Several days had passed since Astar's inexplicable arrival in the mines.

  He still didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he kept working. Every day bled into the next—dirt, cold stone underfoot, the endless clanging of pickaxes. His muscles ached constantly, his fingers were numb, and his skin had cracked and bled in places from the relentless friction.

  Rest was a formality, and the food was miserable. After each shift, they were fed a strange, tasteless porridge and water, then herded back into the dungeons, where they collapsed onto the cold, wet ground, hoping to close their eyes for even a moment. But sleep brought no relief—his body didn’t recover, and his mind was torn apart by emotional exhaustion.

  "This is worse than I ever imagined… Slaving away in the comfort of Labyrinth’s office was bliss compared to this," Astar thought as he stretched his stiff muscles before beginning another day, trying to ease the pain even a little.

  In all these days, he hadn’t found a single crystal. And each day, his fear grew.

  "Why haven’t they punished me yet?"

  Watching the other prisoners, he began to see a pattern. As long as someone worked with complete effort, even if they didn’t find any crystals, they were spared. But if someone slacked off or only pretended to work, the guards reacted immediately, turning the moment into a brutal lesson for the rest.

  "Seems they value hard work regardless of results. Maybe this is some kind of penal colony? But then why the hell am I here?" he asked himself.

  After the initial shock of those first days, Astar managed to regain a semblance of composure. After all, he’d experienced rough conditions on Earth too. He was furious that his freedom and everything he’d worked for had been trampled so cruelly. He didn’t know whether to blame God, his parents, or someone else entirely, but one thing was certain—he was angry.

  It felt like he had started to hallucinate about freedom and a peaceful life all over again, building survival strategies for the mine. His brain, conditioned for years to operate in crisis mode, didn’t easily switch off. Old instincts quickly adapted to new circumstances, and his predatory nature began to stir again.

  Astar realized there was no point trying to logically explain how he’d ended up in this strange world. But what could be reasoned out was how to squeeze every last advantage from the situation.

  "Alright… as long as I keep working hard, I have a chance to survive."

  That thought became his anchor. He focused on every strike of his pickaxe, forcing out the pain and fear.

  On one of those relentless days, when his muscles were barely functioning, Astar suddenly noticed a faint gleam in the rock before him. His heart stopped—then kicked into overdrive.

  "Is that… is that it?!"

  He shoved the rubble aside and dropped his pickaxe, leaning in close. There, nestled deep in the stone, was a crystal—small, but glowing like blue fire.

  "My first… after all this time," he thought. "Ha… ha-ha! Well then..." He exhaled, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

  "Looks like I get to live a little longer!"

  His hands trembled. He glanced around to see if any guards were watching. Then, carefully, he reached out, intending to pry it free.

  Astar brushed his fingers against the crystal, but the moment his skin touched its glowing surface, a shock ran through him. He jerked back, expecting pain—but instead felt something entirely different. A warm, gentle wave washed through his body, filling him with a sense of power and vitality.

  "What… is this?" he whispered, staring at his fingers, which now seemed to shimmer faintly.

  Panic surged through him. "If the guards see this, they'll think I'm up to something. I can’t afford to hesitate!"

  He drew a deep breath, forced down the fear, and reached for the crystal again. This time, despite the strange tingling, he grabbed it firmly and pulled it from the rock. The crystal lay in his palm, cool to the touch—yet it felt alive.

  At that very moment, something began pouring into him. It felt like a stream of pure energy coursing through every cell in his body. The muscle pain began to fade. The cuts on his fingers sealed before his eyes. The exhaustion that had haunted him for days melted away.

  "What the hell is happening?!" Astar thought, stunned.

  But there was no time to figure it out. He glanced around, spotted a nearby cart, and knew—if he waited even a second too long, it could cost him dearly.

  Clutching the crystal in his hand, he bolted toward the cart, doing his best not to betray the shock or relief swirling inside him. His legs moved swiftly, his body responding in a way it hadn’t for days.

  “It’s fine…” he muttered under his breath as he dropped the crystal into the cart.

  As it hit the pile of other crystals, he could almost hear a faint click inside his mind, as though some invisible link had just snapped. The energy that had been flowing into him vanished in an instant, leaving behind only a lingering warmth in his chest.

  "These aren’t just precious stones…" Astar realized as he quickly made his way back to his station.

  He picked up his pickaxe again, surprised by the renewed freshness in his muscles. Pretending to stay focused on his work, Astar’s thoughts spun around what had just happened.

  "These crystals… it’s like… I don’t know what happened, but something inside them gave me strength. It even healed my wounds… The laws of physics here must be completely different. There’s nothing like this on Earth."

  He looked up, scanning the area to see if anyone had noticed. Everything appeared normal: prisoners swung their pickaxes at the walls, guards watched in silence from the shadows.

  "I wonder if the others can heal too when they touch the crystals… But no one else seems to react like I did. Better play it safe—act tired, or the guards might start asking questions."

  Astar continued working at his usual sluggish pace, but now he knew—there was something far more important hidden within this mine. And that gave him something he hadn’t felt in days: hope.

  Time passed slowly, and each day stretched into an eternity.

  The mine’s routine was brutal and monotonous, but Astar had learned to adapt. He knew not to linger too long, but also never to appear too full of energy.

  Whenever he found a crystal, he would pace himself carefully, taking just long enough to carry it to the cart without drawing suspicion. Not too fast, not too slow. During these moments, he felt the crystal’s energy soaking into him—easing his exhaustion, healing his wounds, restoring his strength. But he knew better than to rely on it too much.

  "Just enough to recharge. Then get rid of it. No need to get beaten half to death," he reasoned.

  Over time, Astar noticed something else: in the discarded rubble, tiny crystal shards would sometimes remain—so small that no one else paid them any attention. The guards didn’t seem to consider them valuable at all.

  "This is my chance," he realized one day, spotting a sliver no larger than a grain of sand glinting inside a chunk of stone.

  Astar pretended to be fixated on it, like a starving child discovering a crumb of food. He crouched down, plucked the shard free, and swiftly slipped it into his mouth.

  From the outside, it just looked like a prisoner so far gone he was trying to chew on rocks. A few nearby glanced at him, but said nothing. In a place like this, where madness and starvation were constant companions, no one questioned strange behavior. Everyone was too busy surviving.

  "Please… don’t let them notice," he whispered to himself, clenching his teeth as the shard began to dissolve on his tongue.

  It melted slowly, leaving behind a strange tingling sensation. A warm wave flowed through his body, restoring his strength. His fatigue ebbed, and the raw cuts on his hands began to heal.

  "It worked again..."

  Astar decided he would keep doing this whenever he got the chance. He began to fake interest in random stones, occasionally lifting them to his face as if inspecting them—and slipping a shard into his mouth, only to spit the rest out half an hour later.

  From the outside, it looked pitiful, even absurd—but no one, not even the guards, gave it a second glance. To them, he was just another broken prisoner, slowly losing his mind.

  And so, an entire month passed…

  To Astar’s surprise, his body had grown stronger than the others’. It seemed the crystals didn’t just heal—they accumulated inside him. He had learned to recover in secret, using the shards to regain strength, all while keeping up the facade. To the guards and fellow prisoners, he was still just the mute fool who worked to survive and nothing more.

  "Stay invisible. Thanks to these crystals, I finally have a tool for survival," he told himself, clinging to the fragile spark of hope.

  Every day remained a kind of hell, but deep down, Astar held onto his faith in himself. Slowly, he began to notice patterns in the guards’ behavior. He studied how the mine was organized and began adapting accordingly.

  Over the course of that month, Astar gradually adjusted to the brutal rhythm of this new reality. The panic that had gripped him at first was replaced by cold determination. He observed. He remembered. He adapted.

  One of the turning points came when Astar met Dalanar—a grim man he had first encountered on his very first day. Astar had immediately noticed that this man was different from the other prisoners. Dalanar’s face was lined with scars, his black hair always tied back in a tight tail, and his gaze was weary but firm. There was confidence in his movements, and a quiet authority in the way he held himself—like someone used to being in command.

  Astar quickly realized the man was watching him. From time to time, Dalanar would glance at him thoughtfully, as if trying to figure something out. At first, it made Astar nervous, but over time, he noticed that the man didn’t show any hostility. On the contrary, he occasionally stepped in to ward off other aggressive inmates.

  "Maybe he figured out I’m not insane. I did try to speak on the first day, even if he didn’t understand a word," Astar thought, swinging his pickaxe.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Dalanar had tried to speak to him a few times. His voice was low and gravelly, and his words sounded like a mix of harsh syllables and strange intonations. Astar, of course, understood nothing, but he made a quick decision: he would play the part of the mute fool, simply nodding or using gestures to show agreement or attention.

  It worked. The man seemed to assume Astar didn’t know the language for whatever reason. Still, he continued talking, sometimes repeating the same words as if trying to get the meaning across through context.

  That was how Astar began to learn—and grow closer to his hardened companion in misery.

  He started picking out individual words, linking them to gestures or actions. Slowly, he learned the man’s name: Dalanar. It came up often when other prisoners addressed him. Sometimes it was spoken with respect, sometimes with fear.

  "This Dalanar… he’s not here by accident. He moves like a soldier—or something similar. I need to figure out who he is and how he survives."

  Astar kept listening silently. Sometimes he nodded, sometimes pointed at something to show he understood. It might have looked ridiculous from the outside, but gradually Dalanar began to treat him more calmly, as if taking the mute fool under his invisible wing. Though Astar had once been the leader, the one offering help to others in his “previous life,” he now understood the value of staying low and close to someone dependable.

  Their silent bond slowly solidified. Astar continued to observe Dalanar, picking up new words along the way. He still didn’t understand most of what was said—but he had begun to grasp the tone and intent of conversations around him.

  The days passed, blending into an endless cycle.

  Astar kept up the act of the mute fool, but now it came more naturally. His strategy with the crystal shards was working—he no longer suffered the unbearable physical agony of the early weeks. In fact, he had noticed that his body was getting stronger.

  Daily labor, constant digging, and the slow absorption of crystal energy were steadily transforming his physique. The skin on his hands had toughened, and his muscles had become defined. He’d always kept fit, but now… now he was stronger than ever.

  "Damn… compared to this, a gym is a joke. Then again, without those miraculous crystals, I’d have dropped dead from exhaustion a long time ago," he thought, glancing at his reflection in the occasional pool of drinking water they were given.

  But the change wasn’t just physical. His mind had shifted, too. He still feared the guards, but he had learned to live with it. Every step, every action now came from cold calculation. Astar had started to accept this place as a new reality—and began to plan how to survive it.

  "As long as I’m here, I need to adapt. I can’t let anyone think I’m weak or useless. Especially those horned bastards."

  His interactions with Dalanar were finally paying off. Through their quiet connection, Astar had learned to isolate frequently used words in the language. Gradually, he began to understand their meaning—"food," "work," "crystal," "stop."

  It wasn’t much, but it opened a door. Astar even began to catch the intent behind certain guard commands, which helped him avoid drawing attention to himself.

  He swung his pickaxe in silence, but his mind was always busy—studying anything that might help him survive. He watched the guards, the prisoners, the rhythms of the mine. And slowly, he began to understand how things worked.

  With each passing day, Astar became more convinced: his act as the mute fool was working. The guards accepted it. Even some of the prisoners had started to ignore him completely.

  "Invisibility is power," he thought, pressing another tiny crystal shard into his mouth, tasting the grit and dust. "But what the hell do I need this power for? I was supposed to have a free, beautiful life—not slave away in the mines of some parallel world!"

  Remembering his past, anger flared inside him. He started swinging harder.

  "Damn it… I just want to lie in a clean bed and eat a decent meal… Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Each curse was punctuated by a brutal strike of the pickaxe.

  Thanks to the changes in his body, breaking through stone had become easier. He was finding more crystals now. Only then did he notice something else—he had started receiving double food portions. But even more than that, what truly pleased him was the increased chance to touch those magical crystals more often.

  Work went on as usual, the mine's drone becoming part of the background—an endless hum like a hive’s constant buzz. Astar swung his pickaxe with quiet focus, doing his best to remain invisible, when suddenly, loud shouts broke out to his left.

  He turned his head and saw two prisoners locked in a vicious fight. Their voices cut through the rhythm of pickaxes, and their movements were so sharp, so violent, that they immediately drew attention.

  "Idiots..." Astar thought, instinctively dropping his gaze to avoid looking too interested.

  It all happened fast: nearby guards charged toward the brawl, their hulking bodies thundering across the stone. What followed was a brutal crackdown—whips cracked, boots stomped, screams were muffled beneath violence. Around them, all the other prisoners quickly refocused on their tasks, trying not to attract any of that wrath.

  Astar returned to his pickaxe, forcing himself to look absorbed in his work.

  "The less I see, the longer I live," he reminded himself.

  He swung again—and the sound that followed was different.

  Clang! A bright, ringing note echoed, like metal striking something solid—but not stone. Astar froze.

  Emerging from the rock before him was a crystal—this time a good-sized one. Blue, luminous, shimmering as though it held tremendous energy. Its surface gleamed, drawing the eye.

  "A fine catch!"

  But excitement quickly gave way to tension. A dangerous, reckless, and incredibly tempting thought crept into his mind… All the guards were focused on the fight. The nearby prisoners kept their heads down, avoiding attention.

  "No one’s looking… What if I—"

  Without wasting a moment, he reached for the crystal, trying to pry it free. As his fingers touched its surface, that now-familiar warmth pulsed through his body. It felt like life—like raw strength—but Astar crushed the sensation, forcing himself to stay focused.

  "Get a grip, idiot. Don’t risk it. But then again… taking risks is what got me out of hell before. Have I really grown so soft I’m scared of a challenge?"

  He stood still, the crystal in his hand, torn between instinct and caution. But his body, driven by something primal, decided for him.

  In one swift motion, as if in a trance, he shoved the crystal into his mouth.

  In that instant, the world seemed to stop. A rush of energy surged through him—pleasurable, intoxicating, overwhelming. The power he had once felt from tiny fragments was nothing compared to this.

  The flow of strength tore through his body, pulsing with almost unbearable intensity, concentrating behind his forehead. Astar felt his muscles fill with power, his wounds and cuts sealing up at a supernatural speed.

  "God… this is incredible!" he thought, euphoric.

  The energy felt like a river of heat, cleansing him from the inside, leaving behind an almost divine clarity. He felt as if he could lift the whole mine with his bare hands. His thoughts sharpened—like someone had blown the dust off long-forgotten corners of his mind.

  And no one had noticed.

  All the guards were distracted by the fight. The other prisoners, numb to violence, didn’t even glance up.

  "No one saw… Thank God, that was perfect timing!"

  His heart pounded wildly. Forcing himself to breathe deeply, he returned to his pickaxe, doing everything he could to mask the surge of excitement.

  "This power… it’s real. But I can’t give myself away. I need to act like nothing happened."

  He resumed working, his strikes steady, but inside, his body felt reborn. The fatigue that had haunted him since day one vanished. Sweat poured from his body—thick, rancid sweat, as if all the toxins and illnesses were being flushed out through his pores. Anywhere else, the smell would’ve drawn attention immediately—but here, it blended right in with the mine’s overwhelming stench.

  "Whoever owns this mine… if they can casually possess crystals like this, what kind of power do they have?" he thought, casting a quick glance at the guards still punishing the fighters.

  He barely had time to raise his pickaxe again before one of the guards looked directly at him.

  The guard—tall, massive, with dark red skin and cruel eyes—paused, as if he’d noticed something. His gaze lingered on Astar longer than usual.

  Astar’s heart skipped a beat, then began pounding in his chest like a drum.

  "Shit. Why did I look at him?! I’m screwed!"

  His mouth, stuffed with the crystal, made it nearly impossible to breathe properly. The crystal was far too large to go unnoticed—his cheek bulged visibly, and there was no hiding it.

  “If he realizes what I’m doing…”

  Astar felt a wave of cold wash over him. A thousand scenarios raced through his mind, and each of them ended with him being brutally punished.

  But suddenly, the guard laughed. A rough, guttural sound—almost a growl. He raised his hand and pointed straight at Astar.

  "Mura-s al! Ha-ha-ha!" his loud voice rang out, drawing the attention of the other guards.

  They turned, and their faces broke into mocking grins. One puffed out his cheeks, mimicking someone who had filled their mouth with stones. The others joined in, making exaggerated faces and pretending to chew. Their laughter echoed through the mine like a cruel chorus.

  Astar understood: over the past few weeks, he had truly become the local fool. Their reaction made it clear—they didn’t take him seriously at all.

  "Now that’s luck..." he thought, carefully hiding his overwhelming relief.

  He shook his head slowly, pretending not to understand why they were laughing, and went back to swinging his pickaxe with renewed vigor. While the guards continued their mockery, he kept sucking on the crystal as if it were just another rock—like always.

  "I got out of that one… But I need to be more careful. Next time, I might not be so lucky."

  He returned to work, keeping up the appearance of a harmless fool, while inside his mind, he replayed every moment, analyzing it to avoid future mistakes.

  The day dragged on, but Astar, charged with the crystal’s energy, worked like never before.

  He felt power pulsing through every cell of his body. The crystal had shrunk, but it was still large enough to show—if someone looked closely. That made him move with extra caution.

  During the meal, he tried to stay out of view. No normal prisoner could work like he did, especially not without collapsing from hunger. So he had to fake weakness, leaning against the wall as if too tired to stand straight while eating.

  Each spoonful of the tasteless porridge was torture—it was harder than he expected to chew with a crystal in his mouth. Astar made his movements slow and dull, trying not to attract any attention.

  "If anyone notices… No. Don’t even think about it."

  Fortunately, no one seemed to suspect a thing. He still looked like the same desperate fool who sometimes chewed rocks out of sheer madness.

  After the shift ended, he followed the other prisoners back to their cell. They marched in silence—only the guards paid any attention to the group. Up ahead loomed the heavy door of the cell where Astar had spent every night.

  Inside, he instinctively sat next to Dalanar, no longer even noticing the rancid stench. The man immediately leaned back against the wall and began to doze. Astar mimicked him, settling in and closing his eyes, pretending to be worn out.

  But he wasn’t tired. On the contrary—his body buzzed with energy. His muscles pulsed with strength, and his mind felt clearer than ever. His heartbeat raced, not from fear or anxiety, but from the powerful current still flowing through him.

  "I’ve never felt this strong in my life. Not even when I was training back on Earth!"

  He clenched his fist and marveled at the way his body responded—fluid and precise, as if resistance had vanished.

  "These crystals… they’re changing me."

  Astar turned his head slowly, observing the others. Most were asleep or drifting into unconsciousness, their bodies frail and broken. The contrast between them and his own condition was jarring.

  "If I can use this power right, I’ll have a real chance to survive… No, more than that. I’ll have a chance to escape this hell."

  With that thought, he allowed himself to relax and close his eyes. Sleep didn’t come, but he lay still, letting no one see he was fully awake.

  His mind, fueled by the crystal’s energy, began building new plans, strategies, ideas. "I need time. I need to understand how they work. And above all… I need to stay in the shadows until the real chance to escape appears."

  With that thought, Astar began to drift toward sleep. His body, warm and brimming with power, sank into a pleasant void. The warmth flowing from within spread through his limbs like an invisible stream of life.

  But something strange was happening.

  Unnoticed by him, faint wisps of steam began to rise from his skin. They were nearly invisible in the dark—thin tendrils, warm but not hot, like a continuation of the energy from the crystal still dissolving within him.

  At first, it was barely perceptible. But gradually, it grew. The steam thickened, forming a light mist around his body. The crystal inside him had nearly dissolved, releasing one final surge of power.

  And then something strange happened…

  DONG!

  A loud, resonant chime rang out inside his mind—like the toll of a colossal bell, distant but powerful enough to shake the very core of his skull.

  Kgah… Astar’s eyes snapped open. His muscles tensed, and his heart skipped a beat.

  He clenched his fists, as if bracing for a fight—but then froze, stunned.

  Because he was no longer in the cell.

  He was somewhere else—somewhere that resembled space, yet unlike any cosmos he’d ever imagined. There were no stars… only swirling sparks, orbs of flame suspended in the void, circling around him in strange, silent patterns.