Heat

The guards quickly got to work, fastening the chains of the leading prisoners to some strange device attached to their belts. Once secure, they turned to face the ditch's towering walls. In unison, they drew knives from their waists and, with almost mechanical precision, began their ascent. Their movements were seamless, fluid, and practiced—more like an intricate performance than a simple climb.

Zayne watched, almost mesmerized.

Almost.

A few minutes later, the guards had already reached the top, standing over the prisoners like executioners awaiting their cue. Zayne tilted his head. The chains—how did they extend that far? From the ground, they had seemed much shorter.

Was it some kind of Ether-tech mechanism?

Probably. It wouldn't be the first time the Empire used its little toys to flaunt dominance.

Just then, the guards activated their belt devices, and something remarkable happened. Segments of the chains morphed, holes appearing along their lengths before sprouting jagged spikes that embedded into the dirt walls. In mere moments, the chains had transformed into an intricate ladder of metallic rungs. The lead female guard smirked, reveling in the awe-struck expressions of some of the prisoners. To her, this was entertainment—watching scum like them get reminded of their insignificance.

She let them bask in their wonder for only a few seconds before snapping her fingers. "What? You waiting for an invitation? Get climbing before I use your bones as replacements."

The spell of fascination broke.

One by one, the prisoners hesitantly began climbing the makeshift ladder, their sluggish movements betraying their drained spirits. Soon, it was Zayne's turn. He approached the chain and ran his fingers along the cold metal for a brief moment, taking in the craftsmanship, the unnatural morphing—technology he rarely had the chance to examine up close. But before his curiosity could take root, the female guard's barked command tore through his thoughts.

"Took your damn time. Move!"

Zayne sighed and started climbing.

The ascent was simple. The rungs were firm, the chains taut, making it almost effortless for someone like him. Yet, something gnawed at him. The presence of the ditch itself—something about it was… wrong.

His thoughts drifted, an old memory clawing at the edges of his mind, whispers of something familiar, something vital. A voice echoed within him, faint but insistent.

Never forget.

But he had.

He clenched his jaw. The feeling refused to subside, like a thorn in his skull. He glanced at the other prisoners climbing alongside him. His eyes found the haughty boy and his lackey struggling several feet away.

The lackey, visibly trembling from fear, tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and Zayne, inadvertently slowing down his master. The haughty boy's limbs shook, sweat dripping from his brow despite the biting cold. He was pitiful.

Zayne smirked.

"You're sweating buckets already? Pathetic," he muttered under his breath.

He ran a hand over his face, amusement still lingering on his lips—until his palm came away damp.

His smirk faltered.

He wasn't tired. His breathing was even, his arms steady. Yet, his skin felt oddly warm. Too warm.

A frown settled on his face. For the first time since receiving his execution order, he felt something stir in his gut.

Not boredom. Not amusement.

Something else.

Worry.

A short while later,

The prisoners were nearly finished climbing the ditch; most had already reached the top, leaving only a few stragglers struggling behind. Zayne stood among those who had already ascended, yet unlike the others, he wasn't gasping for air or trembling from exertion. Instead, his sharp eyes roamed over the prisoners, taking in the unnatural state of their bodies.

Sweat drenched their skin, soaking their ragged clothes, the fabric clinging to their frames as if they had been caught in a rainstorm. The glistening moisture ran in rivulets down their faces, dripping from their chins and pooling into the dirt beneath them. Some prisoners clutched their knees, hunched over, their bodies heaving from exhaustion. Others simply lay on their backs, gulping in the cold night air in a futile attempt to cool their overheated bodies.

But it was not as cold as it should have been.

The night should have been crisp, biting even, the chill seeping into their exposed skin and gnawing at their bones. Yet, instead of shivering, their bodies burned. Zayne was no exception; though he wasn't visibly affected like the rest, he could feel the subtle heat licking at his skin, a warmth that had no reason to exist. He frowned, his unease deepening as his thoughts churned.

This doesn't make sense.

His gaze flicked toward the jagged walls of the ditch, their unnatural formation gnawing at him like a half-forgotten memory just out of reach. The image of displaced land, sunken inward like a scoop had been torn out of the world itself, refused to leave his mind. That same nagging voice inside him whispered that he should recognize this, that he had learned about something like this before. A voice, familiar and distant, urging him never to forget.

But he had forgotten.

Zayne clicked his tongue, irritation laced with unease. He wasn't the type to worry. He didn't care for things that weren't directly his problem, especially now, when his fate was all but sealed. And yet, something about this was wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong.

A metallic clink snapped him from his thoughts. The last prisoner finally hauled himself over the edge of the ditch, collapsing onto the ground with ragged breaths. Without missing a beat, the guards moved in, efficiently disconnecting the prisoners' chains from the climbing devices. Zayne watched as the chains rapidly retracted, shortening back to their original length, once again restricting the prisoners' movements. The efficiency of the process made his brow furrow slightly. These soldiers were far too well-trained for something as routine as prisoner transport.

His attention shifted as he realized something odd—

Where was the lead female guard?

He hadn't seen her emerge from the ditch. His first thought was that the other guards had forgotten about her, but that notion was ridiculous. Surely, she'd be calling them imbeciles and berating them for their incompetence by now.

Curious, he stepped closer to the edge, peering down into the darkness below. His eyes adjusted quickly, seeking movement, waiting for her to bark an order for assistance.

Instead, what he saw puzzled him.

She stood at the base of the ditch, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms as if preparing for a casual run. Zayne's frown deepened. Was she planning to climb up on her own? No, she wasn't even reaching for the chains—

Then she moved.

With an almost lazy motion, she crouched slightly, locked her fingers onto the wall of the ditch, and—ran.

She ran up the wall as if it were solid ground, her movements fluid and effortless. Each step carried her higher at an unnatural speed, her metal-plated armor doing nothing to hinder her momentum. In mere seconds, she had already covered half the distance, far outpacing even the guards who had climbed earlier with expert precision.

Most of the prisoners gawked, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten as they watched the impossible unfold before them. Wide eyes followed her ascent, disbelief painted across their sweat-slicked faces.

Zayne's fingers twitched. He had expected something strange about her, but witnessing it firsthand sent a grim understanding settling in his gut.

She is Loreforged.

He already knew, of course. The signs had been there—the inhuman physicality, the complete lack of concern in her demeanor, the way she carried herself with an aura of superiority that only those with power could afford. Still, seeing it in action… He let out a slow exhale, his expression darkening.

This didn't change anything. He had no plans to escape, no intentions of challenging his fate. But knowing that a Loreforged was leading this convoy? That only confirmed one thing.

If something was coming—and his instincts screamed that something was—then they were all in far more danger than they realized.

His thoughts were cut off by her voice, snapping through the air like a whip the moment she reached the top.

"Destroy the carriages."

A murmur of confusion rippled through the gathered soldiers before one of them hesitantly asked, "What about the beasts?"

The woman turned a deadpan stare onto him, then gestured toward her belt, where a series of small, gem-like crystals dangled. "Did you forget I could store them?"

The guard rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. Without further question, the archers among them moved to the edge of the ditch, bows in hand. They drew their arrows, muttering under their breath.

A faint hum filled the air.

Then they released.

Zayne's gaze followed the arrows as they sliced through the night, striking the wooden carriages below. At first, nothing seemed to happen.

Then—

Fire.

The moment the arrows made contact, flames erupted, swallowing the carriages in an instant. The light of the flame was intense, far too intense for such a small fire, its glow illuminating the stunned faces of the prisoners.

But Zayne wasn't watching the fire.

His gaze remained locked on the lead female guard, his mind racing with a realization far more troubling than the destruction below.

A Loreforged in charge of prisoner transport wasn't normal.

And given everything else—the unnatural warmth, the displaced land, the nagging memory clawing at the edges of his mind—

Something was coming.

Now that the carriages had been reduced to smoldering husks, the lead female guard wasted no time in commanding the prisoners to move. There would be no more delays—she had already tolerated enough setbacks.

The guards gave firm nods, their discipline unwavering, and immediately pulled at the prisoners' chains, dragging them forward. It didn't matter to them that most of the prisoners were still struggling to catch their breath from the climb. The journey resumed without care for the weak.

Zayne, for his part, resigned himself to keeping his eyes open. Something was going to happen—he was sure of it. The unnatural warmth hadn't dissipated, the sweat from earlier still clung uncomfortably to his skin, and that nagging sensation in the back of his mind refused to leave him. There was something wrong about this place, but whatever it was remained just out of reach, slipping away every time he tried to grasp it.

Time passed, and the valley stretched on endlessly, a seemingly infinite passage of stone and dirt that offered nothing but monotony. At first, Zayne was alert, expecting something—anything—to break the unbearable silence, but as the minutes dragged on, irritation set in. Not only did nothing dangerous happen, but the entire trek was dull. Occasionally, a prisoner would stumble, earning a sharp yank on their chains, but the sight lost its entertainment value quickly.

His irritation deepened when he realized the heat had not subsided, yet it didn't seem to be affecting him beyond the earlier sweating. He had no headache, no fatigue—just the persistent, unnatural warmth clinging to his skin like an unwanted embrace. That in itself was strange.

Growing bored, he turned his attention to the only two prisoners who had caught his interest—the noble boy and his ever-present lackey. The haughty demeanor the noble had displayed earlier had long since crumbled, leaving behind a drenched, shivering mess of a person who trudged forward like a lost child. But it wasn't the noble himself who intrigued Zayne this time—it was the lackey behind him.

Unlike the others, the lackey showed no sign of exhaustion. He should have been worse off than anyone, given his frail, almost sickly frame. The boy looked like he could drop dead from a common cold, yet there wasn't a single bead of sweat on him. No strained breathing, no trembling limbs—nothing.

That alone was enough to pique Zayne's interest.

Slowing his steps, he allowed the old woman behind him a brief reprieve from trying to keep up. He aligned his pace with the lackey and casually called out to him.

"Hey!"

The reaction was immediate—the lackey stiffened, eyes darting up in panic. He had clearly assumed this was the moment of his demise. Before Zayne could even open his mouth again, the boy was already begging for mercy. He blurted out frantic apologies, claiming that he never encouraged his master's poor decision to antagonize Zayne and that he had no part in it.

Zayne blinked in mild surprise before clicking his tongue in irritation.

"Quit that shit. I just wanna talk."

The lackey hesitated, his gaze shifting between Zayne and his quietly sobbing master. He remained wary, but the confusion on his face was evident.

"You... really aren't going to kill me?" he asked hesitantly.

Zayne raised an eyebrow. "Why the hell would I?"

The lackey swallowed, hesitating for only a moment before answering. "I thought you were angry that I didn't tell the truth."

Zayne stared at him, completely dumbfounded. He had no idea what kind of mental gymnastics the boy had done to arrive at that conclusion, but he decided he wasn't in the mood to unravel it. Instead, he sighed and waved off the response.

"Forget that. I just have a question."

The lackey, still cautious but at least no longer on the verge of a breakdown, nodded meekly.

Zayne gave him a small grin before asking, "Tell me—what do you feel?"

The lackey blinked. "...Feel?"

Zayne nodded. "Yeah. What do you feel right now? Like... does anything seem off to you?"

The lackey thought for a moment, his brows furrowing. He searched his mind for any sensations out of place, but beyond the lingering fear in his chest, he felt nothing abnormal. Except... well, there was the heat. It wasn't overwhelming, but now that he focused on it, he did notice that it was warmer than it should be.

"I guess..." he hesitated before answering. "It's a little warm?"

Zayne's grin faltered slightly.

"That's it?"

The lackey nodded. "I don't feel anything else."

Zayne hummed to himself, his earlier irritation shifting into something more contemplative. So the lackey did feel the heat, but that was all. No nagging feeling. No creeping sense of something being wrong.

At the very least, it meant Zayne wasn't getting even more crazy.

There was some heat this night.

And where it was from, he would soon find out.