The half-demon boy felt rough hands dragging him through the sve quarters. His body ached from the brutal treatment he'd received since the guards had taken him from the kitchen. The memory of Lord Vargath's cold voice pronouncing his sentence still rang in his ears: "The Pit has been empty for some time. A fitting pce for this one to contempte his transgressions before execution."

  The girl had escaped—that much he had accomplished. She had fled during the confusion, hopefully finding safety somewhere in the vast compound. Despite the consequences, he couldn't bring himself to regret his intervention.

  "Overseer Vargus, Lord Vargath has ordered this thrall to the Pit for ritual interference," announced the guard. "A capital offense."

  Overseer Vargus examined the boy, his ash-gray skin flushing with anger as he recognized him. "So, Thrall 7249, you've finally done something worthy of your true punishment. Attempting a Blood Bond? Did you think yourself above your station?"

  The guards grinned. Everyone knew what the Pit meant—a death sentence without the mercy of a quick execution. Located beneath the sve quarters, it was where problem sves were discarded and forgotten.

  "Ritual interference is unforgivable," Vargus snarled. "You dared meddle with sacred magic meant only for your betters."

  They reached a heavy iron door set into the floor of a secluded chamber. One guard yanked it open, revealing a dark hole and the sour smell of decay wafting upward. Without ceremony, they pitched Thrall 7249 into the darkness.

  He fell for what seemed like an eternity before crashing onto a dirt floor. Pain nced through his shoulder and hip. Above him, ughter echoed as the door smmed shut, plunging him into absolute darkness.

  For a long moment, he y still, cataloging his injuries. Nothing seemed broken, but his entire body was a testament to the guards' rough handling. The strange warmth he had felt after the incomplete Blood Bond with Lord Drazeth still flowed through his veins—a fragment of power that had transferred before the ritual backfired. The drunk noble had been quick to bme him entirely, ciming the sve had tried to "steal power through a Blood Bond" rather than admitting he had initiated the ritual himself.

  "You're new," a raspy voice came from somewhere in the darkness. "Fresh meat."

  Thrall 7249 tensed, ready for another fight despite his battered condition. He squinted, trying to pierce the gloom. Gradually, his eyes adjusted, revealing faint light filtering through cracks in the ceiling. The space was rger than he'd expected—a vast underground chamber with rough stone walls. Shadowy figures huddled in corners, watching him with wary eyes.

  "Back off," he growled, struggling to his feet. "I've had enough trouble for one day."

  A dry chuckle answered him. "Rex, boy. If we wanted to harm you, we'd have done it while you were unconscious."

  Thrall 7249 blinked. Had he passed out? He couldn't remember. The magical backsh from the interrupted Blood Bond ritual had left him disoriented, not to mention the guards' rough treatment afterward.

  An ancient demon emerged from the shadows, moving with surprising grace despite his apparent age. His skin was pale gray, hanging loosely on a thin frame. Small horns, yellowed with age, curved back from his forehead.

  "I am Thrall 3012," the elderly demon said. "Though I was once called Mentor by my students."

  "Students?" Thrall 7249 asked, suspicious.

  "Indeed. Before I was ensved for my... political indiscretions." The old demon's eyes held a sharp intelligence that belied his frail appearance. "And what brings you to our little sanctuary of the forgotten?"

  Thrall 7249 hesitated before answering. Trust was a luxury he couldn't afford. But something about the old demon's demeanor suggested he might be different from the others.

  "I interrupted a Blood Bond," he finally said. "A drunk noble was trying to force it on a young sve girl in the kitchens during a celebration."

  Several gasps came from the shadows. Interfering with a Blood Bond was almost unheard of among sves—the consequences too severe to contempte.

  "Fascinating," the old demon said, circling Thrall 7249 with newfound interest. "And how, exactly, did you manage to interrupt such a ritual? Blood Bonds are powerful magic, not easily disrupted."

  Thrall 7249 hesitated, considering how much to reveal. "I tried to distract him first—talked about improper alignments and ritual patterns. When that failed, I... substituted myself for the girl. I took her pce. But the noble was too drunk to control the ritual properly. When our blood mixed, something happened. The magic backfired, and I felt some of his power flow into me before everything exploded."

  The old demon's eyes widened. "Impossible. Unless..." He moved closer, peering intently at Thrall 7249. "There's something unusual about your soul structure. I can almost see it, like ripples in still water." His gaze became more focused. "You're a half-blood, aren't you? That might expin part of it, but there's something else... something deeper."

  Thrall 7249 took a step back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "No, I suppose you wouldn't." The old demon gestured around the vast chamber. "Welcome to the Pit, young one. Home to the troublemakers, the rebels, and the inconveniently intelligent."

  As his eyes continued to adjust, Thrall 7249 could make out about twenty other demons of varying ages. Some appeared broken, huddled in corners muttering to themselves. Others watched with calcuting eyes, assessing the newcomer.

  "How long have you been down here?" he asked.

  "Me? Thirty-seven years," the old demon replied without emotion. "Some have been here longer, others less. Time means little in the Pit."

  Thrall 7249 felt a chill run through him. Thirty-seven years in this darkness? Death would have been kinder.

  "We were meant to die down here," the old demon continued, as if reading his thoughts. "And many do. But some of us are too stubborn."

  "What do you eat? Where does the water come from?"

  The old demon pointed to a corner where a small trickle of water ran down the wall into a crude basin. "The masters aren't completely heartless. They drop food down once every few days—not enough for all, but enough to keep some alive. It makes for interesting social dynamics."

  Thrall 7249 understood immediately. The strongest would eat, the weakest would starve. Natural selection at its most brutal.

  "But you don't look starved," he observed.

  The old demon smiled, revealing surprisingly intact teeth. "Intelligence trumps strength in many situations. I have skills that others find valuable. I offer knowledge in exchange for a share of food."

  "What knowledge could possibly matter down here?"

  "The knowledge of survival." The old demon's eyes glinted. "How to slow your heartbeat to preserve energy. How to extract moisture from the walls. How to fight efficiently when necessary. I was a schor once, specializing in demon biology and magic theory."

  Thrall 7249 reassessed the old demon. Not just intelligent, but educated—a rare combination among sves.

  "They threw you in here for being too smart?"

  "They threw me in here for teaching others to be smart," the old demon corrected. "A dangerous activity indeed. Knowledge is power, and power is not meant for our caste."

  Other prisoners had begun to gather around them, curious about the newcomer who had dared to disrupt a Blood Bond.

  "What's your name, boy?" asked a burly demon with a missing eye.

  "Thrall 7249," he answered automatically.

  The one-eyed demon snorted. "Not your number. Your name."

  Thrall 7249 hesitated. He'd never had a proper name. Sves were called by their numbers or derogatory terms like "filth" or "vermin."

  "I don't have one," he admitted.

  The old schor studied him with those penetrating eyes. "You know, you're quite unusual for a thrall. Most would have broken long ago under such conditions."

  "I'm not most thralls," Thrall 7249 replied simply.

  "No, you certainly are not," the old demon agreed. "There's something about you... something hidden beneath the surface."

  Thrall 7249 felt a strange connection to this elderly schor. Perhaps it was their shared outsider status, or maybe it was simply finding someone who seemed to see him—truly see him—for the first time.

  "Now, young one," the old demon said, lowering himself carefully to sit on the ground, "tell me how you came to be here. Not just the Blood Bond incident—I want to know about you. There's something quite unusual about your aura, and I've seen enough souls in my long life to recognize one that doesn't quite fit its vessel."

  Thrall 7249 hesitated. His survival had always depended on keeping his differences hidden, on being overlooked. But here in the Pit, what did he have to lose?

  "I remember things," he said cautiously. "Things I shouldn't know."

  "What kinds of things?"

  "Fighting patterns. Strategy. Words I've never been taught." Thrall 7249 paused. "Sometimes I dream of another pce, with light everywhere and strange devices that move on their own. I've been learning in secret—practicing reading, observing magic when I clean the magisters' quarters. I've even been trying some small magical exercises."

  He flexed his fingers, feeling the strange new energy that had entered him during the incomplete Blood Bond. "And now, after what happened with the ritual... I can feel something different inside me. Something that wasn't there before."

  The old schor leaned forward, interest sparking in his eyes. "Fascinating. Continue."

  As Thrall 7249 began to share carefully selected details of his fragmented memories, others gathered around to listen. In this forgotten pce where death was the expected outcome, he had found, against all odds, something unexpected—an audience willing to hear him, and perhaps, a mentor who might help him understand the strange fshes of memory that haunted him.

  The Pit had been meant as his grave. Perhaps, Thrall 7249 thought, it might instead become his chrysalis.