A tower.

  I dreamed of a gigantic tower, jagged, ancient, and worn — but not fragile. Quite the opposite. Its height made its peak claw at the clouds, like an eternal monolith that could never collapse. The clouds themselves shared the same color as the structure: a deep, abyssal black.

  The oppressive atmosphere seemed to swallow anyone who drew near. Then, gradually, the sun — strangely tinted white — sank beyond the horizon. Its rays illuminated the tower, pushing the heavy clouds aside and revealing what stood there.

  At the top of the tower, motionless like a profane idol, there was something.

  A bipedal being. Two arms. A torso. A head.

  Its silhouette mimicked that of a human — just enough to be unsettling. It was not human. Too monstrous to be considered a man… and too ordinary to be treated as a beast.

  It wore black, jagged armor, as if it had been forged from the very hostility of that place. Every edge seemed to scream violence.

  And without warning, reality trembled.

  [The awakening has finally been completed.]

  [Awaken, sinner.]

  [Your penitence shall begin.]

  I opened my eyes. What filled my vision was painfully familiar — once again, a slave being transported in a wooden caravan.

  And once again, history repeated itself. The caravan seemed more spacious than the one that had taken us to the capital — though I couldn’t tell if that was just an impression caused by having fewer people inside. Another detail caught my attention: it was impeccably clean, as if it had been prepared solely for this occasion.

  My entire body felt hot, flushed, and sensitive — symptoms similar to a high fever. I could feel spasms in my muscles every time I tried to move. It wasn’t because of the cold. Definitely not. And it wasn’t natural either — I could feel that much. Something had forced my body into this state, and now it was trying to recover.

  The people around me weren’t much different. Everyone there showed the same symptoms — heated skin, irregular breathing, restrained trembling. No one spoke. Not because they were ordered to stay silent, but because they didn’t have the strength to speak.

  Outside the caravan, voices.

  “One shame she died before even fulfilling her purpose.”

  “Yeah.”

  We remained still. No jolts. No movement. Only the sound of snow being trampled outside.

  They were talking about a girl. One of the marked. Sold by her own father, judging by the casual tone of the conversation. She couldn’t endure the “mark”.

  “Of all people, the only woman in the group we were escorting…” the other sighed. “Didn’t even last. She was kinda cute too…”

  “Stop romanticizing a corpse, man. That’s disgusting.” The click of a lighter echoed. “Hey, someone get that body out of here before it starts to rot!”

  A group of uniformed men arrived, wrapped the lifeless body of the woman, and carried it to another carriage — probably designated for that sort of thing.

  Damn it. I didn’t know what was happening, why it was happening, or where they were taking us.

  The masks and the shamans weren’t things ordinary people dealt with. Those were people of high standing. I’d heard of this before: nobles never show their faces to the condemned — not out of mercy, but to avoid resentment, revenge, remembered names. That explained the masks.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  What didn’t make sense was the fact that we were still alive.

  Nothing fit. The helplessness of it all left an unsettling weight in the air, as if something had been wrong from the very beginning and no one dared to say it out loud.

  I gathered what little strength I had left and, still staggering, moved toward the exit of the caravan. The sun was beginning to set, painting the horizon in orange hues — far too beautiful for a place like this.

  Maybe, if I moved discreetly and escaped…

  It was something I knew how to do well.

  I’d be free. I just need a little more strength and—

  “Stop right there, kid. Slaves stay inside the carriage.” A silhouette appeared against the evening light. “In short… you’re not going anywhere.”

  With just a few words, my hope cracked like an already fragile mirror.

  “If you think you can just walk out of here whenever you feel like it, you’d better give up.”

  The man who had just stopped my — possible — escape attempt wore a plain uniform for his rank, a light chest armor strapped over it. The only weapon he carried was a short sword — not even properly sheathed, merely resting at his side like an ordinary object.

  His armament was far too simple for someone escorting criminals — relaxed, even. As if he didn’t care at all about the dangerous people he was transporting.

  But when I glanced back, I understood why.

  What I saw were huddled bodies, faces twisted in pain and barely contained hatred. Pure despair.

  …I didn’t think anyone would try anything in that state anyway.

  Setting that aside, I seemed to be holding up a little better than the others. Would it be foolish not to take advantage of that? I didn’t know. But I had to find out — even if the circumstances weren’t in my favor.

  “I don’t think so. I can.”

  The guard didn’t change his posture. Didn’t even turn his body fully. He merely tilted his head enough to glance at me from the corner of his eye.

  “You can?” he repeated, almost curious, yet still apathetic.

  “With my skills as an assassin, I could kill you using just my nails and teeth.” I continued. “But no. I know perfectly well that option isn’t viable. I might kill you… but whatever awaits me out there would be far worse.”

  The man scratched the scar on his lower lip.

  “Smart kid. But it doesn’t take much thinking to reach that conclusion.” He exhaled through his nose. “Even if you left the caravan, there are too many guards spread across this region. Too many watchers.”

  He paused — too briefly to be casual.

  “And even if, by some miracle, you got past all of them…” His gaze unfocused for a moment. “…you wouldn’t make it far.”

  Silence.

  “Trust me,” his voice lowered, almost a warning. “I’ve seen people try.”

  That weighed more than it should have.

  It wasn’t a maybe.

  It wasn’t hearsay.

  It was certainty.

  The pieces began to align with uncomfortable clarity. The absurd number of soldiers present didn’t match the treatment given to mere slaves — it never had. That kind of deployment required cost, justification. And no one wastes resources like that without reason.

  That ruled out another possibility as well. This wasn’t a standard procedure. It wasn’t routine.

  There was intent behind it. Something larger was being set in motion.

  The obvious conclusion: we had a role in all of this. A role far deeper than that of simple slaves.

  When I reached that realization, I looked up.

  I understood.

  He understood that I understood. And it was already too late.

  “Tsk. Fuck it.” The apathy returned. “At this point, it doesn’t matter anymore. You’ll understand why soon enough.”

  Another question surfaced, too uncomfortable to ignore. He assumed that no one in my condition could survive the snowy wasteland beyond the forest. That was what I presumed he believed.

  But something didn’t add up.

  “Not to overestimate myself…” I said, looking at my skin still marked by the cold. “I think I’d survive, even under those conditions. So how can you be so sure?”

  His words carried no doubt. It wasn’t confidence — it was knowledge.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Commander! We found the second body!”

  Three soldiers emerged from the snow, filthy to the bone, carrying a lifeless man over their shoulders.

  “Oh.” The officer took a sip from the cup beside him. “There’s your perfect example.”