Everyone was silent—except for one woman in the far corner of the cave. She sat hunched over a frail figure, her hands trembling as she tended to her son's wound.
Her cries were barely audible, just soft whimpers and shaky breaths as she sniffled, desperate to save her child.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she wiped them away quickly, not wanting her son to see the full depth of her fear.
The Depas had their own healers. The woman herself was one of them.
She had treated dozens before. She had pulled others back from the brink of death.But now, as she looked down at her own son, helpless and fading, she couldn't feel any of the certainty or confidence she usually carried.
The others had already whispered the truth among themselves: Kila's death was inevitable.
The sixteen-year-old boy lay limp on a tattered mat. A gaping wound stretched across his chest where he had been struck.
Blood seeped from it constantly, refusing to clot. His breathing was heavy, each breath more strained than the last.
He wheezed as if air itself had become poison. He had been wounded seven days ago, and yet, not a single sign of healing had emerged.
His body remained broken, stuck in a slow, torturous descent. "It hurts," Kila whimpered, his voice cracking as he shifted weakly beneath the soiled blanket. His once-vibrant body was now frail and emaciated.
"You're going to be alright, Kila. I'll make sure of that," Mérida whispered, brushing damp strands of hair away from his forehead. Her voice wavered with emotion, her hands trembling as she pressed fresh cloth to his wound.
"Just... let me die," Kila muttered, a tear rolling down his cheek. "It's better than living this kind of life."
Mérida's lips parted, but no words came. There was nothing she could say. Her silence was heavier than stone.
He had been hurt by an imperial soldier—punished simply for sitting down. The slaves' work shift had not yet ended, but Kila, exhausted beyond reason, had collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath.
A soldier had seen him. Barked at him to stand. Kila didn't move. He wasn't defying the guard—he was just tired.
But to the soldier, a Depaling refusing to obey was the gravest insult. Without hesitation, the soldier pulled out his sidearm and fired. A sharp, untamed blast of orange flame burst from the barrel—wild and searing.
It struck Kila in the chest, the smell of burning flesh and cloth filling the air. The boy screamed and fell back.
Some of the Depas rushed to drag him away, shielding him from further abuse, their faces already masked with the knowledge that this would not end well.
"I'm sorry I couldn't give you a better life," Mérida whispered now, tears falling silently onto her son's chest.
As night descended over the camp, Kila's condition worsened. His body convulsed with violent coughs, thick with blood.
It splattered onto his clothes, onto Mérida's trembling hands. His skin was clammy and pale, soaked in sweat. Fever gripped him, and his breaths became shallow gasps.
By the time the stars began to fade and the black sky turned a faint grey, Kila's breathing had stopped.
He died before dawn.
Mérida had fallen asleep beside him, utterly drained. But something startled her awake. Instinctively, she reached for her son—only to feel a chill.
His body was cold. Unmoving. Her heart dropped.
"Kila?" she said, her voice barely a whisper. She touched his face. His cheek was stiff. His lips slightly parted. His eyes closed forever.
"Kila! Wake up! Wake up!" she screamed, shaking him. But the boy didn't stir.
His once-beautiful shimmering silver antlers—faded into a dull, colorless grey.
Her screams echoed through the cave, piercing the quiet like a blade.
The entire cave stirred, awoken by her anguish. "What happened?" a Depa man asked, rubbing his eyes.
"We can't go one week without tragedy," another muttered bitterly, rising to his feet.
"Kila is dead!" Mérida wailed, clutching his body. Her eyes were swollen and red, her face twisted with unbearable grief.
A few Depas slowly gathered around her in silence. No one knew what to say.
Ham stepped forward through the circle, his expression somber.
He gently placed his hand on her quaking shoulders. "Mérida... I understand your pain," he said softly. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
Suddenly, the dull toll of a gong echoed through the valley. A summons. The daily command for the slaves to march to their labor posts. Ham looked around, then turned to her again.
"Mérida, we need to go," he said, his voice low but urgent.
"At least let me mourn my child," Mérida pleaded, her fingers tightening around Kila's body. She tried to resist as Ham attempted to help her to her feet.
"If they call out your name and find you still here..." one of the others warned gently, "you'll suffer the same fate as your son."
The Depas began to leave one by one, heading toward the harsh demands of another day in chains.
Ham stayed close, eventually guiding Mérida along with him. She walked slowly, each step a battle. Her sobs had quieted to broken sniffles.
Two men remained behind to carry Kila's body. They walked in silence, bearing the boy to the Depas' burial ground—a secret glade behind the cave, miles into the woods.
It was a place of sorrow and memory, where all lost ones were laid to rest in silence.
They gently lowered Kila into a narrow grave.
"Rest in peace, Kila," said the elder of the two, Drell, as he gripped his shovel and began to push soil over the lifeless body.
"He was a good person," added the younger Depa, Kelly, his voice strained with sadness. "He didn't deserve this."
Suddenly—a cough.
A dry, ragged, unmistakable sound.
Both men froze mid-motion.
"Did he just... cough?" Kelly whispered, his face turning pale.
"I... I think he did?" Drell replied, stunned, his hands trembling above the shovel.
Then came a voice—hoarse, angry, alive. "What the heck?! You're burying me alive? Did my half-brother put you up to this?!" Kila sat up suddenly, dirt falling from his shoulders and hair.
His face was pale, his chest heaving—but he was alive.
"You're alive!" Drell gasped, stumbling backward in shock.
"He's a ghost! A walking dead!" Kelly screamed. His eyes wide in terror, he dropped his shovel and bolted into the woods without looking back