"Deon!"
Siona's panicked voice cuts through the air.
All four of us turn toward her, and my eyes follow where she's pointing—her trembling finger aimed directly at the severed monster's head.
Somehow, it's moving.
At first, it's just a faint twitch, but then the motion grows more violent. And before any of us can process what's happening, bones—ribs and spine—begin slithering out from the gaping wound at the base of its severed head, writhing like a thing possessed.
Abandoning its massive corpse to rot, the damn thing is regenerating itself from the head alone… A sight so utterly wrong, so unnatural, that all of us instinctively stagger back in disbelief.
And it all happens just as the sound of chains and grinding metal echoes through the chamber. The iron cage, previously submerged in the small pool at the center of the massive room, begins to rise—slowly, inch by inch… As everyone's thoughts align in an instant.
The monster is regenerating, its grotesque form twisting back to life, while our only escape route is steadily emerging. There's no hesitation. Without waiting for the cage to fully surface, everyone rushes toward it in a frantic scramble, shoving and pushing to get inside even though it hasn't fully surfaced yet.
Then chaos erupts—a perfectly rational reaction given the circumstances, one I can't blame them for. I mean, I would've done the same if I could. But the second I try to stand, a sharp pain shoots through my right leg, and I collapse back down.
Shit. I almost forgot—my calculations had been off when I leaped from that greatsword, and now my right leg is fractured. Running on my own is out of the question.
But before I can even curse myself for it, arms wrap around me. Siona—and three other kids I barely register—grab me from both sides, their grips firm, their movements desperate. They don't say a word. They just pull, drag, push—anything to get me to the rising cage before that monster fully regenerates itself.
And then, somehow—we actually make it.
"Parx… Akh… Solren… Baelthir… Voz…"
The boy I saved earlier chants a spell—somehow, it makes the bones in my right leg feel as if they hadn't just been fractured from my earlier stunt.
"I just realized that healing spells and HP restoration spells are two completely different things," I mutter my thoughts out loud without meaning to—not that anyone around me actually cares about such a thing.
But since my eyes have already wandered, I end up noticing something else. The iron cage… it isn't as cramped as before. No, it feels much more spacious—almost as if—
"Only half of them made it alive… Good. Just as I expected."
A toothless old voice rings out as the iron gate groans open, slicing through my thoughts. A scowl creeps onto my face—something I wouldn't normally let show. But this time, I don't bother holding it back.
Maybe it's the childish nature of my current body. Or maybe I just can't stand the thought of these disgusting bastards—herding us back into our cage—believing they've won over me… Thinking they're smarter.
Thinking they're right about something.
Even if they are.
I hate that.
"We gotta kill these old bastards." The words slip out recklessly—right before the damn curse kicks in, sending a wave of fear and anxiety crashing into my chest.
"Which is why I keep telling you—we need to get out of this place as soon as possible."
Siona, already sprawled on her cot, mutters half-consciously.
"And then what? Say we escape—what happens next? Gideon already told you, the plant root they shoved into our chests will kill us in three years. Not to mention this damn curse. Wait… hold on a second… Is there any way to break it? A dispel magic or something?"
"I already told you, this isn't a curse. Every curse in this damn world can be removed or broken. But a sacred vow? That's permanent. Not even death will free us from it."
That finally gets a reaction out of her.
My words must've struck a nerve because her drowsiness fades just enough for irritation to creep into her voice. Still, she refuses to look at me, keeping her eyes on the wall, curled up on the cot, hugging herself.
But at least she's awake enough to talk, so I continue asking a lot of my questions. "That thing you did earlier… You cast a spell with just one word. How does that even work?"
"If you use the same spell thousands—maybe hundreds of thousands—of times in your life, and your survival constantly depends on how fast you can cast it, your brain eventually forces itself to shorten the process. At some point, you can trigger the spell with just its core command… or even without saying anything at all. And back in school, they drilled the written forms into us so hard that I basically got traumatized. The symbols of those defensive magics are permanently burned into my head."
"That… all sounds like a really complicated way of saying you don't actually know how you do it."
"Most people have at least one or two spells they've used so much that a single word is enough to trigger them."
Siona finally gives up on sleeping, sitting up with her head still bowed as she speaks. "You'll see plenty of others doing it too, so don't act too surprised when it happens again."
"And about that three-year lifespan you mentioned..." Apparently, Siona isn't done talking. "Even if these Karthmere idiots are desperate enough to turn us into weapons—if they actually believe they can win a war with whatever they plan to do to us—do you really think they can conquer eight different kingdoms in just three years?"
"So you're saying the whole Nyxthorn root thing is a lie?"
"Either that, or they have something to counteract it. Something to extend our lives."
"Which means we can't just recklessly escape from this place."
"I know… I know that." Her voice drops lower, frustration boiling just beneath the surface. "It's just—every second I spend locked in this kingdom's dungeon, it feels like another stain on my damn pride."
Slowly, her eyes open—cold, sharp, and filled with a hatred so deep it feels almost inhuman. And maybe, just maybe, now the idea of slaughtering everyone until only seven remain… doesn't seem so unthinkable to her anymore.
Something that could set off an unpredictable chain of events—and anything I can't predict is always a threat.
And just as I try to account for every possibility, my thoughts inevitably drift to that Solmarian boy. About how his presence in all of this feels like a wild variable, one I can't fully grasp… While the more I consider it, the more unease settles in, gnawing at me like a shadow creeping closer with every passing second.
I gotta do something about this…
~~~~~
"Morning."
Siona greets me just as I hop down from the top bunk. I give her a small nod, then let my gaze drift toward the iron bars. Something feels... off. Like a shift too subtle to notice at first, but enough to leave a nagging sense of wrongness.
I turn back to her.
There she is, lounging in almost the exact same position as last night, yet something about her face doesn't match my memory. More freckles scatter across her cheeks and nose, her hair length doesn't quite line up with what I recall… and—
"We got older overnight. I get it."
Oh.
"Did I also…?"
Trailing off deliberately, I raise a hand to the top of my head as if measuring my height.
"Yeah, you're taller too… Though just a bit." She barely glances at me. "So no need to check, I can see it from here."
Now we know that the side effects of Nyxthorn aren't just a hoax after all…
"Get your ass off the bed! Line up properly! Follow the one in front—no stragglers!"
A frail-sounding old man barks orders as he walks down the corridor, his voice barely cutting through the metallic groans of rusted iron doors swinging open one by one.
Soon after, the shuffle of countless bare feet follows—children who, without question, have grown noticeably older since yesterday.
And yet, not a single one of them speaks about it.
They simply move forward, silent and focused, making their way toward the cafeteria.
~~~~~