It had been a week since her new life began.
Mandara's body had almost recovered. Her wounds faded faster than she expected, though the ache in her heart lingered like an old scar. This world was strange, but so was she.
Her new name hadn't been spoken aloud. No one asked. They simply called her "little one" or "Amal's sister."
Amal. The boy who clung to her like a shadow, always talking, always smiling. Her brother now. A strange feeling warmed her chest when she thought of that word—brother—but also a quiet dread. Even with him beside her, the chains of her past hadn't truly left.
Amal spoke often, and through him, Mandara began to understand the world she'd been born into.
Her race is called Vairaks, a race of small, shadow-walking beings. Her people. They had dark skin that blended into the earth and the gift to perceive emotions useful for survival, but not for freedom.
In this world, the weak are slaves.
Their oppressors were a towering, brutal race called the Karnyx, lava-blooded, rock-like beings with veins of molten heat coursing through their stone flesh. They needed to eat ores and rare stones to survive and grow stronger. And they needed workers to mine them.
Vairaks, with their smaller frames and silent resistance, were ideal.
Mandara sat on her bed of straw and stone, staring at the cave wall. Her mind wandered through Amal's endless words and the whispers of the elders.
"There's no moon here," one had told her. "Only the violet glow of the dying sky. Night in Amata is never truly dark. It bleeds purple."
This world felt primitive and tribal. Advanced technology was nowhere to be seen. Tribes fought with raw powers, instincts, and rituals. Survival was a matter of submission or rebellion.
She wondered: Was this her second chance? Or just another chain around her throat?
Her father's voice echoed inside her mind, calm and constant.
"Freedom is not given. It's earned."
She rolled her eyes and turned away from the soundless ghost. Why do you follow me here, too? she thought bitterly. He always replied.
"Because you haven't learned how to live yet. That's the lesson."
She buried her face in her knees, hiding her third eye. "Only you can hear me," she thought. "Only I can hear you." A curse, or a comfort, she didn't know.
A soft knock at the stone doorway pulled her from thought. Amal peeked in.
"Mining shift starts soon. Get ready soon."
Mandara gave a small nod.
She stood up, tied her ragged sash around her waist, and followed her brother out into the faint purple light of morning.
Another day. Another chain.
But maybe, just maybe… she could start to loosen it.