Whispers in the dark

The march to the underground slave chambers was silent but heavy, the air thick with the scent of mildew and despair. The mark on her neck throbbed, raw and ugly, searing her identity away. She had no name now. No family. Only shame.

The woman's grip was iron around her arm, fingers digging in, dragging her down the twisting corridors until they reached a heavy door.

"You will forget whatever pathetic life you held before." The woman's voice echoed through the hallways. "Now, you are just a slave and your only job is to make sure you do your assigned tasks and do them on time. The only person you have to worry about is me, and you should never get on my bad side."

Azra was barely listening, her mother's tear-streaked face played over and over in her mind like a loop and she wondered if it was only some hours ago that she and her family were gathered together watching the sun sink. Her heart bled- if only she could turn back time.

The Matron shoved the door open, the hinges wailing and the stale air hit Cinder like a wave.

The slave chambers was a world of shadows and grime. Damp stone walls closed in, lit by sparse,

flickering torches. Rows of narrow cots lined the floor, each more decrepit than the last. The air was heavy with the stench of sweat and refuse. A dozen faces turned to stare, eyes gleaming with curiosity and contempt.

"This," the Matron's voice cut through the murmur, "is Cinder. The traitor." She spat the word and Azra's heart twisted. "She was once Subterri, but now she's lower than dirt. Treat her as such." Her gaze was cold as she added, "Show her to the bed by the chamber pots, it's all she deserves."

Laughter rippled through the room, taunting her. Azra's face burned, but she kept her head bowed. One of the older slaves, a wiry woman with hollow eyes jerked her head. "This way." She muttered. "Move it."

Aura followed, her steps heavy as whispers erupted behind her.

"A Subterri, really?" One voice hissed.

"Not anymore. She fell all the way to Abysmii, must have done something awful."

"No wonder she looks half-dead."

"f*****g traitor. She deserves it and more!"

"I heard her own sister betrayed her. Bet she's cursed."

The rumors grew wilder and more imaginative, each word a dagger buried in her chest. She reached the cot- more of a pile of rags than a bed- nestled beside the reeking chamber pots. Her stomach churned at the stench but she said nothing. She moved to sit when something hard and cold struck her head.

Pain exploded behind her eyes and she gasped as a clay cup shattered on the ground. A chorus of gasps filled the chamber but no one moved to help. Instead they watched; eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Oh, my hand slipped." A mocking voice drawled. Azra turned to see the speaker- a tall girl with sharp features and cold eyes that were full of malice. She was obviously someone important in these slums, her posture oozed authority and others stood behind her like loyal shadows.

"Tell me Traitor, what did you do?"

Azra opened her mouth but the words died on her tongue. What could she say? That she didn't belong here? They it was all a mistake? No one would listen, no one cared. Her jaw clenched and she looked away, refusing to indulge the bullies.

The girl's eyes narrowed and in a heartbeat, she was in front of Azra, backhanding her so hard that Azra's head snapped to the side. "When you're asked a question, you answer." The girl sneered.

A flash of white-hot anger broke through Azra's haze of despair. Rage surged through her veins, raw and feral. With a guttural snarl, she lunged, nails clawing and fists flying. The both of them crashed to the ground and the girl fought back but Azra didn't care. She screamed as she drew blood and it felt good to finally unleash her fury on someone.

The attack caught them by surprise but it didn't last long. Suddenly, she was being yanked off the girl and thrown into the floor. Boots and fists rained down, punching on her ribs, her stomach, her back. She curled in on herself, pain erupting from every part of her body and finally they stepped back, leaving her battered and bleeding.

The girl smirked over her, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek. "You fight like a wild cat. Maybe they should have put you down with the rest of the ferals." She snapped her fingers and the other slaves dumped piles of filthy launder over Azra's head, the weight nearly suffocating her. "Wash it. All of it."

Azra struggled to breathe under the mountain of damp rags, fighting the sting of humiliation. She shoved them off, glaring through a blackened eye.

"Why should I? They weren't assigned to me."

The chamber fell deathly silent. Several eyes widened in shock at her defiance and the bully's smile widened. "Ah I see. You think you're still better than us because you were once Subterri. Wake up Cinder, you're worse than filth now." Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Do it, unless if you want your miserable life to end early." She straightened up and dusted her hands off with a smirk. "I'd start now if I were you, that's if you want to finish before the clock strikes noon." She snickered.

An older slave caught Azra's eye, subtly shaking her head in warning. Her pride bristled and her body screamed in protest but she forced herself to move, hands trembling as she gathered the clothes to begin scrubbing.

Her muscles burned and every movement was agony. The hours blurred together, the weight of the laundry crushing her spirit and of course she didn't finish on time. When the clock struck noon, the Matron appeared, her face a mask of cold fury. "You did not finish your task."

"It was impossible!" Azra cried. "They all dumped their share of-" she tried to explain, to defend herself but the Matron's voice was icy.

"Shut up, excuses don't wash laundry. Take her."

Slaves eagerly grabbed her and she was dragged to a whipping post in the middle of the huge chamber. Her wrists were bound; her back exposed and Azra bit on her lip as her body started to shake with dread. The first lash cut through her skin, sending fire exploding through her back. She bit down harder on her lip, refusing to scream even as her vision blurred with pain. The other slaves watched, some with satisfaction, others with pity but no one spoke for her. No one would ever speak for her again.

"The others will go and have lunch and you will stay here and finish your work." The Matron declared and left.

No one lifted a finger to help as she collapsed to the ground, as she dragged herself back up and limped to her cot, her entire body aflame with agony. She sank into the filthy rags only to recoil in horror- they were soiled, fouled beyond decency. Laughter echoed around her as she stared at the mess, humiliation burning in her throat.

Her chest tightened, and silent tears blurred her vision. She stumbled to her feet, fighting through the pain as she ran, ignoring the mocking voices that followed her, the leering faces. She ran until the darkness swallowed her and she could cry where no one could see, where she could mourn the loss of everything she had once known.

Finally, her legs could carry her no further and the jeering voices faded into distant echoes. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her ribs protesting with each inhale. Her tears had dried, leaving only streaks of salt on her cheeks, but the weight of despair still clung to her like a second skin.

She ran until her legs were screaming for her to stop and she finally stopped, pressing a hand against the damp stone wall to steady herself and only then did she realize she had no idea where she was. The passageway was unfamiliar—narrow and winding, the air thick with an eerie stillness. The torches were sparser here, barely enough to illuminate the darkened walls lined with rusted iron chains and shackles. Azra swallowed hard, growing wary. The scent of decay clung to the air, a mixture of dust, mildew, and something more metallic- blood.

An ominous shiver ran down her spine and she realized she had wandered into abandoned dungeons. Fear clawed at her throat but she forced herself to breathe. She needed to get back.

She turned, trying to retrace her steps but every hallway looked the same—shadowed and endless. The silence was suffocating. She took another turn, then another, only to find herself deeper in the labyrinth of stone corridors. Panic set in, and her heart pounded against her bruised ribs.

Then she heard it- a strangled moan.

Azra froze. It was faint at first, a sound slipping through the heavy air, but then it came again—louder, unmistakable. A sharp cry of pleasure, followed by the rhythmic sound of bodies moving together. Heat crawled up her neck as she realized what she had stumbled upon.

Biting her lip, she turned to retreat the way she came but she stepped back too quickly, her foot brushing against a loose stone. It clattered against the ground with a sharp clink and she stilled, her breath caught in her throat as she waited... but the couple was lost in their passion, oblivious to the world as they climaxed noisily. She should leave—now. But just as she pivoted, the woman's voice rose above the heavy breaths and whispered moans.

"Soon, we won't have to hide anymore," she purred. "Once the Lycan King is dead."

Azra went rigid. The pleasure-drugged laughter that followed sent a chill down her spine.

The man chuckled darkly. "You keep saying that, but we both know killing him isn't easy. He's no ordinary beast."

The woman exhaled, annoyed. "That's why we have to be careful but trust me, it's happening. The moment he falls, we won't have to live like this anymore—hiding and groveling pitifully. We'll be free and you'll be my king."

Azra's stomach clenched. Treason! Her lips parted in shock, a barely-there gasp escaping before she could stop it but it was enough.

The woman tensed. "Did you hear that?"

Azra bit down on her lip, her entire body going rigid.

The man groaned, clearly uninterested. "It's probably just the rats."

"No." The woman inhaled sharply, and Azra could hear the shift in her tone—alert, dangerous. "I smell something."

Azra's heart slammed against her ribs. s**t. She anxiously touched the ring on her finger, the anchor that dampened her wolf and allowed her to live a normal life as a Subterri.

Not many wolves could scent out a Subterri with her anchor so the woman was definitely on the level of an Elysian, the highest level of werewolves, the ones with Lycan bloodlines. She had mere seconds before they realized she was there.

Run!

Azra bolted. Her bare feet slapped against the damp stone, sending echoes down the tunnels. The moment she moved, a snarl erupted behind her.

"There! Someone's here!"

"Damn it," the man growled. "Go after them!"

She sprinted down the corridor, her pulse roaring in her ears. The pain from her wounds screamed at her but she didn't stop. Couldn't.

A guttural snarl echoed too close behind her but she didn't dare look back. She knew they were faster, stronger but she was a lot more desperate to escape.

She darted around a corner, nearly slipping on the slick stone as she barreled down another darkened tunnel. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air thick with dust and decay.

Another turn- a dead end.

No—no, no, no.

She pivoted, doubling back just as she heard the telltale scuff of footsteps closing in. "She went this way!"

Azra forced herself forward, weaving through the maze of crumbling dungeons, barely managing to stay ahead. They were catching up, and if they caught her... she nearly fell into despair but then she saw it—a broken pillar with a narrow gap beside it.

With no time to think, she lunged inside, pressing herself against the cold stone and seconds later, the werewolves came skidding into view.

Azra held her breath, watching their backs through the sliver of space, heart hammering as the woman sniffed the air again.

"She was just here," she hissed.

The man groaned in frustration. "Then where is she?"

Azra fought to keep her breathing steady. Please don't find me. Please don't find me.

The woman exhaled sharply, eyes scanning the darkness. "She's fast. But if she heard us..." A pause. Then her voice turned sharp. "She could ruin everything."

A low growl of agreement rumbled from the man.

"We need to find her," the woman insisted. "If she tells anyone—"

"She won't," the man cut her off. "Think about it. If she was a threat, she would've run straight to the guards by now."

Azra stiffened and the woman hesitated. "Unless she's lost."

The man scoffed. "Even if she is, it won't matter. It's she tattles, it will be her word against yours. Come, we must leave."

Please... she pleaded to whatever force took pity on lost wandering souls. She didn't want to die down here. Their forbidden relationship was not her business, nor their plans of treason.

Even if she told someone, who would believe her? The Matron? The other slaves? No one would care about the ramblings of a disgraced Subterri.

But the Lycan King... Azra's gut twisted. The king was in danger. She should tell him... warn him.

But then she remembered—he was the reason she was here, the reason her family had been branded as slaves. If these werewolves succeeded in killing him, everything could change. Her chains could break! She could have a chance to escape.

Hurried footsteps finally receded and she exhaled shakily with relief. For the first time since she was dragged into the underground chambers, she felt a spark of hope. Let the Lycan king die- the choice was an easy one to make.