Now she faced the labor of thatching her brother's roof. The grass was gathered, but the weaving and securing remained. Her arms ached, her back screamed, every movement a reminder of her insignificance. Each crack in her hands throbbed with shame and exhaustion, marking a life stolen by cruelty and indifference.
And yet… beneath the grief, beneath the crushing weight of despair, something else stirred. Anger. Sharp, bitter, alive. A dangerous, quiet heat that whispered she was nothing.
That life could change, that the cruelty surrounding her did not define her. That spark, be it fragile, reckless, and defiant flickered stubbornly in the darkness.
It would not save her today. Perhaps it would not protect her tomorrow. But it existed.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt something powerful rising inside her: a will to resist, a heartbeat of rebellion against the world that had tried to destroy her.
She had to forge her future...
But how? She wasn't strong... She didn't have any much abilities... And running wouldn't truly save her.
While her mind stayed occupied, the bus slowed suddenly.
The engine growled low, shaking the dirt beneath the homestead, then came to a shuddering halt. The faint glow of the solar lamps cast long, flickering shadows across the yard. Liora pressed herself against the fence, heart hammering, as she and the others watched, frozen.
A girl was dragged from the doorway, kicking and screaming, her small frame writhing against her father's iron grip. "Please! Don't! I.... I'll do anything!" she cried, her voice raw, cracking with terror.
"Enough," the father said flatly, as if dismissing a bothersome animal. "The law must be obeyed."
The girl's hands clawed at his chest, nails scratching, her feet digging into the ground as she twisted and lunged. Her struggles were frantic, desperate, a storm of movement fueled by pure fear. But her father didn't falter, didn't hesitate. He shoved her forward, and she stumbled, her cries echoing through the night.
Through the solar lamps' pale light, Liora could see every detail, the wild terror in her eyes, the frantic flailing, the way her fingers scraped against the rough wood of her home as if it could anchor her to safety. Liora's stomach knotted with helpless rage. She wanted to scream, to rush forward, to stop this, but she couldn't move. She could do nothing.
Then, in a sudden burst, the girl wriggled free. She tore herself from her father's grip, sprinting across the yard. Dust kicked up beneath her bare feet. For one heartbeat, Liora dared to hope: maybe she could escape.
But the hope died.
From the darkness came a growl, low, deliberate, predatory. The wolf collector emerged like a shadow given form. His silver eyes gleamed under the lamplight, cold and merciless.
The girl didn't see him until it was too late. His hands closed around her before she could react. She struggled, twisted, shrieked, but he was relentless. The sharp crack of bone echoed through the yard as he wrenched her head back brutally. Her body went limp, crumpling to the ground.
Liora's breath immediately hitched. Her stomach turned. Her chest tightened with grief, terror, and a dark, rising anger she didn't dare voice. She had witnessed the cruelty, felt its weight, and understood with crushing certainty that her own turn was coming. And this was all their fate...
The engine idled. The lamps flickered. The yard fell silent again. Death had passed through, swift and pitiless, leaving nothing but shadows and the faint metallic scent of fear hanging in the air.
Liora swallowed hard. Her spark of defiance, tiny and fragile, burned brighter in her chest. It was reckless. Dangerous. But it was all she had. And she held onto it fiercely, knowing it might be the only thing standing between her and the same fate.
She had to find her way out.....
Her back pressed against the cold metal of the bus, the cuffs biting into her wrists. Any thought of escape was crushed by the memory of the girl outside, the way she had struggled, fought, and died. Anyone who tried to run met the same fate.
The bus was deathly quiet. No one dared speak. The fragile hope that had flickered in the others' eyes was already gone, replaced by hollow resignation.
The engine roared to life, and the bus lurched forward, leaving the village behind. It wound through narrow dirt paths before emerging onto the smooth, gleaming asphalt of a wide highway.
Hours, or maybe only minutes, passed in tense silence, each mile drawing them further from everything familiar. Ahead, the landscape transformed. Towering buildings rose into the night sky, and the highways shimmered with endless lights.
The difference was absolute. Behind them: broken villages, empty fields, dusty homes where humans struggled to survive. Ahead: the developed territories, ruled by wolves, gleaming, organized, untouchable. Civilization, power, and danger all wrapped in bright neon and polished stone.