The Shackled Dawn

The first thing Lucian felt was the dirt. Dry, cracked, and as cold as iron beneath him. This world was not the one he once knew… glaring at the unfamiliar surroundings that encompassed him.

When he opened his eyes, the sky bled with twin suns — their amber glow falling across a forest of glistening trees.

His head was pounding, as if the ground itself had struck him. He tried to rise, but his legs faltered and felt weak. He stared at the ground again — the outline of his body scorched a silhouette in the earth.

Then came the sound — boots crashing through the underbrush. Shouts followed, harsh and guttural, words he didn’t understand.

"Vrekh-tahn! Dral'ven kahr!"

Men emerged in armor, black as oil, bearing red banners marked with a crest: a serpent devouring its own tail. Their blades gleamed in the glow of the twin suns with a cruel curve.

Lucian staggered back, gathered the last of the strength in his legs and tried to run, but it was too late. Their tough hands yanked his wrists, slammed him down, and shackled him with iron cuffs.

He considered shaking himself free… but ignored it. Even if he could, he wouldn’t get far with his legs still groggy. The soldiers dragged him on his knees toward a man on horseback.

The soldier had the face of a battle-hardened warrior, marked by a scar across his mouth. His armor was not like the rest — etched in patterns that shimmered like melted bronze beneath the light. He didn’t need to shout to command; his silence was a weight. He lowered his spear, its point grazing Lucian’s neck.

"Rukar!" the man barked.

Lucian didn’t need a translator. The intent was clear.

It meant move.

Just out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the soldiers — and probably their commander — huddled together around the spot they had just found Lucian lying in. A discussion sparked.

Lucian was shoved into a line of three other prisoners, their wrists gnawed raw by iron.

The first was a barrel of a man, broad-shouldered, beard streaked with silver, his grin oddly warm despite the bruises and a missing tooth.

"Name’s Michael," the man said in a rough accent, voice carrying a strange cheer that didn't belong in a place like this. "If you live long enough, you’ll thank the chains. That’s the only thing keeping your head attached right now."

Lucian remained silent, but gave the smallest nod.

The second prisoner gave a sharp huff through her nose. She was young—though the fire in her molten-gold eyes made her seem ageless. Mud caked her scarlet hair, even in chains it didn't dull the authority she carried in every movement.

"Don’t waste your breath on jokes, Michael. He doesn’t understand a word," she muttered, voice stern but not unkind.

Michael chuckled, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter if he understands, Seraphina. A nod's worth more than most words".

The woman shot him glare sharp enough to cut iron. "And stop calling me Seraphina... it's Sera," she snapped, her voice echoing just enough to make a few soldiers turn their heads. She lowered it quickly, muttering through gritted teeth, "Say it right."

Michael's grin only widened. He leaned forward forward, eyes dancing with mischief. "Say it right. Sera. Ser-a-phiiina." He drew the syllables out in sing-song mockery until he burst into laughter that shook his broad shoulders.

Lucian couldn't help it. A thin, nervous laugh slipped past his lips.

The third had pale eyes that gleamed under dark brows, sharp features cut in shadow. He studied Luke as though weighing him on invisible scales, his silence heavier than the clamor around them.

Finally when the guards shifted out of earshot, he spoke. His voice smooth, low, and deliberate.

"Uriel," he said, inclining his head slightly. "Remember it. If we rot in a prion together, you'll want someone who listens... not someone who can't shut his mouth". He added, gesturing over to Michael.

Lucian was hesitant to speak, since he didn’t trust anyone locked up in chains. He raised a hand to his chest and muttered: "Luke… my name’s Luke."

Seraphina offered him a brief smile. Michael clapped his shackles together in mock applause.

"He speaks!" he cheered.

Luke even laughed — short, nervous, strange in the pit of his stomach.

The stomping of boots again. The soldiers were on the move. The commander’s men disbanded and took up their positions in the squad. Luke felt their glaring stares as they passed by.

They’re definitely gonna carve me up. Should I trust these three? Trusting people is like lending them your toothbrush. Necessary sometimes… but you always regret it later.
I’ve got to find a way to escape. I just need to be patient.

Night fell like a curtain. The path grew darker with every passing minute. One by one, each soldier lit their torch and unsheathed their blade, ready for whatever lurked in the forest.

Luke noticed a lack of soldiers in the rear and felt the strength returning to his legs.

This is my chance. I’d rather try surviving out there than surrounded by people I don’t know.

But doubt gnawed at him . His eyes flicked to the three strangers he'd just met. Bound by the same chains, but at least they were human. Out there... he had no idea what awaited. He thought of the crest of the serpent devouring itself, of the foreign words barked like commands. Which was worse—captivity among enemies, or freedom in the unknown?

The thought lingered for a moment. Then, far away, a howl cut the night. A sharp, alien screech followed, echoing through the trees. The soldiers stiffened, their torches flaring against the dark as they drew their blades. The commander lifted his hand and the column halted, every helmet tilting toward the blackness.

Luke's heart thudded. Now.

He gathered all the strength in his legs and bolted into the trees. Branches whipped his face as he tore through the undergrowth, every breath like fire in his chest. Behind him, a voice barked a command, but no one followed. The soldiers were more afraid of what lurked in the forest than of one runaway prisoner.

Luke didn't stop until his lungs screamed. Then, gasping, he clawed his way up the nearest tree, latching onto hooks and crevices, his arms shaking but refusing to give way. Bark bit into his palms, and his shackles rattled with every movement. Higher and higher until at last he found a branch wide enough to hold him.

He pressed his back to the trunk, breath ragged, sweat dripping into his eyes. For the first time since waking in this nightmare, he was alone.

Then as his breath steadied, his gaze caught the horizon.

Through the forest canopy rose a castle. Its walls, massive and ancient. Vines and moss clung to its stonework, as though nature itself tried to reclaim them. Torches flickered along its ramparts, a constellation of flame against the dark. For a moment Luke felt something strange—relief, almost hope. A place built by hands, shaped by purpose. Proof that this world wasn't all wilderness and monsters.

He closed his eyes, letting himself imagine—shelter, warmth, answers. A chance to understand what had happened to him.

But then it came.

A sound so low it rattled the marrow in his bones. A growl, deep and layered, more felt than heard. The kind of sound that made every instinct in him scream to hide, to stay utterly still.

Luke's eyes snapped open. He clung tighter to the branch, straining to convince himself it was only a wolf. Wolves he knew. Wolves he could picture. Wolves made sense.

The illusion shattered when he saw it.

A wolf—its body limp, head lolling—dangling from a maw that could have swallowed it whole. The beast that carried it stepped into view, its massive head illuminated by a sliver of moonlight. Piercing yellow eyes locked onto Luke's.

He froze.

Every branch around him seemed to tremble. Leaves shivered as the thing moved, and though he couldn't yet see it's full form, he knew—it was climbing. Climbing after him.

His breath caught. His chest tightened. He'd spent years running from reality and here he was, cornered in a place that didn't care who he was, what he'd failed to do, or how badly he wanted to run.

And then came the truth. Cold. Unavoidable.

This world wasn’t an escape.

It was punishment.