Chapter 30
30 Chapter 30 Rows of Empty Eyes
Faye’s POV
The words died in my throat before they could form. My voice cracked into barely audible fragments as I surveyed the clearing, struggling to comprehend the nightmare unfolding before me.
Scarlet stains painted the stone ground in irregular patterns. The blood had congealed into dark pools that stretched toward the cave’s shadowy corners. Its metallic scent hung heavy in the stagnant air, making each breath feel like swallowing copper. Yet the gore wasn’t what sent ice racing through my veins.
It was the rows of metal prisons.
Countless cages stretched before me.
They formed neat columns against the cavern walls, some stacked three levels high like a grotesque warehouse. Crude iron bars welded together with amateur skill, rust eating away at every joint and hinge. Within each enclosure sat a child.
The youngest appeared barely out of toddlerhood. Others hovered on the edge of their teenage years. Their clothing hung in tatters, if they wore any at all. Fabric clung to their bodies, soaked through with grime, bodily fluids, and dried blood.
Wounds decorated their small frames like obscene artwork. Untreated lacerations wept infection. Angry
bruises bloomed in colors that shouldn’t exist on
human skin. Burns scarred tender flesh in deliberate
patterns.
But their injuries weren’t what made my soul recoil in
horror. It was their faces. Chapters first released on.net
Empty. Completely vacant.
Their eyes stared into nothing, glazed over like broken windows. Not one shed a tear. No voices called out for
help or comfort. They simply existed within their metal boundaries, motionless as discarded dolls. Tiny fingers wrapped around rusted bars with mechanical precision, as if even that small action had become
automatic.
Whatever torments they’d endured had hollowed
them out completely. Their spirits had been
systematically crushed until nothing remained but breathing shells.
My pulse hammered against my ribs as reality crashed over me in devastating waves.
Hardy had already begun his inspection, moving between the cages with clinical detachment. He knelt beside a small boy whose shoulder bore a makeshift bandage darkened with seepage. The child didn’t react to his presence. Didn’t even register that someone new had entered his world.
Is this what father concealed from everyone? Is this
his secret?
Questions bombarded my mind like artillery fire, each one more horrifying than the last.
What purpose did this underground prison serve?
How long had these children been captive, and what had been done to them during their imprisonment?
Were they hostages taken from enemy territories? Orphaned rogues with no pack protection? Or had
they been stolen from our own people?
That final possibility made bile rise in my throat. Still, I couldn’t dismiss it as impossible.
Children. Caged like livestock. Treated as disposable objects.
The systematic nature of it all screamed deliberate planning. Too many victims for this to be random violence. Too organized for impulsive cruelty.
My attention fixed on a girl trapped in the back row. Her hands were too small to fully grasp the bars, yet she maintained her grip anyway. Her knuckles had turned white from the sustained pressure. A burn scar decorated one arm while a fresh gash split her cheek. She didn’t weep or wail. She simply watched me with those same lifeless eyes that haunted every cage.
Nausea rolled through my stomach as the full scope of this atrocity settled into my consciousness. No amount of mental preparation could have readied me for this reality. This wasn’t passionate violence born from anger. This wasn’t punishment designed to send
messages.
This was calculated evil.
Every element pointed to methodical organization. The cage quantity, the isolated location, the children’s condition of being broken yet breathing. Someone had planned this operation with cold precision and executed it without hesitation.
No justification existed for such barbarity.
This was pure malevolence given form.
“Your father,” Hardy spoke quietly, his voice carrying deadly calm as he examined cage locks. “Has been concealing more than secrets from the King p>
I turned toward him slowly, my throat feeling like sandpaper. “What do you believe he intended to do with them p>
Hardy avoided my gaze as he responded. “I haven’t determined that yet. But his intentions weren’t
benevolent p>
My legs began moving without conscious direction, instinct overriding thought. I approached one of the lower cages, each step measured and gentle to avoid
startling its occupant. A boy of perhaps six years lay curled against the bars. A vicious gash split his chest, dried blood forming a crust over torn flesh. His breathing came in shallow gasps while fever sweat beaded across his forehead.
His lips had cracked from dehydration, and his skin held the grayish pallor of someone approaching complete collapse.
He showed no awareness of my approach. Even when I knelt beside his cage and carefully extended my hand through the bars to touch his arm, he remained unresponsive.
His skin felt clammy and wrong beneath my palm. Within seconds, I sensed it.
“He’s been poisoned,” I announced, strain evident in my voice as I looked toward Hardy. “Not a fatal dose, but it’s definitely present. It’s keeping him
incapacitated p>
Hardy’s attention snapped to the boy, his jaw muscles tightening visibly. “Examine the others. Every one of them p>
I stood and began my grim survey, moving systematically from cage to cage. I crouched beside each child, touching whatever skin I could access through the bars. With every examination, my chest grew heavier with dread.
Poison. Every single child carried it in their system.
Different ages, different wounds, different levels of awareness, but identical toxic signatures flowing through their blood. The dosage wasn’t meant to kill quickly. Instead, it maintained them in a state of weakness and confusion, unable to resist or escape.
“They’ve all been deliberately dosed,” I reported, rising to face Hardy. “Every child here carries the same poison.” I gestured toward the cages, my voice gaining volume. “We have to remove them from this place immediately. We cannot abandon them here p>
“Remove them to where exactly?” Hardy interrupted, his tone sharp but not hostile. “Into the miasma-saturated forest? You might possess
immunity, but they don’t. If we drag them outside now, half will suffocate before we clear the trees p>
I started to protest but stopped myself.
He spoke the truth.
The toxic fog beyond the boulder entrance hadn’t cleared. The atmosphere outside remained thick with poison, and these children, already wounded and weakened by their ordeal, wouldn’t survive prolonged exposure to such conditions.
More than ten captives filled these cages. Carrying them all simultaneously would prove impossible, and even attempting it wouldn’t guarantee their survival.
Unless I could heal them first.
Without explanation, I moved toward a larger cage containing a boy who appeared around twelve years old. Scrapes covered his arms while a dark bruise dominated half his face. More than his physical injuries, though, exhaustion seemed to weigh him down. He remained conscious but barely, his head resting limply against the iron bars.
I reached through the cage and placed my hand on his chest, closing my eyes in concentration.
The moment I focused my abilities, I felt his body’s distress. His sluggish pulse, the toxic haze clouding his blood, the foreign substance suppressing his system. Unlike Hardy’s lieutenants, whose natural strength had made healing them an exhausting ordeal, this boy’s body welcomed my intervention eagerly. It didn’t resist the healing energy.
Minutes passed before his breathing stabilized. Color returned to his pale features. The swelling around his eye diminished noticeably.
Then his eyes focused.
His gaze sharpened gradually, moving from confusion to clarity to understanding.
“You healed me,” he whispered, his voice rough from disuse. “How did you do that p>
I didn’t answer. Explanations would have to wait.
“Hardy,” I called urgently, waving him over. “Break this lock p>
He didn’t hesitate. One powerful yank snapped the metal, and he swung the door wide.
As the boy slowly sat upright, still processing his sudden recovery, I had already moved to the next cage. I dropped beside a younger girl who lay motionless in the corner, her breathing so shallow I could barely detect it.
One by one, I worked through the captives, ignoring the fatigue that began creeping into my muscles.
Each healing drained a portion of my strength, but stopping wasn’t an option.
“Someone’s approaching,” Hardy suddenly hissed.
His expression turned murderous.
Morh Lucia
Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.