The tools they were given upon entering the mine determined the tasks they'd have to perform. The guard escorting them pointed each person to the working group they should join. Tre was assigned to a team laboring at the far edge of the mine, near its outer wall.
Walking the short distance to his new companions, he passed six guards and a single archer tower. Considering it was only a short stretch of road, he had to admit the security level against any potential rebellion or insubordination was extremely high.
When he finally arrived at his designated spot, he looked for a bit of open space that would let him swing a pickaxe without worrying about harming anyone. He also wanted enough distance so he could quietly ponder all the bizarre events that had happened to him that day.
His presence caused a mild stir within the group he'd been assigned to. People started whispering excitedly among themselves, pointing at him. He hadn't even taken his first swing at the wall when one of the workers—a slightly older man with wise, yet weary eyes and distinctly Asian features—began whispering something to him. Tre didn't understand a word.
"I don't understand you…" he said.
The man looked at him sympathetically, turned his back, and headed back to the group with a subtle hunch in his posture, seemingly trying to remain unnoticed. Tre suspected that the guards wouldn't take kindly to people gossiping instead of breaking their backs digging into the cave wall. After a moment, the stranger stopped by a woman with a large red scar running across her right eye—a scar that clearly must have robbed her of sight on that side. They exchanged a few quiet words, and then she nodded. Keeping her head down, she came over to Tre.
"You're from Earth too," she said bluntly, cutting straight to the chase.
"I am," Tre replied, barely mustering any emotion. By this point, he was honestly too drained from the day's chaos to even talk, though he knew full well he'd need whatever information she could share.
"The man who first approached you is Russian. A brilliant mathematician, and out of all of us, he's been stuck here the longest. By that I mean in our team… Hmm… You probably have no idea what a 'team' in this mine really is. It's a group of twenty people. Seven work the wall with pickaxes, three sift through the rubble to collect green minerals, four shovel up any remaining ore into baskets, and the rest carry those baskets to the big containers over there," she explained, pointing to tall wheeled bins about fifty meters away. Even as they spoke, people with baskets on their backs were climbing up to dump them.
"By the way, I'm Mia," she introduced herself. Tre kept catching himself staring at her huge scar. Each time he realized it, he felt guilty, knowing how uncomfortable it must be for her to be looked at that way. "So…do you know what happened to Theresa? She was the one working with a pickaxe in your spot before you showed up. I saw the rest of the group who got rewarded for good behavior return, but I haven't seen her. Any idea where she is?"
Tre's heart sank at the question. He was pretty sure Theresa was the woman who'd tried to warn him—the brave soul who'd met a tragic end.
"She's dead."
That was all he said. He didn't want to dive into the grim details of her horrific fate—her life snuffed out simply because it could be.
"How is that possible?" Mia asked, her scar seeming to turn paler, creating a strangely grotesque sight against such sad news. "She was doing so well. She even had a deal worked out with the guards—kind of like their 'go-between.' They let her out into the sunlight today as a reward, for fuck's sake!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with rage and grief.
Her emotions got the better of her, and she'd raised her voice too much. A guard standing nearby took notice and started toward them.
"Get back to work!" Mia hissed. "They'll whip you if you don't." Hunching lower, she quickly walked away, grabbed the shovel she'd laid on the ground earlier, and acted like nothing had happened, throwing herself back into her task.
Following her lead, Tre hefted his pickaxe and began swinging away, mimicking the miners around him. The guard, apparently unable to pinpoint the source of the raised voice, watched them for a moment before turning around and walking off to rejoin his colleagues.
Their work continued for many long hours. By the time Tre had made it to the mine, it was already late afternoon; now dusk had passed and he was still working. His muscles were burning, sweat stinging his eyes, and the chains binding him seemed to grow heavier with each passing minute. Surprisingly, he didn't feel hungry—though he was sure it would hit him like a hammer once the day's labor was over.
He'd always considered himself fit, but he realized this brutal labor was on another level—nothing like running a 10K back home. He couldn't help but admire the people around him, aware that they lived like this every day.
Suddenly, the sound of a horn echoed through the cavern, and everyone stopped what they were doing, forming up into two lines. With over five hundred people in the mine, it took a while before everyone was lined up, tools lowered at their sides.
Guards advanced toward them, and despite his exhaustion, Tre watched the entire process carefully. Four guards approached each group. Besides the swords at their hips, they all carried whips—ready to strike at a moment's notice.
Once they got to each group, one guard said something in a language Tre still couldn't understand. Presumably, that was Cratean, as he'd heard from an earlier conversation with a gaunt prisoner. Then the guard turned his back and started walking toward the mine exit. As if on cue, the prisoners fell in behind him. The other three guards flanked them—two on the sides of the column, and the last one waiting until they'd all passed, presumably to bring up the rear. All the other groups moved in the same manner, each accompanied by a similar armed escort.
Near the exit was a guard Tre hadn't seen before, impatiently writing in a little notebook each time a group surrendered their tools. After each prisoner, he ticked something off in what looked like a form.
Eventually, it was Tre's group's turn to hand in their equipment. They got through the process quickly and moved on toward the exit. But just before actually leaving the mine, they were stopped. A thick chain—uncannily similar to the one Tre was originally attached to—was threaded along the middle of their column. Two guards, the ones who had been on either side, swiftly latched each prisoner to it like dogs on a leash.
Outside, it was already dark, maybe an hour after sunset. The coolness of night caught him off guard, and he shivered; the day's hard labor had left him more susceptible to the chill. He glanced at the other members of his group, trudging ahead of the guard one step at a time, their faces blank. Just emptiness. He noticed the sky was full of stars, offering at least a little light.
"They're used to this," Tre thought, feeling a rush of pity for them.
Slowly and quietly, they made their way to the tents he'd seen earlier in the daylight. By night, they looked even less welcoming. There was an unpleasant odor of rot around them, and Tre soon realized it was the smell of the material used to make the tents.
Without bothering to unlatch the flaps, the guard gestured for them to enter, then stepped aside to let them in. Every prisoner obediently filed into the dark interior, where it was even more stifling than outside.
Of the four who'd escorted them, three exchanged a few words with the fourth, then headed off somewhere else. The remaining guard walked a few steps away toward a ring of stones, crouched down, and started lighting a fire. Soon, several other guards joined him—each presumably responsible for different groups. From his vantage at the tent entrance, Tre could see at least three campfires. No doubt there were more around.
Not long after the guards had settled in by their fires, the tent grew quiet. Everyone inside sat down, eyes attempting to adjust to the oppressive darkness. They simply looked in each other's direction, in reality seeing almost nothing, waiting in silence. Finally, the scarred woman—Mia—turned toward Tre, as if she couldn't bear the silence any longer.
"What happened to Theresa?" she asked, her voice tense with both sadness and impatience.
Tre had been expecting this. She'd warned him about it, after all. He had no intention of lying. If anything, he needed to start building trust with these people if he was going to have any chance of escaping this cursed place.
"When I got here, straight out of the portal, she was the first one to notice me. She started yanking her chain and screaming for me not to end up like her. So I ran. That guard who'd been escorting them began kicking her as soon as I took off. Then, when they sent hunting dogs after me, I managed to kill two of them—and I knocked one guard unconscious. But while I was fighting, the rest of them caught up and overpowered me. They dragged me back to the main courtyard, and that's where I saw it… She was just lying there, motionless. The guard who'd been in charge stripped her body and threw it at the other poor wretches waiting at the gate. I'm wearing her clothes right now…" Tre finished, his voice shaking. The truth of that final detail still shook him up. "That's really all I know. I don't know what her final moments were like. I wasn't there when it happened."
Silence fell over the tent again. Tre guessed Mia needed time to process the story. He had no idea if anyone else there understood what he'd just said. It didn't matter much—what mattered was that they knew the truth.
After a long pause, Mia began speaking in Cratean. Tre could already pick out the language's distinctive cadence, though he didn't yet understand the words. Several muffled gasps and quiet sobs followed from one of the younger girls.
Another hush fell over them, punctuated only by the girl's stifled weeping. Someone tried to comfort her, probably hoping to avoid drawing the guards' attention. Even in mourning, they couldn't risk being too loud.
When the girl finally calmed down, Mia spoke up again in a whisper.
"This is a big loss for us. I hope you understand our reaction. We know you're in a tough spot, too—most of us have been there. Theresa was our lifeline in many ways. Thanks to her, we didn't go hungry as often, and the guards went a bit easier on us."
Tre nodded, knowing the faint light at the tent's entrance would let them see the gesture.
"But it is what it is. You're here now. Not to sound heartless, but people dying in this place is hardly a rare occurrence…" Her voice trailed off, and after a brief pause, she continued, "You must've noticed everyone here speaks Cratean. You need to learn it as soon as possible. We have five native Crateans in our group, so once you learn the basics, try chatting with them. And one more thing—don't try to escape…"
Tre cut her off. "Why shouldn't I escape? I'm not afraid of them catching me; on the contrary, I'm sure I could stay hidden—"
This time, Mia interrupted him before he could finish.
"Do you see my scar? The guards aren't the only threat out there. The forests surrounding the mine are full of nasty creatures."
Tre stared at her, puzzled. He wasn't quite sure what she was getting at.
"You won't truly get it until you see it for yourself. I tried escaping, too, soon after I first got here. If I'd seen one of those beasts break into the mine before making the attempt, I never would have tried…"
Tre looked at her, still confused.
"What beast are you talking about?"
She gave him a regretful look.
"It's not just people you need to fear. This place is full of monsters. The locals call them 'Apparitions'