Chapter 6: A Flame is Waiting
The pit left its mark—not just on Renan's body, but on the silence that followed.
The bruises were still fresh, wrapped tight around his ribs and arms like the memory of Ralek's whip. Each breath came with a reminder. But pain no longer felt like the enemy. It felt like proof. That he was still here. That he had survived.
He was tossed back into the slaves' quarters late that night. No words. Just the thud of his body against the stone. The others didn't move to help him, not at first. That was the rule: stay invisible, stay uninvolved. But something had shifted.
A bowl of water appeared beside him the next morning. No one claimed it.
He caught the old man watching him again, the same one who'd mocked him before. This time, there was no sneer. Just something curious. Apprehensive, maybe. Like he was wondering if the boy who walked out of the pit was the same one who had gone in.
Renan didn't speak much. He let the days pass in silence, working as they ordered, eyes low, ears open. The guards thought the lesson was done. They thought the fire in him had gone cold.
But a flame was waiting.
It flickered in quiet moments—when the other slaves gathered around the fire at night, sharing scraps and stories. When one of the younger boys, barely nine, risked a glance at Renan and gave him a quick, silent nod. That boy had seen what happened in the pit. He had felt it. Just like Renan had.
There were others, too. A woman with graying hair who always worked near the forge. A thick-set man with burn scars along his neck. They didn't speak of it. Not yet. But they noticed each other now. They looked.
And sometimes, that was enough.
One evening, as the sun dipped low and shadows stretched long across the compound, Renan was ordered to clean the outer kennels. It was dull work, but far from the guards' usual patrol routes. Isolated. Quiet. Dangerous—but also private.
He worked quickly, then slowed as he spotted something near the wall—a loosened stone, half-covered in dirt and ivy. It looked insignificant. But when he touched it, it gave just a little. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to tell him one thing:
This place had weaknesses.
And maybe... just maybe... it had been waiting for someone to see them.
Later that night, he crept back toward the old man's cot. The others were asleep, or pretending to be.
"You spoke loud, back then," Renan whispered, crouching beside him. "Still got a voice now?"
The old man opened one eye. It glinted with something sharp.
"You're not dead. I figured that means you learned to shut up."
"I learned who listens."
The old man grunted. "And what do you want from me, then?"
"Names. People who remember what it was like. Before they broke us. People who might want to remember again."
A silence stretched between them. The old man's fingers twitched, as if caught between swatting him away or reaching out.
"You're too young to be this stupid," he muttered.
"Too many of us waited until we were too old," Renan said.
The old man didn't respond at first. But when Renan stood to leave, the old man said just loud enough to hear, "The woman by the forge. Her name's Mara. She used to be a smith. Strong hands. Strong will. You didn't hear it from me."
Renan smiled to himself as he walked back to his place on the floor. The flame was catching.
---
By the end of the week, he had made silent contact with three more. No meetings. No plans. Just a word here, a nod there. Confirmation. Recognition.
It was slow. Risky. But it was more than he'd ever had before.
And then, without warning, Ralek returned.
He rode in on horseback, cloaked in red and gold, his whip hanging casually from his belt. The slaves were ordered into lines. The guards stood straighter, sharper. Fear rolled through the camp like smoke. Even Renan felt it—deep in his gut, like the memory of fire too close to skin.
Ralek dismounted slowly, walking past each row, inspecting the faces like a butcher sizing up livestock.
When he reached Renan, he stopped.
"You're the pit boy," he said.
Renan didn't respond. Didn't blink.
Ralek studied him for a long moment, then turned to the nearest guard. "He still breathing?"
"Yes, sir."
"Pity. Thought I told you to make an example."
The guard stiffened. "He broke, sir. Didn't speak a word for days."
Ralek's eyes narrowed. "Didn't speak, huh?"
He stepped in closer, until his breath was inches from Renan's cheek. "That's alright. Some fires burn quietly."
He said it like a warning.
But Renan heard something else.
He knows.
---
That night, Renan didn't sleep. He lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling of the slave quarters, listening to the distant crackle of torches and the howling wind beyond the walls.
The fear was real. The danger, closer now.
But so was the fire.
And a flame was waiting.