The next day started like every other. Wake before dawn. Cold soup that tasted like dirty water. March into the mines with a pickaxe that weighed more than it should.
But Korath's mind wasn't on the work. It was on Daven's words.
A way out.
He'd stopped dreaming of freedom years ago. Dreams hurt too much when they died. Better to accept reality—he'd break rocks until his body gave out, then they'd throw him in the death pit.
That was life for a slave in Ashkarn.
"You thinking about it?" A voice spoke beside him.
Korath glanced over. A woman worked at the wall nearby—tall, lean, with hair cropped short to avoid the overseers' attention. Her name was Sera. She'd been here longer than Korath, almost eight years.
"Thinking about what?" he muttered.
"The escape. Daven talked to you, right?" She swung her pickaxe, the motion practiced and efficient. "He's been recruiting for weeks. Surprised he waited so long to approach you."
"I didn't say yes."
"But you didn't say no either." Sera's lips quirked. "You're smarter than most. You know the odds. Thirty slaves against fifty overseers, plus whatever guards they call from the fortress. We'll be lucky if five of us make it."
"Then why try?"
"Because five is better than zero." Her eyes met his, hard and bright. "I've watched hundreds die in these mines, kid. Most gave up long before their bodies did. At least this way, I get to choose."
She moved away before he could respond, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Choose. When was the last time he'd chosen anything?
The day crawled by. Korath's mind wandered between memories and possibilities. Every time an overseer passed, he tensed. Did they know? Were the rebels betrayed already?
But nothing happened. The overseers cracked their whips, shouted their threats, and moved on. Just another day in the darkness.
When they finally returned to the quarters, Korath found Daven waiting.
"Well?" the older boy asked.
Korath set down his pickaxe. His hands shook slightly—from exhaustion or fear, he wasn't sure.
"Tell me the plan," he said quietly.
Daven's grin could've lit the whole cave. "Follow me."
They moved to a corner where several others had gathered. Korath recognized some faces: Sera, a massive man called Brick, a skinny boy named Tam who couldn't be older than ten. Others were strangers, their expressions ranging from hopeful to terrified.
"The crystal storm hits tomorrow night," Daven began, keeping his voice low. "Overseers will retreat to the upper levels. That gives us maybe four hours before they come back with reinforcements."
"Four hours to do what?" someone asked. "The entrance is guarded even during storms."
"We're not going through the entrance." Daven pulled out a scrap of cloth with crude markings. "Been mapping the tunnels for two years. Found something interesting—an old collapse near the east wall. Behind it, there's a natural cave system. Leads to the forest."
Murmurs rippled through the group. Korath studied the map, what little of it he could make out in the dim light.
"How do you know it leads out?" he asked.
"I don't. Not for certain." Daven met his eyes. "But I felt wind coming through the cracks. Fresh air. It's our best shot."
"Our only shot," Sera corrected.
"What about supplies?" Brick rumbled. The big man's voice was like grinding stones. "We break out, then what? Die in the woods instead of the mines?"
"We take what we can. Food, water, tools." Daven pointed to different spots on his map. "Small groups hit the supply rooms during the chaos. Meet at the collapse point. We break through together."
It was a terrible plan. Too many variables, too much that could go wrong.
"I'm in," Korath heard himself say.
Several heads turned. Daven looked surprised—then pleased.
"Good. We need everyone we can get." He looked around the circle. "Tomorrow night. When the storm starts, you know what to do. Don't tell anyone who's not here. Don't even think about it too loud—some slaves would sell their mothers for an extra meal."
The group dispersed slowly, trying not to draw attention. Korath returned to his pallet, his heart hammering.
He was really going to do this. Try to escape. Probably die trying.
For the first time in five years, something other than despair filled his chest.
Hope. Fragile and terrifying as a candle in a storm.
But it was there.
Sleep came fitfully. Korath dozed, woke, dozed again. In his half-dreams, he saw the forest beyond the mines. Trees taller than buildings. Sky so blue it hurt to look at. Wind that didn't taste of dust and death.
He'd almost forgotten what freedom looked like.
Tomorrow, he'd either remember—or he'd die trying.