The morning came cold and damp, with a thick fog creeping across the courtyard of the estate, muffling all sound. Alex stepped out of the cell, feeling the painful aftermath of the previous day in every muscle, yet he refused to let fatigue slow him down. Somewhere deep inside, he had the sense that something important might happen today.
The yard was already bustling. Guards barked orders, handing out tasks to slaves who obeyed in silence, lifting heavy loads without protest. Alex quickly spotted Lyra standing nearby, her head held high, eyes fixed coldly on the approaching guard.
The man narrowed his eyes and strode toward her with a threatening expression.
"You've got the arena today, elf," he growled, leaning in so close she could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I suggest you don't cause any trouble."
Lyra lifted her chin, raising an eyebrow. A cold defiance burned in her gaze.
"If you're so eager to see a fight, maybe you should step into the ring yourself," she retorted, eyes narrowing slightly. "You don't seem quite so confident without that shiny armor and whip, do you?"
The guard's face turned crimson, the muscles in his neck tensing with rage. He grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her toward him with fury.
"You think you're funny, elf?" he snarled through clenched teeth. "Fine. Don't want to fight? We'll see how tough you are when you're hauling crates with the rest of these worms. Maybe then you'll learn your place."
He shoved her away with disgust. Lyra didn't flinch, keeping her gaze fixed on him until he turned and stormed off.
Alex had watched the whole exchange, his throat tightening with tension. When Lyra turned around, he saw fire in her eyes—determination, but no fear, no trace of regret. She didn't speak a word, simply nodded in silent acceptance of her new task.
Work began immediately. The crates were heavy, the rough wood scraping skin to the point of bleeding. Alex quickly noticed Lyra struggling, though she did everything she could to hide it. When he saw her struggling to lift yet another load, he moved toward her without hesitation. He knew it was against the rules, that it might cost him dearly—but he couldn't stop himself.
He grabbed the crate from the other end and met her eyes. Lyra looked at him for a moment, as if weighing the situation. Then, without a word, she gave him a slight nod, accepting his help. Together they lifted the weight and moved forward, sharing the burden. Neither of them spoke, but in that short moment of silent cooperation, Alex felt closer to her than ever before.
For the rest of the day, they helped each other, avoiding the guards' gazes and those of the other slaves. Alex felt the exhaustion growing.
That evening, after they had finished carrying the last crate, Alex let out a breath of relief. Then, out of nowhere, a familiar shadow appeared—a large, muscular slave who had already shown his brutality once before. Alex froze, heart pounding.
"Looks like you still haven't learned your lesson, boy," the man sneered, stepping in close. "Maybe I'll teach you something today."
Alex tried to back away, but the man was faster. The first punch hit him in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. The next sent him crashing to the ground, and more followed, brutal and relentless.
Curled on the ground, trying to breathe, Alex saw out of the corner of his eye the man raising his foot for another blow. He shut his eyes, bracing for pain—but it never came.
There was a thud, a scuffle, and the sound of a heavy body collapsing to the dirt. Gasping, Alex opened his eyes to see Lyra standing over him, her expression burning with cold, focused fury. The large slave lay nearby, clutching his face and groaning in pain.
The elf extended a hand to Alex, who looked up at her, stunned and moved. He reached for her hand cautiously, letting her help him to his feet.
Without a word, Lyra guided him toward the cell, supporting him gently but firmly. Alex walked beside her, feeling the pain slowly give way to something else—an unmistakable sense of connection born from that one, fleeting moment.
Once they reached the cell, Lyra helped him sit on his bedding, then stood in front of him for a long moment, silent, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Alex said nothing either, simply looking into her eyes.
She averted her gaze, and a faint, almost invisible smile flickered across her lips—fleeting as a shadow. But Alex saw it clearly. And in that moment, he knew something between them had changed, even if neither of them yet knew where it would lead.