Harvester

Kael tore into the crispy dark brown bread. There was also a variety of meats, none of which he recognized. To wash it down, he gulped down a cup of cold mineral tasting water. 

"Eat everything you're given. Don't leave a single crumb. You'll need all the energy you can get," Ryker advised. He patted the ground next to him, and Kael sat down with his food. 

After a moment of silence, Kael spoke up. "Who are the royals? Like what do you know of them? Why obsidian?"

Ryker leaned back in his seat, his eyes glancing at the walls of the cavern, as if measuring his words. "Some say obsidian is the key to their power. Some say it helps them stay...immortal. I don't know what's true, but I can tell you this: they control everything. The obsidian, the workers...us. So long as we keep them happy, we stay alive."

"But why-?"

"You sure do have a lot of questions for a newborn," Ryker interrupted. "Look, it's best not to worry about it. This is your life now. Accept it."

With that, Kael ate his food in silence.

One by one, the workers around them began to wake, heading over to where the food was being distributed from the crates. Each of them took their food in silence, not a single complaint.

"You finished?" Ryker asked, eyeing Kael's empty bowl.

"Yeah."

Ryker stood. "Let's go get your equipment. Can't have you scraping at the rock with your bare hands."

Kael followed Ryker through the cavern, his footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness. 

They reached a corner of the cavern where a set of tools lay neatly arranged—shovels, pickaxes, and various mining implements. Most of them looked worn, the edges dull from constant use.

"This is where you'll find your tools," Ryker said, gesturing to the pile. "Pick something that feels right. You'll need it down there."

Kael stepped forward and lifted up a pickaxe, the weight of it strange in his hands. He tested the grip, feeling the cold metal of the handle against his palms. It wasn't much—just a tool. But it felt like a weapon in his hands, an instrument of survival.

"Will this do?" Kael asked, turning to Ryker.

"That'll work," Ryker nodded, picking up a spade and slinging it over his shoulder. With his other hand he grabbed a pickaxe. "Let's get going. We have a lot of obsidian to harvest before the officials arrive tonight."

"Tonight?" Kael murmured with surprise.

"Tonight," Ryker affirmed. "Enjoy your last few moments in a painless body. You'll be sore for weeks after what we do today."

Kael swallowed, his grip tightening around the pickaxe as they approached the vein. The obsidian stretched out before him like a dark river of glass, jagged and dangerous.

Ryker set to work immediately, his movements swift and practiced, as if the mine's harsh conditions were second nature to him. The sound of metal against stone filled the air, sharp and unsettling.

Kael hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, swinging the pickaxe into the vein. The blade of the pick struck with a jarring thud, sending a shock up his arms. A sharp pain shot through his wrist, and he winced, but he kept going.

"Don't hold back," Ryker called out, still focused on his own digging. "You'll tire yourself out quickly that way. Hit it harder."

Kael grimaced, swinging the pickaxe again with more force. This time, the blade lodged into the rock, splintering a piece of obsidian off in a sharp crack. A small shard flew through the air and clattered to the ground.

The sound of Ryker's laughter rang out. "That's the spirit. You'll get used to it."

Kael wiped his brow, sweat pouring down his face. The humid air in the mine was stifling, and his muscles already ached. 

But something inside him clicked. Maybe it was the desperation, the hunger, or the need to prove himself—but he pressed on. The work was monotonous, draining, but it was also something he could control.

His thoughts seemed to quiet as the rhythm of the work took over. The repetitive swing of the pickaxe, the strike and shatter of rock, became a kind of meditation.

But it wasn't all calm. There was a sharpness to the air, a sense that something else—something darker—was looming over the work. The officials Ryker had mentioned were coming, and Kael had no idea what to expect.

He took another swing, his thoughts briefly shifting back to the royals and their obsidian. What kind of people were they to demand so much, to control everything in this place? And why were the workers so docile, so willing to sacrifice their bodies for the promise of food and water?

His pickaxe hit the stone again, the sharp crack of it resounding in the air.

"Let's pick up the pace everyone!" Elysia shouted over the deafening noise. "Only a couple hours to go!"

A couple Soulless passed by with wheelbarrows, gathering up the shards of obsidian that had been mined. Kael himself had already cut through a hundred pounds of the material. 

The rhythmic clang of mining tools reverberated in his skull, but it was the constant ticking of time and Elysia's voice in his ear that kept him moving.

Elysia darted between the workers, her eyes sharp, directing everyone with precision. Her voice cut through the noise like a whip. "You're lagging, Duskborne! Don't stop now!"

Kael barely registered her words as he swung again, sweat stinging his eyes, his hands raw from the grip. His body screamed at him to stop, to take a break, but the sight of Ryker's pile of obsidian reminded him that he couldn't afford to slack off. If he wanted to survive here, he had to keep up, keep pushing.

The hammering noise of pickaxes and shovels against rock slowed to a halt as Elysia's voice rang out. The workers glanced up at her, then back down to their piles of obsidian, not saying a word.

"Time! That's another successful day! Looks like we got over our quota for the week," Elysia said, her voice carrying through the cavern like a bell.

Kael's pickaxe hovered in mid-air, his breath heavy and labored. He wiped his brow, unable to suppress the feeling of relief that washed over him. The work was grueling, but it was over for today.

The cavern fell into an eerie silence.

Then, the footsteps, heavy thuds bouncing off the stone walls.

The officials were coming.