Third-Person Limited – POV of Unnamed Prisoner

  The cold bit through his torn tunic, but it didn’t matter.

  He flexed his hands, rolling his wrists over his knees, still half-expecting the weight of iron to pull them down. The skin felt too light, almost foreign. Like it wasn’t his own.

  No chains. No collars. No orc guards watching them like cattle.

  They were free.

  The others hadn’t stopped talking since they staggered out of the ruins, their voices blending into the night.

  “We need weapons,” Dorin muttered, pacing. “That orc had a blade. We could’ve taken it.”

  Falk snorted. “You think they wouldn’t notice one of their own missing a sword?”

  “We could be long gone by then.”

  “They’d be on us by morning.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  A sigh. Then, a more tired voice—Harrin, maybe. “Arguing won’t change what we don’t have.”

  “Doesn’t mean we do nothing.”

  They didn’t agree. They never had.

  Then, from somewhere near the pillar, a scoff.

  “That creature killed them like flies.”

  “He saved us,” someone snapped back, quick and sharp. “The Godboss saved us.”

  Another voice, lower, tense. “He also tore through those orcs like they were nothing. Less than half of the warband is left in only two days. How do we know we’re not next?”

  Silence. Just for a breath.

  Then, a nervous chuckle, rough and tired. “Orcs don’t fear. But even they flinched at him.”

  A shift. Someone uneasy. “Whatever he is.”

  No one had an answer.

  Another grumbled that they should’ve run the second the Godboss cut the chains. Someone else muttered that it wasn’t the chains keeping them here in the first place.

  He leaned back against the stone, closing his eyes. They weren’t wrong, but the words felt hollow. They had spent so long speaking in whispers, muttering plans that never came true, hoping for rescues that never arrived.

  And now they were out.

  One by one, the voices faded. Not because the argument had been won, but because exhaustion weighed heavier than caution.

  The sky stretched vast and empty above him. He exhaled, letting the cold seep into his bones. Someone nearby shifted, restless. A few others had already let themselves sink into the silence.

  The last thought he had before sleep took him was that for the first time in months, there were no bars between him and the sky.

  And that should have been enough.

  The wind stirred. A nightbird called. Then, darkness took him.

  perspective—what freedom feels like after months of captivity, how fear lingers even when the chains are gone, and how people react when they don’t know whether to hope or run.

  dialogue does the heavy lifting and tension simmers just beneath the surface. No battles. No action. Just uncertainty. Because sometimes, the weight of silence says more than a battlefield ever could.

  What do you think? Who do you side with—the ones who see Rick as a savior, or the ones who aren’t so sure? Drop your thoughts below! ??