to treat people. I may not be educated like both of you, but I know one thing and it is respect. And the people here have no idea what that even means"

As they finally reached the barracks and were ready to sit, they heard the familiar sound of metal scraping against stone. One of the guards approached with a key in hand, his face expressionless. "You have been summoned to the training chamber, all of you," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, his gaze fixed on the three of them. "You have a special training session tonight."

Sorken exchanged a worried glance with Jorah and Kesta. The sun had already set and guards usually were nowhere to be found at this time. "But, why?" Kesta asked before he could stop himself. The guard didn't answer but just pointed at the chamber. He had already had enough of the day and all he wanted was to go to sleep.

As they entered the chamber, their eyes met Tamara, dressed in the same training clothes. Her face was calm, and her eyes betrayed an inner resolve that sent a strange warmth through his body.