Tarvek stood frozen, his mind trying to process what had just happened.
His eyes darted around frantically, searching for the armored figure, but there was nothing.
Just the blood of the overseer painting the black ice in shades of red and the other slaves staring with wide eyes and trembling limbs.
His legs gave out.
Tarvek collapsed onto his belly, his entire body shaking so violently he could hear his bones rattling.
The pickaxe slipped from his nerveless fingers, clattering against the ice with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the sudden silence.
"I'm alive," he whispered, the words barely audible. "I'm... I'm alive."
"Tarvek!"
The shout came from his left. Tarvek's head snapped around to see Mekris, another slave who worked the same section, scrambling toward him with an expression that mixed fear and something that might have been excitement.
