The stench was unbearable.
I could taste it in the back of my throat: the sickly sweet scent of sweat, piss, and rot, mingling with something sharp, something metallic that made my stomach churn. I could feel the wet, sticky floor beneath me, the grime sticking to my clothes, seeping into my skin. The air was thick, heavy, and oppressive. Every breath felt like it might suffocate me. I had been here too long, and it was starting to show in the way my body felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
I glanced around the cage. The others were still, their faces hollow with exhaustion and despair, some of them too weak to even lift their heads. But there was a strange energy in the air now, something new, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. A scream echoed through the cage, raw and anguished.
"Naveen!"
My heart skipped a beat. I knew that voice. The woman who was crying out the name had her hands shaking as she pressed them against the bars. I could see her, her face twisted in grief, eyes wide with panic as she looked at the body of the young woman lying on the ground.
I had seen her before, though I hadn't spoken to her. Her name was Naveen. She had been here longer than most, always quiet, always withdrawn. She wasn't the type to get into trouble, but I had noticed the way she refused the food they gave her. She hadn't eaten in days, maybe longer. Her face had grown thinner, gaunter, as though she was withering away.
I've never seen a dead body up close before. Not like this. Not the way Naveen is. In the Ashes, death is a constant. People die all the time, but most of them are just passed by. Broken bodies, contorted in ways that make it hard to believe they were once human. They're the drugged up, the murdered. People who don't get to keep their dignity even in death. You don't linger on them. You can't. It's not real, not when you're so numb to it.
But this is different.
Naveen's body lies there like a doll, abandoned and forgotten, but still with that strange, fragile beauty. The grime on her skin makes her look almost like a painting, her face so pale, a perfect contrast to the filth that stains her. Her auburn hair, usually so vibrant, now lies flat against the dirt. Her yellow eyes, dull now, still have the same light to them they did when she was alive. Beautiful, in the way only the broken can be.
I swallow hard, feeling a lump rise in my throat. This could be me. Or Lyra. Or any of us stuck in this cage. The thought strikes a chord deep in my chest, something raw, and it makes my breath hitch. There's this wave of discomfort that rises inside of me, almost like I want to cry. But it's not because I knew Naveen. It's because I could end up like her.
I could end up like her, with no one to mourn me, just another lifeless body in a cage, with nothing left but the echo of my name.
The woman who screamed for Naveen has tears dripping onto the cold floor of the cage. She doesn't even notice. She doesn't care that her voice is breaking, that the others are too numb to respond, too scared to say anything. Her grief is a thing so sharp and open that it makes me want to reach out to her, to cry with her. But I can't. I won't.
A part of me wants to let it all out, to fall into the emotion and let the tears take over, but that's not allowed. Not here. Not in this place. It's not safe to show anything. So, I lock it all down and shove it back deep where no one can see. My hands shake slightly as I clasp them together, the rough wood of the bars pressing against my palms.
I look down at Naveen again. She was beautiful. She could have been beautiful. Even now, in death, she's stunning. Her face, the last trace of her life, is already claimed by grime. The dust, the blood, the marks of everything this place has done to her.
She looks like she could've been someone else. Someone with a different life, a different future. Not like the rest of us, who've already been erased by the world. Her beauty, once a gift, now feels like a mockery in this cage.
I feel the weight of that thought pressing down on me, suffocating me. But I push it away and pull my mask back into place. I can't afford to let this in. Not here. Not now. There's no room for softness.
I close my eyes, telling myself over and over that I'm not going to break. I can't.
But the image of Naveen, still so perfect in death, lingers in my mind like a shadow, refusing to fade.
The others are already gathering around, eyes fixed on the body. The creatures in the other cage are watching too, their unsettling gaze locked on the scene as if waiting for something more.
I can't bring myself to look at them, so I focus on the woman who had been crying out. Her face is streaked with tears, her mouth trembling as she whispers the name over and over again. I want to reach out to say something, but I don't know what. What could I say? What words would matter in a place like this?
The woman's grief is swallowed up by the silence that follows. The world feels still for a moment, like everything is waiting, holding its breath. And in that moment, I can't help but feel something cold settle in my chest, a feeling I can't shake. I can feel it creeping over me like a shadow. The slow realisation that no one here matters. Not really. Not to them.
We are nothing but bodies to be used, to be moved, to be traded.
And I can't even find the strength to fight it.
I can feel it in the way the cage trembles with each bump in the road, the way the wheels roll over uneven ground, rattling the metal bars that enclose us.
The others have fallen into silence, most too exhausted to speak, some lost in whatever hollow place their minds have retreated to. But my eyes keep drifting back to Naveen.
She lies where she had fallen, her body shifting ever so slightly with each jolt of the truck.
It's subtle, but every time the wheels hit a dip in the road, her limbs move. Her head rolls to the side, her fingers twitch in response to nothing. The movement is slow, sluggish, and unnatural. It makes my skin crawl. For a split second, I expect her to gasp, for those dull yellow eyes to suddenly blink and look at me.
I force myself to look away.
My throat is dry, my hands clenched into fists against my lap. This could be me. The thought gnaws at the edges of my mind, whispering its way into my bones. This could be me. Or Lyra. Or anyone else in this cage. Would anyone scream for me the way that woman screamed for Naveen? Or would I just be another body, another nameless thing discarded on the side of the road?
The woman who cried out for her has gone quiet, but she still sits close to the corpse, stroking Naveen's dirt-matted hair like she could soothe her back to life.
A soft voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
"I've seen worse."
I turn my head. Lyra sits beside me, her back pressed to the cage, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her voice is quiet, but it cuts through the thick silence like a blade.
I study her face, her lips slightly parted, her gaze distant. She isn't looking at me. She's looking past me, into something only she can see.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
She's quiet for a moment before she speaks again.
"Vhassir." Her fingers trace patterns against her arm absentmindedly, the same way I had done in the dirt earlier. "That's where I'm from. A city of golden sands, where the sun never stops burning and the wind carries the scent of spice and salt from the sea."
I frown. I've never heard of Vhassir. Not really. I know of it in the way people know of far-off places they'll never step foot in, just a name, nothing more.
Lyra lets out a breath, her voice turning sharper, bitter. "It's beautiful. But beauty doesn't mean anything when you live in the lower quarters."
I don't interrupt. I let her speak.
"You don't get the golden sands there. You get the scraps. The streets are red with dust and blood, and you learn fast that nobody comes to save you." Her gaze flickers toward Naveen's body, her expression unreadable. "People starve all the time. People disappear all the time. And nobody asks where they've gone because they already know."
I swallow hard. "You knew someone w-"
She nods before I can finish. "Yeah." Her voice is flat, but something cracks underneath it. "She was fifteen. A friend of mine. She thought she could steal a pouch of gold from a noble passing through." Lyra lets out a breath that isn't quite a laugh. "She never came back. Some people say they saw her body a few days later, but no one went to check. No one ever does."
I stare at her, my chest tight.
I think of the Ashes, the people who went missing there, the ones who never came back. I think of how easy it is to forget them. To pretend they had never been there at all.
A heavy silence falls between us.
"…Do you think we'll ever get out of here?" I ask.
Lyra turns her head, meeting my gaze. For a moment, she says nothing.
She forces a smirk. "What, losing faith already?"
I frown. "That's not an answer."
She holds my stare, her smirk fading. Her lips press together, and she shakes her head, barely perceptible.
I look away.
The truck jostles again, and Naveen's body shifts with it.
Lyra's gaze flickers toward it before she speaks, quieter this time.
"Have you ever been to Veridion?" she asks. Her voice is quiet, but I can hear the edge of it.
I shake my head. "No."
"Neither have I." She pauses. "What do you think it's like?"
I let out a breath, staring at the ceiling of the wagon. "Depends on who you ask."
She tilts her head toward me, waiting.
I exhale sharply. "Back home, people say Veridion's where the rich go to be gods. Nobles with magic, merchants drowning in gold, soldiers with armor so polished you can see your damn reflection." My voice feels hollow. "People from the Ashes don't go there. Not unless they're in chains."
Lyra is quiet for a moment. "That's not what I heard."
I glance at her. "Yeah?"
"My city, Vhassir, is a place of trade. We get travellers, merchants, and people passing through. They talk." Her fingers trace over the rusted bars absentmindedly. "They say Veridion is full of wonders. Magic is woven into every brick, and lanterns that burn without oil. A place where the streets shine like silver, and the nobles wear gowns stitched with real gold thread." Her lips quirk up at the corners. "Maybe even prettier than the palaces in Vhassir."
I scoff. "You believe that?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. But it was nice to imagine."
I studied her for a second. "You still think it'll be nice after… this?" I gestured around us, at the cage, at the prisoners too exhausted to lift their heads.
Lyra's expression faltered. "No," she admitted.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The sound of the wagon's wheels grinding against the dirt filled the silence.
The world tilted.
The cage lurched violently as the wagon hit something, a rock, a ditch, I didn't know. My stomach flipped, my body jerking forward. My shoulder slammed against Lyra's, and for a second, everything blurred.
A dull, sickening thud sounded beside me.
Naveen's body had shifted.
My breath caught in my throat. The way she had fallen was wrong. Like a marionette with its strings cut, her limbs bending too loosely, her head lolling to the side. But just for a moment, just a fraction of a second, she looked like she had moved on her own. Like she had sat up, ready to open her mouth and speak.
A breathless, strangled sound left my throat before I could stop it.
Someone screamed.
The panic spread fast. A woman near the back of the cage lurched forward, banging against the walls, her fists slamming against the metal with desperate, ragged force. "LET US OUT! LET US OUT!" Her voice cracked. No one answered.
She pounded harder, nails scraping against the rusted surface, but the walls absorbed every sound. It was soundproofed. We were the only ones who could hear her.
The realisation settled like a stone in my gut.
It doesn't matter how loud we scream. No one outside will hear us.
The woman's sobs turned to broken wails, her body shaking. Lyra looked like she wanted to say something and do something, but what was there to do?
For one split second, I almost reached out.
I watched the grieving woman, her body hunched over Naveen's, her hands shaking as she stroked the dead girl's matted hair. Her sobs were raw and unfiltered, and something in me, the part that hadn't been completely crushed, wanted to move toward her. Maybe offer comfort, maybe just touch her shoulder, let her know she wasn't completely alone.
But the thought was gone as quickly as it came.
My hand hovered, just inches from where she sat, my fingers curling into fists before I could even register the urge. My chest tightened, something deep and painful stirring inside me, but I shoved it down.
No.
I couldn't. I wouldn't.
The weight of the cage, the weight of the eyes on us, kept me still. I couldn't afford softness here. Couldn't risk it. Not with the danger of what it would mean.
I let my hand drop back to my lap. The gesture was small, but the absence of it felt huge. I stared at the floor, locking the urge away, burying it in the same dark place I had buried so much else.
The truck jerked to a sudden stop.
Bodies were sent sprawling. My stomach flipped as I lost balance, my hands scrambling against the ridged metal floor. Someone slammed into my side, their elbow jabbing hard into my ribs, knocking the breath from my lungs. A sharp clang rang out as one of the prisoners crashed against the bars, a choked cry escaping their lips.
The entire cage rattled with the force of the stop, the metal groaning under the sudden shift. Dust shook loose from the ceiling, thin clouds of it swirling in the dim light, filling my nose and throat. The air became thick with the scent of rust and sweat as if the very walls were exhaling with us.
Naveen's body slid.
It wasn't much, just an inch, maybe two, but the motion was wrong. The way her limbs jerked with the sudden movement, her head rolling, her empty eyes staring at nothing. My stomach twisted.
Somewhere, someone coughed, sputtering from the dust. Another prisoner groaned in pain, cradling their arm where they had hit the bars. A murmur of unease spread through the cage, a shared breath of confusion, of fear.
The woman's screams had died instantly.
For a breathless moment, no one moved. No one spoke.
Just silence.
Tense, expectant silence.
I swallowed hard. Whatever was waiting for us outside…
It was here.