See the bigger picture

Ryden sat up seeing the light of dawn flicker through the pens, wincing from his injuries, and surveyed his surroundings. The pens were a grim sight. The prisoners, many of whom were emaciated and bruised, sat in silence, their despair palpable. The air smelled of sweat, ash, and fear, and the makeshift cages creaked under the weight of their hopeless occupants.

He still couldn't get over what happened last night be he had to hurry.

Nearby, he spotted the workers he'd spoken to earlier, their faces tired but still holding a flicker of curiosity as they noticed him.

"Guys," Ryden whispered through the gaps in the cage, his voice low. "On my signal, you have to follow me."

One of the workers, a middle-aged man with hollow eyes, leaned closer. "What signal?" he whispered back.

Ryden glanced at his wrist, where he had carved 14 small marks, one for each day since the group had split up. His voice was confident, though his body was aching. "Any second now."

Ryden leaned his aching head against the rough wooden bars of the cage, His breath came shallow and quick, his ribs throbbing from the earlier beating. As the tribe outside seemed to surge with movement and shouts, his mind drifted back to the conversation they'd had just two weeks earlier—a conversation that now felt like a lifetime ago.

The three of them sat huddled around a dim fire in the stone hoof tribe, , the faint crackling of flames the only sound breaking the stillness of the night. Ryden turned a small block of wood over in his hands, idly carving patterns as he glanced between his friends.

Darius, ever stoic, sat with his back straight, his hand resting on the bulging sack of weapons they'd managed to keep hidden from the prying eyes of the warriors and Gastrar. His dark eyes glinted in the firelight as he spoke. "We can't give them any more weapons," he said flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Nor can we help them advance. If we do, we'll only strengthen them—and their grip on everyone else."

Ryden frowned, the block of wood in his hand forgotten. "But Lucy's here," he said quietly, his voice strained with frustration. "We can't just leave her with them. You know what they'll do. If we walk away now—" His voice broke slightly, and he forced himself to steady it. "If we leave her here, she dies. Or worse."

Darius didn't flinch at the words, his calm exterior unshaken. "I know," he said, his voice softening just enough to reveal a hint of the burden he carried. "That's exactly why they won't let her go. She's their leverage. As long as they have her, they think they can keep us under control. They're using her to get to our knowledge."

Ryden's hand tightened around the block of wood, the sharp edge of the wood pressing against his palm. "So what do we do? Just sit here and let them play us?"

For a moment, silence fell over the group. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows over their faces as they each wrestled with the impossible situation. Darius stared into the flames, his jaw tight as he considered the options. Ryden's eyes flicked to Rice, who had been unusually quiet.

Finally, Rice shifted, his expression thoughtful. He tossed a small seed into the fire, watching as it crackled and popped. "We're not walking away," he said, his voice light but resolute. "But if we're going to do this, we need to play it smart. First, we've got to get to know them better—the tribe, their routines, their strengths, their weaknesses. And we'll need time. Some of us will need to escape the camp"

"Time?" Ryden echoed, arching a brow. "We're not exactly on Gastrar's clock."

"That's where you come in," Rice said, turning to Darius. "Think you can stall them? Keep them busy with excuses?"

Darius considered for a moment before nodding slowly. "I can tell them I need materials We'll need to go outside for that. That'll buy us a few days."

"And me?" Ryden asked, leaning forward. "What do I do?"

Rice smiled faintly. "You stay here. Blend in. Keep an eye on Lucy. And wait for my signal."

Ryden tilted his head, his brow furrowing. "Wait—what signal?"

Rice leaned back, stretching his arms casually as though they weren't discussing life and death. "Don't worry about it," he said, his grin widening. "I've got a master plan. Trust me."

Ryden snorted. "A master plan, huh? Care to let us in on it?"

Rice shrugged, his grin never wavering. "Sure. Let me explain…" He leaned closer, gesturing with his hands as he began to outline his idea. Darius and Ryden listened intently, their skepticism gradually giving way to cautious optimism as the details of the plan unfolded. By the time Rice finished, the first rays of dawn were creeping over the horizon, but the three of them emerged from their discussion more confident than they'd been in days.

The memory faded as Ryden blinked, his surroundings snapping back into focus. His lips twitched in a faint, pained smile. A master plan, he thought wryly, glancing down at the notches on his wrist. Fourteen days. Fourteen days of surviving, enduring, and waiting.

He shifted his gaze to Lucy's cage. Her small, tear-streaked face peered out from between the bars, clutching the tiny carving he had given her. He met her eyes and gave her a slight nod, whispering, "It'll be alright"

The camp was eerily quiet when a sudden, thunderous horn blast echoed across the area.

The sound reverberated through the cages, startling both prisoners and guards. Ryden's heart raced, a triumphant smirk forming on his battered face.

If this wasn't the signal Ryden didn't know what was.