Feldspar Mine, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

It felt like a mere moment between falling asleep and being dragged out of it by the shouting of the slave masters. Matthew was used to the rude awakening, but still, it was a struggle to get to his feet. He blinked against the overseer's torchlight, stretching his aching joints. The dull pain faded as familiar Warmth spread through him. He took a deep breath.

"Get up!" a slave master yelled, "Or nothing to eat for you!"

"Yeah, yeah," Matthew muttered under his breath, offering Abby a hand. She was sitting up, shakily rubbing her eyes, and she accepted his hand without a word. It took minimal effort pulling her up. She was wasting away, as frail as a leaf in autumn, and it pained him knowing she wouldn't last long. He'd seen her kind before, unused to hard labour and small food portions. They became malnourished and weak quickly, but the slave masters didn't care. Slaves were easily replaceable. It created a fiery ache in Matthew's chest, one that urged him to unleash his anger on something, someone. He couldn't, though. It had happened once, just over a year ago, if his calculations were correct, and he had paid for it dearly. Everyone knew what the symbol on his collarbone meant. It was the Death Omen, a warning for others to stay away from him unless they fancied death. Having lost the supposed 'privilege' of a shirt, Matthew's branding scar was exposed for all to see. He knew it was purposeful. Most of the other slaves stayed away from him because of it.

And yet, he still seemed to be outliving them all regardless.

Abby caught him rubbing the scar, and she gently touched his arm. "You okay?" He knew she had figured out it was something he did when he was trying to suppress the urge to lose his temper.

"I'm fine." He dropped his hand quickly.

It took a while for them to make their way through the crowd into the eating room, where they accepted their small portions of breakfast and huddled together in a corner to eat it. Matthew watched the slave masters eyeing the crowd of prisoners — a feeling in his gut told him that something was wrong. The air seemed much more tense than usual. A pit dug itself deep in his chest, and swallowing his food — which looked a lot like mashed potatoes and rotten beets — felt like trying to swallow a rock. He knew this feeling. He'd had it before. It always came before something horrible was about to happen, and never once had it failed him. As selfish as the thought was, he hoped whatever was about to happen didn't involve him.

Naturally, luck failed him. He knew he was in trouble when he spotted the head overseer, a tall, muscular man with dark hair and beady eyes, step into the room and scan it. The man's name was Terminus Aarden — though he was known among the slaves as the Overseer. One learned quickly that gaining the Overseer's attention was a mistake, for he was a cruel and heartless man, so much so that Matthew wondered if he suffered from some psychological ailment that rendered him conscienceless. It was the Overseer who had branded Matthew with the Death Omen, and also he who had done away with Daniel all those years ago. Many slaves had met their end at the hand of the cruel man, and in the sickest ways imaginable.

So when the man's gaze locked with Matthew's, Matthew fought not to choke as he quickly looked down. His insides seemed to freeze as the Overseer started across the room toward him. Matthew managed to swallow down his food; it seemed to clog the pit in his chest as he heard the other slaves shuffling back, trying to stay as far away from the Overseer as possible as the man came near.

"Matthew," Abby murmured fearfully, suddenly aware of the approaching danger.

Matthew didn't respond. He stared at the feet of the man as the Overseer came to a stop in front of where they sat. Matthew was beginning to regret eating. It wanted to come back up. A frantic thought darted through his mind: What did I do?

"Girl, go to Vernic," the Overseer told Abby, almost absentmindedly it seemed. "He will pair you with a new partner."

Abby opened her mouth, nothing but a terrified, shocked squeak escaping her lips. Matthew elbowed her. She shot him a look of pure terror, but he jerked his head, wordlessly telling her to obey the man immediately. She did, scrambling to her feet and stepping around the Overseer to practically run to the entrance where the slave master, Vernic, stood. Matthew watched her go with a bitter taste in his mouth, his mind racing. What had he done? Why was he in trouble?

He knew the Overseer was studying him. "Follow me, Matthew," the man said before turning and starting toward the entrance himself. Matthew, knowing it was an order he dared not argue with, pushed himself to his feet and followed. They passed Abby and Vernic on the way out of the eating room; Abby watched him with terror-filled eyes, Vernic with pity. Matthew quickly averted his gaze to the ground, watching the Overseer's boots ahead of him. Ice-cold fear snaked up his chest, sending shivers through him that the Warmth inside couldn't counter. Something terribly bad was about to happen to the Boy Who Would Not Die.

They walked through the shipping room, where crates of feldspar were stacked to be hauled out of the mine. Matthew knew which tunnel led out, and he could barely imagine the daylight that lay beyond it. It had been years since he had seen it. Oh, how everything in him wanted to run for that tunnel, run for freedom. He didn't. He knew he wouldn't make it.

They took several different turns, and he knew where they were going. Everything inside of him screamed for resistance, to run, but his feet remained obedient, carrying him to a cruel fate. They entered the punishing room, and Matthew once again regretted his breakfast.

The two who hadn't met quota the day before were there, chained to two of the four sturdy posts in the room, both barely conscious. The sloped floor was pooled with blood; crimson ribbons of it snaked toward the drain in the middle of the room. The Overseer stopped to observe the unfortunate victims, and Matthew stopped as well, swallowing hard as he stared.

"What a pity they didn't meet quota," the Overseer said, without pity.

Matthew pressed his lips together, unable to look away from the two bloodied victims. His back stung, the countless scars burning at the prospect of being ripped open again. The pit in his chest made it hard to breathe.

The Overseer lingered a moment longer before he strode across the room, stepping carelessly through the blood. Matthew followed, stepping carefully. They left the room, heading down another tunnel before turning into a smaller room with a metal door. There was a table with two chairs facing each other, and besides that, the room was empty. The Overseer motioned to one of the chairs, and Matthew sat down without a word, staring at the only light source in the room: a candle in the middle of the table sending shadows scattering across the walls. The Overseer closed the door with a bang. The shadows shuddered.

"Amazing, isn't it?" The Overseer, too, was gazing at the candle as he sat down across from Matthew. "How something so fragile and small can light up nearly the entire room."

Matthew wasn't sure if he was supposed to engage this man in conversation or not. He lifted his eyes to silently glare at the Overseer instead.

"I know you're wondering why I've taken you aside." The Overseer met Matthew's gaze, and Matthew quickly dropped his eyes to the candle. Maintaining eye contact with this man was a dumb fight to engage in. He'd lose.

After a moment of silence, the man continued. "You've been here a long time, Matthew. You know how I run this place. You know that I have eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing happens in this mine that I don't know about. So let's make this easy on the both of us."

The man stopped. Matthew blinked several times before realizing the man was waiting for him to say something. "I... I don't know what you're talking about. Sir," he added quickly, although addressing the man that way made him want to bite his tongue.

"I thought you'd say that." The Overseer folded his hands on the table in front of him. "Don't underestimate me, boy. Tell me about the rebellion."

Matthew lifted his eyes in surprise. "Rebellion?" He almost choked on the word. "What rebellion?" He didn't know anything about any rebellion.

"The rebellion!" Matthew jumped as the man slammed his fist down on the table. The candle shook in terror. "One of my men heard several slaves discussing it. You were mentioned by name."

It all made sense at that moment. Matthew felt nauseated, the pit in his chest trying to swallow him whole. The Overseer had always kept a special eye on him, going out of his way to cause Matthew grief in one way or another. He had concocted this idea of a rebellion, no doubt. Whether it was because he felt challenged by Matthew somehow, or maybe because, despite all odds, Matthew had survived this long in the mines, Matthew didn't know why the man had targeted him. Perhaps, after all this time, Matthew's secret had finally come to light. He could only imagine what the man would do if he knew. Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, trying to erase the image of the blood trailing across the floor to the drain. It wouldn't leave. It was a stain on his mind forever, a prophecy of what was about to come.

"So, you tell me." The Overseer rose to his feet. "What rebellion?"

Matthew opened his eyes, staring at the candle. It trembled, much like his heart. "I don't know what you're talking about.

Stars spotted his vision, his head snapping to the side from the man's backhanded strike. His cheek burned, and he kept his eyes shut, fighting the anger and helplessness roiling in his chest. Losing his calm in this situation would prove disastrous. The brand on his collarbone burned. His hand twitched with the impulse to rub it. He took a deep breath as the Warmth swept through his face, nursing his bruised cheek.

"Don't lie. I had hoped I had burned that out of you before."

Matthew's heart raced, panicked thoughts consuming his mind. There was no way out of this. Even if he had known what the Overseer was talking about, he'd be punished all the same. There was no way to escape the pain he was surely about to experience.

"Apparently not." The Overseer held out his gloved hand. "Give me your dominant hand."

Fear froze Matthew in place, choking his breath. He struggled to inhale.

"Do it." The man was firm, his eyes deadly.

Slowly, Matthew lifted his right hand and offered it to the man. The Overseer grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand out over the table. Matthew clamped his teeth together tightly when the man forced his hand over the candle's flame. The heat pricked his palm.

"What rebellion? And don't lie to me this time."

Matthew struggled to remain calm. The flickering candle made it hard. "I swear, I don't know what you're talking about." The words sounded feeble to his own ears.

The man forcefully lowered Matthew's hand a little. Matthew grimaced as the heat from the flame began to burn his palm. "I said, don't lie to me!"

"I'm not—" Matthew's voice faltered as the man pushed his hand down even more; the flame licked at his skin, and he hissed. "—lying."

The Overseer held Matthew's hand there for a long, painful moment. The burn seeped through Matthew's palm, spreading across his skin, and his hand jerked, trying to get away. The Overseer didn't budge. It was agony.

Then the man pushed Matthew's hand down onto the candle. The flame was snuffed out in an instant, the melted wax coating Matthew's already seared palm and burning it even more. Matthew gasped as pain engulfed his entire hand. They were plunged into darkness, and Matthew finally managed to pull his hand away, burning his fingers as he frantically scrubbed the burning wax off of his palm. He struggled to breathe.

"Well." The Overseer's ominous voice in the darkness made Matthew's blood run cold. "Since you insist on not telling me... I guess we shall just have to make sure that a rebellion is something you cannot do."