Two days had passed since the old man sold Ron. The world outside the carriage was nothing but shaking wheels and muffled voices. Inside, the boy sat in darkness. He had been given nothing but a half-baked potato—cold, dry, and hardly food for a starving child. His body had grown frail, his lips cracked, and every breath felt heavier than the last.
When the carriage finally stopped, the door slammed open. A harsh voice barked, "Out." The man in rough cloth grabbed Ron's arm and yanked him out as if he were a sack of grain. For a moment, Ron winced at the sudden sting of light on his face. After two days in complete darkness, he thought it was the sun.
But it wasn't. It was only a flickering streetlight.
He blinked weakly, trying to understand where he was. Around him stood a few broken buildings, their shadows stretching long under the yellow glow. The cloth man muttered to someone nearby, "Here's the boy. Five hundred cyan, like we agreed."
Another man, tall and thin with a scar down his cheek, nodded and handed over a few folded notes. "Pleasure doing business." His voice was oily, his smile worse. He dragged Ron by the collar and shoved him toward a rusted gate. Metal screeched as it opened, revealing a row of iron cells half-buried in stone.
Ron stumbled forward, barely able to walk. The man shoved him again. "Get in."
The child fell face-first into the cell, his palms scraping against the cold ground. The door clanged shut behind him.
For the first time in days, Ron's thoughts were clear enough to form words. Why… why am I here?
He pressed his tiny hands against the floor. Hunger gnawed at him. The smell of damp straw filled the air, mixed with something bitter and rotten.
He didn't cry—he didn't even have the strength. But when his stomach growled, he curled into a ball, pressing his knees to his chest. It was cold. Too cold.
Time passed, though he didn't know how long. The only sound was the creak of chains from nearby cells and the faint sobbing of other captives. Then from a corner of the cell, a soft voice broke the silence
"Hey… are you okay?"
Ron lifted his head slowly. At the bars beside him knelt a girl about his age. Her blonde hair, tangled and dusty, caught the dim light. Her dress—once noble and white—was now torn and stained, but her eyes still shone like sunlight.
She held out a small piece of bread through the bars. "Here. Eat this. You've been hungry for days, right?"
Ron stared blankly for a moment. He didn't understand why she was being kind to him. No one had spoken softly to him since… since before he fell.
Still, he reached out, his tiny hand trembling as he took the bread. The first bite felt like fire and life all at once. Tears welled up and rolled down his cheeks.
"Hey, don't cry," the girl said, gently wiping his tears with the corner of her torn sleeve. "Everything will be alright. My father will come for me—and when he does, he'll rescue everyone here."
Her voice was fragile, but her words carried hope strong enough to shake the cold around them.
Ron sniffled. "O-okay…" His voice cracked, soft and uncertain. For the first time in days, he believed something good might still exist in this world.
The girl smiled faintly. "What's your name?"
He thought for a moment, confusion flickering across his face. His memories felt broken, scattered like shards. "I… I don't know. I think it's… Ron."
"That's a nice name," she said softly. "I'm Lyra."
Ron tried to smile back, his lips trembling. They sat there quietly, sharing the tiny piece of bread between the bars, the darkness around them forgotten for a little while.
Outside, the night was silent. But not for long.
Beyond the walls of the kidnappers' hideout, a group of armored men hid in the tall grass. Their leader crouched low, eyes locked on the compound. "The lord's daughter should be inside," he whispered. His voice was sharp and controlled.
Another guard beside him asked, "Should we call for reinforcements, Captain?"
"Yes," the leader replied. "Inform the main force. We attack as soon as they arrive."
The soldier nodded and disappeared into the darkness.
Inside the cell, Lyra was humming softly to calm herself. Ron listened quietly, feeling the warmth of her voice seep through the cold stone. For the first time since the canyon, he wasn't afraid.
Then—
A distant tremor shook the ground.
"What was that?" Lyra whispered.
The noise grew louder—a roar that cracked the air like thunder. The walls rattled. Dust fell from the ceiling. Outside, shouts erupted.
Then came the explosion.
Flames tore through the night. The shockwave burst through the corridors, throwing sparks and smoke into the air. Ron covered his head instinctively as the light of fire filled the cell. The entire place shook violently; screams echoed, iron bars twisted, and the scent of burning wood filled the air.
Lyra gasped, clutching the bars. "Father…?"
Ron couldn't speak. He just stared at the blazing doorway as everything turned red and gold. The world outside his cell was chaos—a firestorm breaking the endless dark.
And for a brief, blinding moment, that fire looked like sunlight.
To be continued…
(END OF CHAPTER 4)