A piercing whistle split the morning air like a blade through silence.
"Up, you bastards! Move it!"
The sharp voice of a soldier thundered through the prison halls, followed by the loud clanging of a baton dragging across the metal bars. One by one, groggy prisoners stirred inside the cramped cells, their eyes squinting against the pale morning light leaking through the high, grated windows.
Daemon sat up slowly, instinctively placing a hand over his chest. It still felt sore from where he'd been shoved around the day before, but the pain was dull now—manageable. His red eyes flicked toward William, who was still curled up in the corner, arms over his head.
"Kid," Daemon said, his voice low but firm. "Wake up. They're coming."
William groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Is it morning already? Ugh... it feels like I didn't sleep at all."
The guards unlocked the cell doors with metallic clunks, and a gruff soldier stepped in.
"You! Form a line! You've got five seconds before I start cracking skulls."
Daemon rolled his shoulders and stood, glancing around at the others as they shuffled into place. Most were silent, too tired or scared to speak. A few looked like they were ready to drop dead already.
Outside the cells, the corridor buzzed with tension. Footsteps echoed, orders were barked, and somewhere, someone was already screaming.
Nyxtriel stood near the archway leading to the work site, dressed in full uniform. Her silver hair was tied back neatly, and her face carried the same calm coldness she had used to silence suspicion the day before. But her crimson eyes flickered with a barely hidden alertness when she spotted Daemon in the line.
You're here. Good.
She gave no sign of familiarity. Her posture remained rigid, just another recruit among the others. But Daemon caught the subtle shift in her gaze. That was enough.
The prisoners were herded down a long path leading outside the compound and toward the mines.
As they walked, Daemon looked around. The terrain was brutal and unforgiving, with jagged rocks jutting from the ground like broken bones. The entire island had a strange topography—at first glance it looked like a dormant turtle from above, its shell-like hills covering the central forest. The air smelled of salt and stone, but underneath it, he could feel a pulse. A hidden energy in the land.
Suddenly, a sharp whistle blew again.
"Stop!"
Captain Timothy marched forward, flanked by two heavily armored guards.
"Alright," he said, clapping his hands together. "We're not savages here. You're going to work in shifts. You'll mine. You'll sweat. You'll bleed. And if you're lucky, you'll live long enough to die from exhaustion instead of disobedience."
A few nervous chuckles. Mostly silence.
Timothy turned to a stern-looking woman beside him. She had dark skin, braided hair tucked under her helmet, and a long scar running across her jaw. "This is Supervisor Elka. She'll be in charge of your first shift. Disobey her, and you answer to me. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" several guards barked.
Elka raised an eyebrow as she stepped forward. "Alright. Groups of ten. You, you, you—" she pointed rapidly, forming clusters. "You'll be breaking the outer wall today. Bring up ore, keep your mouths shut."
She paused in front of Daemon. Her eyes narrowed. "You. You've got strong arms for someone in chains. You ever mined before?"
Daemon shrugged. "Once or twice. Can't say I enjoyed it."
That earned a smirk from her. "We'll see how much you enjoy it after eight hours of smashing rock."
Nyxtriel stepped forward, clipboard in hand, keeping her tone sharp and formal. "Group two, follow me. I'll lead them to sector three."
Elka gave her a nod. "Make sure they don't slack. New meat needs discipline."
Nyxtriel nodded crisply. "Yes, ma'am."
As the groups began marching toward their assigned locations, Daemon caught one last look at the guards stationed around the island—watchtowers, mana barriers, and what looked like turrets imbued with magic crystals. Escaping wouldn't be impossible.
But it'd be damn close.
The mines were a scar carved into the belly of Kama-Shima — deep, black, and echoing with the clang of metal and groans of men.
Daemon swung the pickaxe again, its head cracking against the stone with a dull thunk. Dust exploded into the air, clinging to his skin, hair, and even his lungs. Around him, the others dug in near silence. The only sounds were picks striking rock and the occasional bark from a guard.
"Keep your backs straight!" a soldier shouted. "Lazy arms get broken arms!"
Daemon barely noticed. His body was running on instinct—strike, pull, breathe. But his mind was somewhere else.
The moment he struck the third wall, something buzzed in his chest. Like a bell echoing underwater.
He dropped the pickaxe for a second and stepped closer to the cracked stone. Embedded deep inside was a faintly glowing crystal—pale blue and pulsing, like a tiny beating heart.
A mana stone?
He crouched down, brushing dust away from the shard. Even just being near it, he could feel the pull. Like it recognized him. Or more precisely—recognized something inside him.
"Hey," William whispered from beside him. "That's a mana stone, isn't it?"
Daemon glanced at the boy. "You know about them?"
"Of course! Back in Velmira, we used to find tiny ones sometimes. They're packed with raw magic. Mages eat 'em up like candy."
Daemon turned back toward the crystal. His chest stirred again, and this time he felt it clearly. Not pain. Not pressure. But something warm... awakening.
Suddenly he remembered king Velrick did really tell him about his potential in using mana since he has the half dragon heart.
Daemon slowly reached out and pressed his hand to the crystal, eyes narrowing as he focused. His aura was always there—sharp, crimson, and hungry. But now, beneath it, like a second current, was something softer. Slower. A stream of mana. Weak. But real.
His heart thudded.
So it's true...
"Hey!" a guard snapped from behind. "You find something valuable?"
Daemon quickly stood. "Just a rock. Looks shiny, that's all."
The guard approached, frowning. He reached down, squinted, and grunted. "Mana shard. Small one. Not worth much, but we'll take it."
He plucked it from the wall and dropped it into a sack on his belt.
Daemon stayed quiet, but inside, his thoughts were racing.
I have mana... and I can feel it responding to this place.
Around him, the mining continued. William was coughing beside him, struggling to lift his tool. Another man nearby had passed out from exhaustion, ignored by the guards.
Yet through the pain and dust, Daemon felt more awake than ever.
This island wasn't just a prison.
It was a forge.
Meanwhile,
From her vantage point above the mining pit, Nyxtriel stood stiff in her ill-fitting guard uniform, arms crossed behind her back, boots planted in perfect formation like the others. But inside, she was boiling.
She hated every second of this charade.
The stench of sweat and blood. The constant clinking of chains. The barked orders. And worst of all — the way these humans treated each other like livestock.
She bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her expression blank.
"Soldier," a voice called beside her,the same woman from yesterday. Her name was Rhea. One of the actual recruits. Smart eyes, sharp nose, brown hair, and a suspicious streak that made Nyxtriel want to punt her into the sea.
Rhea leaned closer. "You're quiet. Haven't heard much from you."
Nyxtriel turned her head slightly. "Observing. Isn't that what we're supposed to do?"
Rhea squinted. "Right. Still... I didn't catch your academy posting. Which garrison trained you?"
Nyxtriel didn't blink. "Velkor. East quarter I told you yesterday."
A pause.
"How strange,Didn't know Velkor trained women," Rhea muttered.
Nyxtriel smiled tightly. "Guess you don't know everything."
The tension stretched for a second too long, but just as Rhea opened her mouth to reply, the commanding officer walked past them, barking orders to the lower guards.
"Form patrol units! North trench rotation in ten!"
Nyxtriel exhaled through her nose. Saved.
She turned back toward the pit, gaze immediately finding him.
Daemon was working.
No — not working. Thinking. She could tell by the rhythm of his strikes, how his movements paused slightly when he reached that glowing crack in the rock. Her fingers twitched. She recognized that crystal from a distance.
A mana stone.
It pulsed, and so did something inside her.
She had watched him all morning, doing her best to look indifferent. But every time his pickaxe swung, every time he straightened his back and glared at the wall, something clenched in her chest.
Even now surrounded by chains and dust he looked like he could break the world open with his will alone.
She gritted her teeth and tore her eyes away.
"I'm glad he's doing well"
Nyxtriel crossed her arms again and resumed her post.