Cursed-Soul-Chapter 14: The Spark of Rebellion-

The factory stirred before the sun even rose.

Keiran woke to the distant sound of grinding metal, the distant clank of machinery coming back to life. His back ached from sleeping against the cold stone, but he didn't have time to think about that.

The children would be arriving soon.

And with them—his way out.

Keiran moved carefully, keeping to the maintenance tunnels as long as he could. The factory wasn't fully awake yet, but the first shift of workers would be arriving soon. Guards were already stationed at the entrances.

His breath came slow and steady.

He knew the process—knew how the workers were brought in.

A single road connected the factory to the town.

Every morning, a vehicle—a reinforced wagon meant for the workers—would arrive, carrying the children back to the factory. Their numbers were always counted.

But Keiran had been here yesterday.

And if all went well—

No one would question him being here today.

The wagon rumbled in just as the sky began to brighten.

Keiran watched from the shadows as the guards approached. The routine was always the same:

Children stepped down, one by one.

The guards counted each head.

Once satisfied, they ushered them inside.

Keiran exhaled. This was it.

As the last few children began stepping out of the wagon, he moved.

A sharp breath—a step into the open.

His coat hung loosely around him, the fabric worn but unmistakable. His movements were deliberate—not too fast, not too hesitant.

Act like you belong.

The guards barely spared him a glance.

One of them, a younger man with a scar across his cheek, frowned slightly as Keiran passed.

Keiran didn't stop.

Didn't hesitate.

And just like that—

He was out.

The road stretched before him.

The town loomed beyond.

Keiran kept walking, his pulse steady, his hands relaxed.

He had done it.

The key to the tunnels was secured in his coat. His freedom from this place—their freedom—was now possible.

And Armon had no idea what was coming.

Keiran stepped into the stream of weary workers trudging back toward the town. The clatter of boots on the cracked road mixed with the hushed murmurs of the enslaved masses. The air was thick with exhaustion, but no one dared to stop. The town awaited them beyond the iron gates—their prison, their home.

Selara and Vael were waiting.

Keiran didn't seek them out. He didn't break his pace. He simply walked—like he had been there all along.

Then, from the side—

A sharp inhale.

Selara's head snapped toward him.

Vael, a step behind, stiffened.

Their expressions were a mix of shock and disbelief. Keiran caught their eyes just briefly, a silent message passing between them.

Selara's lips parted, as if to say something, but Keiran subtly shook his head.

Not now.

He kept walking.

Then, a flick of his fingers. Barely noticeable to anyone else, but to Selara and Vael?

A message.

My room. After work.

Neither of them reacted. Not outwardly. But Keiran saw the shift—their muscles tensing, their eyes sharpening.

They understood.

The plan was set.

The day dragged on.

The factory floor was a machine of suffering. Gears turned, smoke choked the air, and the overseers paced with dead eyes and sharper whips.

Keiran forced himself into the rhythm of labor, moving with precision, never drawing attention. His mind, however, was elsewhere.

On the key.

On the tunnel.

On what came next.

On what Asheron had whispered to him in the dark.

Keiran gritted his teeth, focusing on the work in front of him.

Asheron was a mystery. A wildcard. An obstacle or an ally—he didn't know which yet.

By the time the evening bell tolled, signaling the end of their shift, Keiran was exhausted—but his mind burned with anticipation.

Tonight.

Everything moved forward tonight.

Keiran shut the door to his apartment, the latch clicking into place.