By his tenth year, the half-demon boy had developed systems for survival that impressed even the veteran sves. What he cked in physical strength, he made up for with cunning and observation.

  The sve quarters of Infernum were a byrinth of corridors, chambers, and forgotten spaces carved into volcanic rock. Most thralls knew only the paths between their sleeping quarters, work stations, and feeding areas. Venturing elsewhere invited punishment—or worse, accusations of escape attempts.

  But the boy had mapped much more.

  During his few free hours, while others rested their weary bodies, he explored. He discovered narrow maintenance tunnels too small for adult demons, hidden alcoves behind loose wall stones, and blind spots in the overseers' patrol routes. He created a mental map more detailed than any sve before him had bothered to compile.

  This morning, he crouched in one such hiding pce—a small cavity behind a heating duct that ran near the kitchens. Through a crack in the stonework, he could observe without being seen.

  "Where is that useless half-breed?" an overseer growled, his barbed whip twitching in his hand. "He's assigned to pot scrubbing today."

  The boy remained perfectly still. He had already completed the assigned work an hour earlier than expected, but experience had taught him that efficiency often earned more work rather than rest. Better to disappear until the next shift change.

  When the overseer moved on, the boy slipped from his hiding pce and darted down a narrow passage. His destination was a small forgotten storage room he had discovered months ago. A ventition shaft had colpsed there decades earlier, and rather than repair it, the overseers had simply sealed the room and created a new storage space elsewhere.

  Inside, he had assembled his treasures—scraps of cloth to make his sleeping mat more comfortable, a blunted kitchen knife too worn for cooking use but still valuable for prying and scraping, a collection of smooth stones he used for bartering with other children, and most precious of all, a handful of books deemed too damaged for noble use and discarded.

  Though sves were forbidden from learning to read, something inside him had recognized the symbols on the pages. In stolen moments, he had pieced together their meaning, teaching himself rudimentary reading skills. The knowledge felt strangely familiar, as if he was remembering rather than learning.

  He pulled out his most recent acquisition—a tattered manual on basic demon biology. The cover was scorched and most pages water-damaged, but enough remained legible to be useful. He turned carefully to the chapter on half-breeds.

  "Mixed-blood demons typically manifest traits of predominant parentage," he read slowly, mouthing the words. "Physical development may be deyed compared to pure-blooded counterparts, but magical affinity often compensates with unexpected manifestations between ages twelve and sixteen."

  Hope flickered in his chest. Perhaps his current weakness was temporary. If he could survive until these "manifestations" occurred, he might finally have the means to defend himself.

  He continued reading until he heard the shift change bell echo through the corridors. Carefully returning the book to its hiding pce, he slipped out and rejoined the flow of sves moving toward the kitchens.

  "You're getting better at disappearing," whispered Ma, a female sve child with ash-gray skin and small curved horns. She was one of the few who didn't actively torment him, though neither was she a friend. In the sve quarters, friendship was a luxury few could afford.

  "Don't know what you mean," the boy responded cautiously, scrubbing at a massive iron pot.

  Ma snorted, plunging her hands into greasy water. "The overseers had search parties looking for you this morning. Vrag told them you were probably trying to escape."

  The boy's stomach tightened. Escape attempts carried the harshest punishments. "I was just working in the lower store rooms."

  "Save your lies for the overseers," Ma said. "I saw you coming from the east passage. Nothing down there but the old colpsed sections."

  He remained silent, assessing whether Ma presented a threat. She hadn't reported him yet, which suggested she wanted something.

  "I won't tell," she continued, confirming his suspicion. "But I want to know your hiding spots. Vrag has been getting worse tely. I need somewhere to go when he's in one of his moods."

  The boy considered his options. Sharing his secrets was dangerous, but having an ally—even a temporary one based on mutual need rather than trust—could be valuable.

  "I'll show you one pce," he finally said. "Not my best spot. If it stays secret, maybe I'll show you others."

  Ma nodded, apparently satisfied with this arrangement. "There's something else you should know. Overseer Vargus has been asking about you. Not the usual questions. He wanted to know if you've shown any... special abilities."

  The boy frowned. Overseer Vargus was known for his cruelty and ambition. His interest could only mean trouble.

  "Why would I have special abilities?" he asked.

  Ma shrugged. "Rumors say some half-breeds develop unusual powers. Most don't survive long enough for anyone to notice, but you've sted. Maybe Vargus thinks you're hiding something."

  The conversation ended as an overseer approached, but the warning lingered in the boy's mind. He would need to be even more careful now.

  Over the following weeks, the boy expanded his network of allies among the sve children. None were friends—trust remained a luxury—but he established cautious mutual-aid arrangements with those intelligent enough to see the benefits of cooperation.

  There was Ma, who could steal small food items from the kitchens; Drak, a hunched boy with an extra eye who always knew when overseers were approaching; Se, whose fingers were dexterous enough to untie any knot or pick simple locks; and Krull, a mute giant of a sve child whose intimidating presence could deter lesser bullies.

  Each had their reasons for tolerating the half-breed they would normally scorn. He offered them hiding pces, early warnings about overseer inspections, and intelligence about which nobles were visiting and thus which areas to avoid.

  Together, they formed an unofficial network that improved all their chances of survival, though each remained ready to abandon the others if necessary.

  "Overseer Vargus is coming with inspectors," Drak warned one afternoon, his third eye blinking rapidly—a sure sign of his nervousness. "They're selecting sves for the lower mines."

  The lower mines were notorious. Few sves returned from those depths, where toxic gases and cave-ins were common. It was a assignment typically given to troublemakers or those deemed too weak to be worth feeding.

  "When?" the boy asked.

  "Now. They're starting with the west quarters."

  The boy's mind raced through options. The obvious move would be to hide, but if he was discovered missing during a formal inspection, punishment would be severe. Instead, he made a different calcution.

  "Tell everyone to look busy but inefficient," he instructed. "Not enough to be punished, but enough to be overlooked. The inspectors want strong, obedient sves, not troublemakers or the weak."

  As the inspection party moved through the kitchens, the boy hunched his shoulders and fumbled slightly with the pots, careful to keep his unusual eyes downcast. He made himself appear smaller, weaker, less desirable for difficult bor.

  Vargus paused beside him, the overseer's massive frame blocking the light. "This one," he said, prodding the boy with his whip. "What's your designation, half-breed?"

  "Thrall 7249, master," the boy responded, his voice deliberately meek.

  "Looks too small for the mines," observed one of the inspectors. "Hardly worth the ration cost."

  Vargus studied the boy with narrowed eyes. "Don't let size fool you. This one survives when others don't. There's something... different about him."

  The boy kept his expression bnk while his heart raced. Vargus suspected something unusual about him—something valuable or dangerous.

  "We need strong backs for the new tunnels," the inspector insisted. "This runt would colpse after one shift."

  To the boy's relief, the inspection team moved on, selecting rger, stronger sves. But Vargus's lingering gaze promised future attention.

  That night, as the sve children huddled on their thin mats, the boy y awake pnning. He needed better protection. His growing network provided some security, but Vargus's interest meant he needed more resources—more information, more leverage, more power.

  Silently, he slipped from his mat and made his way to one of his secret pces—the colpsed storage room with his hidden books. Inside, he removed a loose stone from the wall to reveal a small cavity where he had begun storing his most valuable finds.

  There were scraps of food he had dried to preserve, small tools he had scavenged, and a pouch containing objects he used for trading—polished stones, pieces of colored gss, bits of metal fashioned into crude jewelry. These represented power in the sve quarters—the power to barter for protection or information.

  More recently, he had started a new collection: information. On scraps of parchment salvaged from waste bins, he recorded what he learned about the overseers—their habits, preferences, weaknesses. Which ones could be bribed with small trinkets. Which ones harbored secret vices. Which ones might look the other way for the right incentive.

  He believed knowledge would ultimately be his greatest protection. If he could predict what others would do, he could prepare. If he understood how power worked in this world, perhaps he could one day cim some for himself.

  As he carefully sorted his meager treasures, memories from his former life flickered at the edges of his consciousness—strange images of devices he couldn't name, concepts without context. Though still locked behind magical barriers, fragments of Kai's human knowledge sometimes surfaced as intuition or unusual insights.

  "I will survive this," he whispered to himself, a rare moment of self-encouragement. "I will find a way."

  Outside his hiding pce, the sve quarters continued their restless sleep cycle, unaware of the unusual mind developing in their midst. To them, he was just another half-breed likely to die before maturity. To Vargus, he was a curiosity worth watching.

  But to himself, he was becoming something else entirely—a survivor learning the rules of a game he intended to master.