8. Zylpha

8

ZYLPHA

I wake with a splitting headache, the world spinning as I try to focus my eyes. The first thing that hits me is the stench—a nauseating mix of salt, sweat, and despair. I'm in some kind of hold, the wooden planks creaking beneath me with each roll of the waves.

"Shit," I mutter, tugging at my wrists. Cold metal bites into my skin. I'm chained to the wall like a dog.

My eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the cracks above. Bodies crowd the space around me, hunched figures with hollow eyes and tear-stained faces. Some whimper softly, others stare blankly ahead. We're all prisoners here.

I scan the hold, searching for anything I can use. My daggers are gone, along with the lockpicks I'd had tucked along my body. They've stripped me of everything useful.

The air is thick, almost suffocating. It reeks of piss and vomit, making my stomach churn. I swallow hard, fighting the urge to retch.

"Where are we?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

A woman beside me lifts her head. "Minotaur ship," she whispers. "And I doubt we are heading for Milthar."

My blood runs cold. I yank at my chains again, ignoring the pain as the metal digs deeper. There has to be a way out of this. I refuse to end up in another cage, to lose the freedom I've only just begun to taste.

The ship lurches suddenly, sending us sprawling. Someone screams. In the chaos, I catch a glimpse of our captors through the hatch above—massive, muscled forms with curved horns jutting from their skulls. Their laughter booms down to us, a reminder of how small and powerless we are.

I grit my teeth, anger burning away my fear. I've survived dark elf slavers and brutal slums. I'll be damned if I let these overgrown tauras beat me.

I work my fingers along the edge of my boot, feeling for the small pin I'd hidden there. My heart races as I fumble with it, praying to whatever gods might be listening that the minotaurs missed this one thing.

Got it. I almost sob with relief as I pull the tiny metal sliver free.

Careful not to draw attention, I start working on the lock. The chains are crude, but effective. It takes all my concentration to manipulate the pin in the darkness.

A soft click. The manacle springs open.

I freeze, waiting to see if anyone noticed. The other prisoners remain huddled in misery, oblivious to my efforts. No alarm sounds from above.

Slowly, I start on the second lock. Sweat trickles down my back as I work, every creak of the ship making me jump.

I'm so focused on the task that I almost miss the change in atmosphere. The air grows thick, oppressive. It's like all the warmth has been sucked out of the hold.

Heavy footsteps thud above, coming closer. I shove the pin back into my boot just as the hatch swings open.

A massive figure descends the stairs, ducking to avoid hitting his horns on the low ceiling. The minotaur Captain. His presence fills the cramped space, radiating cold authority.

I shrink back against the wall, trying to make myself invisible. But his gaze sweeps the hold, landing on me with unnerving precision.

He strides forward, stopping just inches away. His presence sucks all the air out of the room, almost dampening the energy. It's like…the opposite of magic.

I can smell the leather of his armor, see the scars crisscrossing his chest. When he speaks, his voice is a low rumble that vibrates through my bones.

"You. Human."

I'm fucked.

I hold my breath as the Captain's massive hand clamps around my arm, hauling me to my feet. My heart hammers against my ribs as I fumble behind my back, snapping the manacle shut just before he yanks me forward. The metal bites into my wrist, but I barely notice the pain. All my focus is on the hulking minotaur looming over me.

His eyes rake over my body, cold and calculating. I fight the urge to shrink away as his hands roam, checking for hidden weapons or valuables. His touch lingers a moment too long on my hips, my shoulders. I clench my jaw, silently willing him to move on.

"Hmm," he grunts, his breath hot on my face. "This one might fetch a decent price."

I keep my expression neutral, even as bile rises in my throat. The Captain turns away, moving to inspect the other prisoners. I sag against the wall, legs trembling with relief and pent-up fear.

The minotaur's heavy footsteps echo through the hold as he makes his rounds. Each pause, each grunt of consideration sends a fresh wave of dread through the cramped space. We're nothing but cargo to him, our lives measured in coins and profit.

I watch through lowered lashes as he prods at a young man, ignoring the boy's whimpers. An older woman catches his eye next, her silver hair glinting in the dim light. The Captain's lip curls in disgust and he moves on.

The tension in the air is suffocating. Every creak of the ship, every muffled sob feels magnified. I strain my ears, listening for any hint of what might await us at our destination. But there's nothing beyond the constant slap of waves against the hull and the Captain's heavy breathing.

After what feels like hours, he finally turns back towards the stairs. I hold my breath, praying he'll leave without another word. But just before he reaches the hatch, he pauses. His massive head swivels, those cold eyes locking onto me once more.

For a heart-stopping moment, I'm certain he's seen through my ruse. That he knows about the lockpick, about my partially freed wrist. I brace myself for his fury, for the punishment that will surely follow.

Instead, he simply grunts and climbs the stairs, the hatch slamming shut behind him.

I huddle close to the others, our whispered conversations barely audible over the creaking of the ship. The minotaur Captain's visit left us all shaken, but it also broke down some of the barriers between us. Now, in the depths of our shared misery, stories begin to flow.

"They came at dawn," a gaunt woman named Mira murmurs. "Our village never stood a chance. The minotaurs... they were like a force of nature."

I nod, encouraging her to continue. Every detail could be crucial.

"They took the strongest," she says, her voice cracking. "My husband, my son... I don't know if I'll ever see them again."

Another captive, an old man with calloused hands, leans in. "I've heard tales of their island fortress. Milthar, they call it. A place where the unlucky are worked to death in the mines or thrown into the arena for sport."

My stomach churns at the thought. I've escaped one hell only to find myself headed for another.

"The Captain," I whisper, glancing nervously at the hatch above. "What do you know about him?"

A young boy, no more than twelve, pipes up. "They say he's never lost a battle. That he can smell fear, and he enjoys breaking the spirit of his captives."

I file away each piece of information, building a mental map of what we're up against. The minotaurs' strength, their ruthlessness, the layout of their island - it all might prove useful if we get a chance to escape.

As night falls and the hold grows darker, more stories emerge. Tales of entire coastal towns razed to the ground, of the minotaurs' lightning-fast ships that seem to appear out of nowhere. Each account paints a clearer picture of our captors and the world we're being dragged into.

I listen intently, asking questions when I can. Where are the weak points in their defenses? What are their routines? Every scrap of information is a potential key to our freedom.

But when we tire and finally curl up to get some sleep, I lean against the damp wood of the ship's hull, my eyes closed as I try to center myself. The constant rocking of the waves makes it hard to think, but I can't afford to lose focus. Not now.

"Volezimir," I whisper his name like a prayer, drawing strength from the memory of his golden eyes, his gentle touch. I won't let this be the end of our story.

I force my eyes open, scanning the hold once more. The other prisoners have fallen into fitful sleep, but I remain alert. Every creak of the ship, every footstep above, could be important.

The minotaurs have a routine, that much is clear. They change guards every few hours, their heavy footsteps echoing through the planks. Food—if you can call the slop they toss down here food—comes twice a day. Water, thankfully, is more frequent.

I've been watching, waiting. There's a moment, just after the changing of the guard, when their attention wavers. It's brief, but it might be enough.

My fingers trace the outline of the pin hidden in my boot. It's not much, but it's a start. If I can get these chains off, maybe I can find a way to the deck. But I haven't tried again since I don't know what waits outside the door. Once I have a plan, though, I am out of here.

I close my eyes again, picturing Aurelius. The lush greenery, the hidden waterfall where Volezimir and I shared our first kiss. The memory burns, fueling my determination.

I'm coming back, I promise silently. To Volezimir, to June and Lamain, to the life I've only just begun to build. I won't let these overgrown bullies take that away from me.