Water dripping. Voices murmuring in low tones.
Ziyan stirred.
Her head throbbed, and the back of her skull ached as if struck with something blunt. She was cold, her limbs stiff, her mouth dry. When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she realised she was in a stone chamber underground—walls damp with moisture, the air thick and heavy with the stench of sweat, fear, and mildew.
Around her were others—mostly women, a few children, and even several men. All of them bore the same empty, hollowed-out look. Shackles bound her ankles, rough hemp rope bruised her wrists. Somewhere nearby, water dripped again.
Ziyan took a deep breath, calming her panic.
"Where… am I?" she whispered.
A woman beside her, older and gaunt, gave a tired glance. "Taken. Same as the rest of us. Don't bother screaming. They beat the last one until she couldn't walk."
Ziyan clenched her jaw.
Later, when the guards came—men in coarse leather and patched cloaks—they checked each prisoner, muttering about prices and buyers. One of them paused when he reached her.
"She's new. From the woods?"
"Yeah," another replied. "Bit of fight in her too. Worth a good coin."
Ziyan narrowed her eyes. "Do you always hide behind chains and shadows like cowards?" she spat.
The man laughed. "Oh? Sharp tongue."
"I've read books about men like you. Traffickers who think they're above the law. You're no more than bottom-feeders. I'd be surprised if you can even read your own names."
The man lunged, but another grabbed his shoulder. "Don't damage the goods."
Ziyan's mind raced. She couldn't overpower them—but maybe… maybe she could outthink them.
Over the next two days, she observed everything: the routines, the shifts, which guards were cruel and which ones were merely tired. She began whispering to the other prisoners, gathering stories, figuring out where they were taken from, and what the traffickers might be planning. She even caught pieces of their dialect—northern edge of the empire, just East of the old trade roads.
On the third day, when one of the quieter guards brought water, she spoke softly.
"You know this is dangerous work. You ever think about getting out?"
He didn't answer, but his hands paused. She pressed further.
"I studied trade laws. I know the tariffs, the patrol routes, even the new laws from the capital. If you helped me escape, I could make you disappear into the Eastern provinces. Clean. Start over."
He didn't reply—but he didn't hit her either.
That night, she slept lighter.
Far from her, in the woods, Feiyan crouched by a flattened patch of grass, fingers tracing boot prints in the mud. "They're moving south," she said. "Old hunter's path. They're smart, but not smarter than me."
Shuye, breathless, nodded. "Do you think she's still alive?"
"She is," Feiyan said coldly. "If they wanted her dead, they would've left her body. They want to sell her."
Shuye's fists tightened. "Then let's make sure they never get the chance."
They stalked through the forest, heading toward the nearest village known for secret markets and shady merchants. They asked questions with coin when needed, with threats when coin failed.
Piece by piece, they tracked the group to a ruined fortress on the far edge of the hills. From a distance, they saw movement—torches flickering, shadows passing behind old battlements.
"She's there," Shuye whispered.
"We wait until nightfall," Feiyan muttered. "Then we cut through."
Back in the prison, Ziyan sat up suddenly. The guard who once hesitated now approached, slowly. He looked over his shoulder, then knelt beside her.
"I don't know who you really are," he muttered, "but someone like you shouldn't be in a place like this."
Ziyan stared. "Then help me."
He glanced again at the entrance. "I'll try. But there's something you should know. This group… they're not just traffickers. They're funded."
"…Funded?"
The man nodded grimly. "By someone high. Someone in the capital. You don't just disappear unless someone up top wants you gone."
Ziyan's breath caught.
Before she could ask more, he stood and left without another word.
She sat in the dark, heart pounding.
Who would want her gone?
Outside, the wind howled against the fortress walls. Feiyan and Shuye crouched in the shadows, swords drawn, ready.
Inside, Ziyan stared into the darkness, as a new realisation began to take shape.
This wasn't just a random kidnapping.
It was a warning.
And the people behind it might be far more powerful than she'd ever imagined.