Ironbound

The scream pierced through the silence, and the village came alive in an instant, but not with the usual hum of evening routines. Kain had barely stacked the last piece of firewood when the shouts reached his ears, sharp and panicked. He froze, his heart pounding.

His father's angry words from earlier echoed in his mind. "Stop imagining things." But this wasn't his imagination. This was real.

Then came the unmistakable sound of a torch being thrown, the whoosh of fire catching dry straw.

Kain turned toward the noise just in time to see the first house erupt in flames. The fire climbed quickly, devouring the thatched roof and painting the night sky in shades of orange and red. The panicked screams grew louder, mingling with the clash of steel and guttural laughter.

The bandits moved with a terrifying quickness. They poured into the village like a plague, their weapons gleaming in the firelight. Kain could hear their voices, commands shouted, cruel jokes made, taunts hurled at the fleeing villagers.

He stood frozen, his mind a whirlwind of fear and disbelief.

Nearby, a man tried to protect his family, wielding a rusted pitchfork against two attackers. He managed to shove one back before the second drove a blade into his side. The man crumpled to the ground as his wife and child screamed.

Kain stumbled backward, his chest tight. He wanted to run, to disappear, but his legs refused to move.

His father burst out of the house, knife in hand, shouting orders. "Get inside! Board the doors!"

But there was no time. Two bandits appeared, grinning as they approached. Kain's father rushed at them, his blade flashing in the firelight. He managed to slash one across the arm, but the other was faster.

The sword struck his father down with a sickening thud.

Kain's stepmother screamed, clutching the youngest sibling to her chest. The bandits were on her in an instant, yanking her away from the children. She kicked and thrashed, her voice raw as she cursed them.

"Run!" she screamed at the children. "Run!"

But it was too late. The bandits dragged her into the shadows, her screams fading as another raised his axe. Kain's siblings cried out, their small hands reaching for their mother. The axe came down.

Kain's instincts finally kicked in. He turned and ran, his heart pounding as he weaved through the chaos. Flames roared around him, the heat searing his skin as he ducked beneath collapsing beams and darted past the dead and dying.

The edge of the forest was close. If he could just make it there, if he could hide, he might survive.

"Kain!"

He turned at the sound of his name and saw his youngest sibling, tears streaming down their face. For a moment, Kain hesitated. He wanted to go back, to reach for them, but then he saw the bandit looming behind the child.

Kain's legs moved before his mind could decide. He bolted, guilt clawing at him as he ran.

The forest was just ahead. The sight of the dark trees filled Kain with a desperate hope. But just as he reached the clearing, something heavy struck him from behind, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Pain exploded in his side as he hit the dirt. He tried to crawl forward, but a boot pressed down hard on his back, pinning him in place.

"Not so fast, little rat," the bandit sneered.

Kain thrashed beneath the weight, his fingers clawing at the dirt. He felt the sharp edge of a blade bite into his shoulder, the pain searing as blood soaked his shirt. He screamed, his voice raw, but the bandit only laughed.

"You're a feisty one," the man said, hauling Kain to his feet. "You'll fetch a decent price, I reckon."

The bandit dragged Kain roughly by the arm, his hands bound tightly with coarse rope. Every step sent a sharp pain shooting through his shoulder, where the knife had slashed him. Blood trickled down his arm, staining his torn shirt, but Kain barely felt it. The ache in his chest was worse.

The smoldering ruins of the village faded into the distance as the cart rumbled forward, carrying him and a handful of other captives. The cries and screams of the dying still echoed in his ears, along with the roar of the flames consuming everything he'd ever known.

Kain's body trembled with exhaustion and fear, but deep inside, something began to stir. It wasn't just the lingering pain or the memory of his family's final moments. It was something sharper, hotter.

Rage.

Kain shifted uncomfortably in the cramped cage, the rough wood pressing into his back. His shoulder burned where the knife had cut him, and his wrists ached from the tight ropes that had only recently been removed. Around him, the other captives murmured softly, their voices low and fearful.

He kept to himself, sitting in the corner with his knees drawn up to his chest. He didn't want to talk to them. He didn't want to acknowledge them. Their misery was a mirror of his own, and he couldn't bear to look.

A faint rustling sound broke the silence. Kain looked up to see a young girl, no older than ten, scooting toward him on her hands and knees. Her face was smudged with dirt, her eyes wide and filled with tears.

"You're hurt," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the nearby campfire.

Kain blinked, surprised by the comment. He glanced down at his bloodstained shirt and the crude bandage wrapped around his shoulder. "I'll live," he muttered, turning away.

The girl didn't leave. She sat beside him, her small hands clasped tightly in her lap. "I saw what you did," she said softly.

Kain's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"When that bandit grabbed you," she continued, her voice trembling. "You fought back. You didn't just let him take you."

Kain's jaw tightened. He didn't think about that moment much, it had been pure instinct, a desperate act of survival. "It didn't make a difference," he muttered. "He still caught me."

Kain clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He didn't feel like he'd done anything worth admiring. All he'd done was fail.

The girl seemed to sense his discomfort, her gaze dropping to the dirt. "I wish I was strong like you," she whispered.

Kain didn't respond. Her words settled heavily in his chest, filling the silence between them.

A gruff voice cut through the quiet. "She's right, you know."

Kain looked up to see an older man sitting across the cage. His face was weathered, his beard streaked with gray. One of his eyes was swollen shut, a deep bruise covering half his face.

The man's voice was sharp, filled with anger and despair. "They'll sell us, work us to death, or kill us outright. Fighting back just makes it worse."

The old man glared at him. "Giving up doesn't make it better."

"What do you know?" the younger man snapped. "You're just an old fool. You think any of us are getting out of this alive?"

The old man didn't reply. Kain could see the pain flicker in his good eye, but the man said nothing.

The argument faded into uneasy silence, the captives retreating into their own thoughts. Kain leaned his head back against the bars of the cage, his jaw tight.

He thought about the girl's whispered words, the old man's resolve, and the farmer's despair.

They're wrong, he thought, his fists tightening.

Kain woke to the sharp clanging of metal and the barking of bandits rousing the camp. The ache in his shoulder from the previous day's wound was sharper now, and his muscles were stiff from the unforgiving wooden bars of the cage.

"Get up, rats!" a bandit shouted, slamming his boot against the cage. "We've got work for you!"

The captives stirred reluctantly, dragging themselves to their feet. Kain pushed himself upright, gritting his teeth as pain flared through his body. Around him, the others moved like shadows, their faces pale and hollow.

The young girl from the night before clutched the old man's arm, her small hands trembling. She cast a fearful glance at Kain, her lips pressed tightly together as if she wanted to say something but didn't dare.

The bandits herded the captives out of the cage, their spears and swords gleaming in the morning light. Kain kept his head low, his eyes scanning the camp. The crude wooden structures and scattered tents formed a chaotic sprawl, with stolen goods piled high in makeshift storage areas.

The bandits divided the captives into groups, barking out orders as they handed out tools or simply pointed.

"You!" a gruff voice snarled, jabbing the blunt end of a spear at Kain. "You're hauling grain. Move it."

Kain was shoved toward a line of sacks, each one heavier than the last. The first nearly buckled his knees when he hoisted it onto his shoulder, the pain from his wound making his vision blur. He stumbled toward the storage tent, where a pile of goods already towered over him.

"Move faster, rat!" the bandit barked, slamming the butt of his spear into Kain's side.

Kain stumbled forward, barely keeping his balance. He wanted to lash out, to swing the sack in his arms at the man's smug face, but he bit his tongue. Not yet.

As the sun climbed higher, the bandits' taunts grew louder. Kain caught sight of the young girl struggling to carry a bucket of water from the nearby stream. Her small frame wobbled under the weight, and her steps grew slower and more unsteady until the inevitable happened: she tripped.

The bucket fell from her hands, spilling its contents onto the ground. She scrambled to pick it up, tears welling in her eyes.

A bandit stormed toward her, his face twisted in anger.

"You clumsy little—"

He raised his hand, ready to strike her.

"Leave her alone!" Kain's voice cut through the commotion, sharp and firm.

The bandit froze, his hand mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face Kain, his eyes narrowing.

"Well, well," the man sneered, stepping toward him. "Looks like we've got a hero."

Kain's heart pounded in his chest, but he didn't back down. He stood his ground as the bandit loomed over him, the stench of sweat and cheap liquor clinging to his breath.

"You've got some nerve, rat," the bandit growled. "Maybe you need to learn what happens to little heroes."

The first punch came fast, slamming into Kain's gut and driving the air from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping, as the second blow knocked him to his knees.

The bandit laughed, his voice cruel and mocking, as he kicked Kain hard in the ribs.

"Get back to work," he spat, before shoving Kain to the ground and walking away.

Kain laid in the dirt, his body trembling from the pain. His vision swam, and every breath felt like fire in his chest. The young girl knelt beside him, her small hands shaking as she touched his arm.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Kain shook his head, forcing himself to sit up despite the stabbing pain in his ribs. "Don't be," he muttered.

The girl sniffled, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. "You shouldn't have done that. Now you're hurt."

Kain didn't answer. His jaw tightened as he pushed himself to his feet, every muscle in his body protesting. He wasn't going to give the bandits the satisfaction of seeing him stay down.

That night, as the captives huddled together in the cage, the old man leaned toward Kain, his expression somber.

As the camp got more quiet, the bandits' laughter fading into drunken snores, Kain stared at the cage door. The firelight flickered against the rough wooden frame, casting jagged shadows on the ground.

He flexed his fingers, his wrists still raw from the ropes. His body ached, his shoulder throbbed, and his ribs screamed with every breath, but his mind churned with restless energy.

Escape seemed impossible. The bandits were too well-armed, too watchful. But the ember of rage inside him burned brighter with each passing moment.

He wouldn't let them break him.

Not now. Not ever.