Following the Beastman in front of me, it's evident that this is nothing more than routine for him.

  These hallways look to me like a stony maze; I can barely tell left from right apart here.

  It takes a few minutes, but we arrived at what seemed to be our first destination.

  It's the room I was being interrogated in just the day before.

  One-six-three stops right before the doors; one of the guards tells him to wait next to the door specifically.

  The door was only open for a brief moment; I am assuming they are looking for Mare, and this must be where she usually is.

  From a second look, this is not an interrogation room at all.

  It looks more like a working space, with several wooden drawers at the sides of the room and a big desk in the middle.

  At the end of the room was a big opening, with white curtains on each side of it.

  It's too big to be just a window; I am assuming it is some sort of balcony going into the courtyard.

  Sounds fitting for that woman, a perfect place to look down on others.

  The guardsman shuts the door again and walks up to me, raising his voice to me in a stern tone.

  "What layer did you get assigned to?"

  "I was not assi-"

  My try to answer that guard was cut short by a direct nudge to the chin.

  I fell on my back, my ears ringing; it was not even a proper punch, more like a half-hearted motion.

  So this is the gap between guard and prisoner; this is the difference between a body filled and one devoid of Mana.

  More importantly, what did I do wrong right now? Is it just harassment or did I break some sort of rule?

  "Answer one-seven-eight."

  Using my arms to get back on my knees, just as I was trying to stand up again, I hear one-six-three clear his throat.

  He sits on his knees, looking directly at me, like he wants to tell me, 'Don't get up.'

  Trusting my gut feeling, I stay sitting on my knees as well, answering the guard's question.

  "I have not been assigned anything so far."

  Short, simple answers.

  I need to remember to play it safe and learn the rules as I go, step by step.

  The guard turns to his partner, arguing about what they should do with me.

  Mare's name was brought up several times in their conversation; they seem to be a bit planless about what to do with us.

  Their little vocal scuffle came to an end when the guard that knocked me over sighed in frustration and walked over to one-six-three.

  He raises his voice like a strict teacher lecturing a child.

  "You take one-seven-eight and go to the very end of layer two today."

  "Show him the basics and don't cause any problems."

  He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice a bit.

  "Do you understand, Beastman?"

  One-six-three closes his eyes and nods in agreement.

  The guard looks over to me and locks eyes with his partner.

  I hear him sighing from behind me and calling us out.

  "Get a move on, you two; one-six-three, lead the way."

  And with that, we both got off our knees and continue walking.

  Making our way to the right of Mare's room, walking down a steep pair of steps that dragged on for way too long, we arrived at what must be the courtyard.

  Yesterday I only saw it for a very brief moment while getting dragged to my cell.

  It was hard to even estimate how big this area really is.

  Seeing it up close, in front like this for the first time, the actual size of it all is astounding.

  The size of the courtyard alone is at least that of a small village.

  The ground is made out of bricks, forming a slightly elevated surface that goes downwards towards the middle of the courtyard.

  At the walls surrounding us were several small huts made out of what appears to be clay.

  Above every one of these huts is a balcony etched into the mountain, but there are no people on it.

  Walking towards the mountain entry I saw yesterday, we make our way straight through the middle.

  Right in the centre towers a huge iron cage; it has the appearance of a giant birdcage.

  Around the cage is a gap, likely to drain water when it rains.

  We stop all the way across from where we came from, a hut next to what I can only assume to be a mining site.

  With the sound of metal hitting against stone, coming from the inside of a mountain, there is nothing else that would come to mind other than mining.

  The guards escorting us quickly converse with their co-worker through the big window on the hut before hastening past us.

  A hand from inside the hut waves us over, so we make our way towards the big window.

  From the inside of the building, a young man who is likely in his early 20s greets us with a big smile.

  Instead of the usual uniform, he is wearing a plain white shirt and loose pants.

  "Oh, it's you, one-six-three."

  "I will get your stuff from the back right away, but what about the newling back there?"

  One-six-three points at me by butting his thumb over his shoulder.

  "Layer Three, first day."

  The man inside the hut leans onto the window frame and takes a quick gander at me.

  Bewildered, he rubs his fingers against his chin.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  He shrugs off one-six-three with a hands-in-the-air gesture, making his way to the back without exchanging another word.

  Shortly after, the man returns with two big cloth bags and two pickaxes, both of which have a white head.

  One-Six-Three grabs his pair from the wooden frame; I walk up and grab mine too.

  The man inside the hut speaks up to me.

  "So one-seven-eight, is it?"

  "Apparently, Sir."

  "Oh, no need to call me 'Sir'; just call me John."

  ...

  "Alright; John, what is this white head of my pickaxe? I've never seen something like this."

  The man looks at me, his eyes wide open while his face was sunken.

  "Are you stupid or something?"

  One-Six-Three scoffs and gives me a nudge before telling me to follow him.

  Are you stupid or something? Alright, it must be coal; anything here somehow is coal after all.

  There probably are also Newmans made of coal here for all I know.

  Making our way through the inside of the mountains which have been transformed into a mining site, I see a ten-to-one split.

  There are around ten Beastfolk men before there is one Newman, not a single female in sight.

  Even the guards that have been positioned all over are all men.

  The walls inside the mountain started out as a mix between brown and black, gradually darkening the further in we went.

  Mounted on the walls are crystals inside some iron bars, providing light to the areas close by.

  There is an astounding amount of structure even inside of here; there are designated mining places overseen by some sort of prison worker.

  They have a different, looser uniform than the regular guards.

  I've seen them mark regions with red chalk and give orders to the prisoners.

  distributed around the ground, which also has holes with metal plating on top of it, likely air holes for lower layers.

  To my question about where we are headed, my only answer was: "Layer three."

  I and One-Six-Three stop before an elevator located around 5 minutes of walking straight inside the mountain.

  A guard in shorter clothing, in the same fashion as the man handing us our equipment, stands before the elevator gate.

  He steps to the side without a word upon seeing us, nodding at one-six-three before he enters the elevator with me.

  The thing itself was made out of iron bars with a wooden platform at the top and bottom.

  It's my first time being on an elevator. I've read about them before, but it didn't stop me from shortly panicking once this thing started rumbling.

  Seeing my cell neighbour's calm reaction helped me calm down myself.

  Come to think of it, how is this thing even moving? must be coal, anything I don't understand in

  Here is somehow coal.

  Once we arrived at what must be layer two, one-six-three tells me to reach into my bag and get out a pair of shoes.

  He says shoes, but it is more like a piece of thick leather to kind of wrap around your legs and keep closed shut with some strings.

  Stepping out, touching the inside of layer two for the first time makes it evident why he told me to do so.

  The air in here feels like it's a scorching summer day; the heat of the ground barely gets shut out by the leather around my feet.

  Even the walls were different; what once was mixed with dirt and coal is now nothing but black walls.

  Making our way through layer two, most of the structure is the same as in layer one, just with fewer prisoners and prison workers around.

  Arriving at the elevator to layer three, there was not a single guard in sight.

  One-Six-Three rummaged through his bag for a bit, pulling out a piece of coal and some rusty iron rod.

  He shaves some coal off his chunk into a powder before putting it inside a box next to the elevator.

  Shortly after he, enters himself; the elevator starts moving downwards, and we arrive at layer three.

  Stepping out of our cage, which lowered us down here, it becomes evident that this is more than just putting prisoners to work.

  Layer three is torture.

  There was nothing down here besides pitch-black walls and scorching heat.

  The air feels like it's burning; the ground itself is so hot it might as well be burning.

  Taking short, shallow breaths one-six-three makes sure that I lock eyes with him before pointing a bit to the left of the elevator.

  We keep walking in that direction for a few minutes until we arrive at a slightly lit area which was a tad colder than the rest of the layer.

  All the while I had to rely on the faint sound of my cell neighbour's footsteps, as there was no light source from the elevator up to our destination.

  Thanks to the dim light mounted on the wall, I am somewhat able to make out an airway above us; it must reduce the heat of this area.

  This must be where we are supposed to mine; going by what I saw from the layer above, we are to mine the black stuff from the walls.

  Well, to be more accurate, it must be coal.

  But the walls are pitch black, everything here is coal, and there is nothing else around us.

  One-six-three sits down on a leathery blanket below us, catching his breath before telling me to empty my bag on the blanket.

  I do as I am told; for now at least.

  Inside my bag are five smaller pouches; three of them are made out of the same leathery material as the big one.

  The other two are in very bright opposing colours. one of them is coloured red, and the other one is blue.

  My cell neighbour points at the biggest one first.

  "We each need to fill half of it with coal to fill our daily quota."

  Next he points at the two brown ones on my right side.

  "Inside there is your lunch, a wooden bottle of water, and the other one has a piece of bread with some tomatoes in it."

  Leaving the blue and red ones.

  "The blue bag contains powdered down coal; we use it to power the elevator."

  "I've got my own; that should get us back up again; regardless, never lose it."

  Curiosity got the better of me; I grabbed the red bag and opened it myself to see what was inside.

  One-Six-Three sighs and tells me to close the pouch quickly.

  He is a wise man; I close it instantly after mere moments.

  "Do I have to explain?"

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  ...

  "Why does it smell used?"

  His lifeless eyes sadly did not instil any hope against the thought that was slowly crawling up from the back of my mind.

  "Can only wash something that much; at some point the smell will stick."

  Taking a deep breath, he stands up with a hunched back, telling me to grab my pickaxe.

  "We've got a long day ahead."

  He points at two points equally apart from the air hole above us.

  "I go left, you go right."

  ...

  "You are on your own for mining."

  "What if we don't meet the quota?"

  "We lose the right to be sold, simple as."

  "Right to be sold?"

  He takes a deep breath before slouching a few steps away from me.

  "You will understand soon enough."

  And with that we both started chipping away at the pitch black wall in front of us.

  ***

  This guy, one-seven-eight, he actually managed to finally shut up and do his work.

  Impressive for such a talkative Newman, he managed to get his daily quota filled, despite his appearance.

  He is a bit slow to adapt to the formal rules of the prison, but he clearly makes up for it with his physical capabilities.

  I need to be extra careful around him; everything about him is just sketchy...

  His backstory was hard to overhear... but a Newman travelling with a Beastgirl?

  It's not unheard of, but an average smuggler would have co-operated immediately upon seeing Mare.

  He does appear to be oblivious to the existence of Crystallised Coal, so maybe he is just some stupid guy from the boonies after all.

  Making our way back, he points at some passed-out prisoners; figures, anyone would be a bit shocked at that display on his first day.

  I cut him off, keeping it short and simple.

  "Ignore them; they are fine."

  "Somewhat."

  Lowering his finger pointing at some poor Beastfolk guy, he follows me without another word.

  Well, at least... until we came across a young Beastfolk from the Lycanthrope territory on Layer One.

  I was trying my best to ignore it, about to take my next step and just be done with today.

  But this guy just had to call out to me.

  "Hey, one-six-three, lend me a hand here."

  To me these words, this call for help to be kind to someone else, are like a direct insult of the highest magnitude.

  Dropping my things on the ground, I can't help but tense up and walk quickly towards my cell neighbour.

  Towering directly in front of him, barely able to contain something from bursting from within.

  "What"

  "Is"

  "The"

  "Big"

  "Idea"

  "Newman!?"

  His gaze returns my animosity; not a sense of fear or intimidation was to be found in his eyes whatsoever.

  "What's the punishment for missing the daily quota again?"

  ...

  This is it; this guy is a total idiot for asking a question in this situation.

  "What's it matter to a Newman if some lousy mutt goes without food for a few days?!"

  One-seven-eight drops his stuff to the ground, and he tenses his body just like me.

  "I don't care who or what I am."

  "Look at this Lucanthrope kid; he is nothing but bones, passed out in front of us."

  "Your empty words of kindness are a sign of weakness, Newman."

  "Kindness is the pride that proves one's strength, Beastman."

  It's been a while since someone managed to get me boiling.

  I can feel the anger from my bared teeth to my long and exhaustive breaths all the way to my clenched fingertips.

  ...

  Calm yourself; take deep, long breaths.

  "Do what you want."

  Just as I turned around, a loud cracking sound startled me from behind.

  Curiosity got the better of me.

  There he was, hunched over on the ground, collecting chunks of coal and putting it into the bag of the kid.

  We are on layer one; the coal here is not nearly as hard as on layer three, but still, this must be a week's worth for the boy.

  What's even more concerning is that his right hand is shaking and covered in blood, while his pickaxe didn't move a single bit.

  ***

  That was clearly too much; my hand is shaking, and I can barely keep my eyes open.

  I know that I need to lay low, but seeing such a scrawny boy passing out from slaving away the entire day...

  It reminded me of something from my past I wish to never be reminded of again.

  Some pain and blood is nothing if it means this kid can eat.

  Still, I can feel my body slowly giving out.

  No surprise considering I came here worn out like a half-dead man, not to forget this thing in my right chest.

  ...

  I am sorry, Lutena; I know that I need to get us out of here as quickly as possible... I just couldn't help myself.

  Wait just a bit longer.

  While shoving the coal inside the kids' bag, my thoughts can't help but drift off.

  Is my sister doing okay? Did they do anything to her? Is she scared? Did she find some friends?

  Biting down on my lip to barely stay awake right now.

  It's hazy; my eyes appear to only register every other moment.

  Closing my eyes, leaning my head down into my right elbow while completely hunched over, I start taking deep breaths.

  My right chest feels like it's burning from the inside; if I clench my teeth together, I can bear it, barely.

  Every breath I take calms this fire in my right chest a tiny bit; just focus on that.

  It finally calmed down. Raising my body, opening my eyes, I see one-six-three sitting next to me.

  I didn't even realise he got closer; I was too focused on not passing out.

  He speaks up in a gentle tone, completely opposite to his usual annoyed or angry tone.

  "Took you long enough, Newman."

  "Takes quite an idiot to just punch a piece of coal out of the wall."

  "You seemed like you were about to pass out from pain any moment as well."

  He is not wrong, but it's not my hand that almost knocked me out; it's the pain inside my chest.

  "Yeah, it was stupid."

  "But sometimes you need a bit of stupid to be kind."

  ...

  One-six-three stands up and reaches for my shoulder, helping me back up.

  "Never seen a man call himself stupid with a smile on his face."

  I scoff and can't help but grin; he is not wrong after all.

  "Thanks, I like myself that way."

  "I can stand on my own now, thanks."

  With that, he leans me against the wall and slowly removes his arm, making sure my words do match their meaning.

  "I packed up the rest and put it in his bag while you were having your moment."

  "For today, I will play along with your antics."

  ...

  "What do you mean one-six-three?"

  "I carry the bags and mining equipment; you grab the kid."

  "Just for today, I'll let you play the hero."

  With that, he starts walking in front of me, carrying all our equipment.

  I grab the kid and throw his right arm over my shoulder, slowly following my cell neighbour.

  Shortly before we arrive at the entrance, one-six-three speaks in a soft tone without ever turning around.

  "Hey, one-seven-eight, what was your name again?"

  "It's Theodor, just Theodor."

  "I see, Theodor it is."

  "What about you, one-six-three?"

  ...

  "We Beastfolk are born slaves here; we rarely earn the right for a name."

  "A name is not earned; it is given to you."

  ...

  "It's Macel; just call me Macel."

  Greeting us on the outside, at the entrance to the mountain, is the same prison worker who handed us our equipment.

  Sitting hunched over the window, next to a dim oil lamp, signalling us to come over with his right hand while covering his yawn with his left hand.

  Macel tells me to lean the kid next to the mountain entrance and check the number on his shoulder.

  His number is one-four-eight.

  The worker inside the hut stands up and stretches a bit before addressing us.

  "Took you two long enough, layer three, last of the bunch like usual."

  Macel puts three pairs of big bags and mining equipment on the window counter.

  The guardsman's tired eyes sharpen within a breath.

  Grabbing the lamp next to him, he swings it in our direction, looking us up and down with it.

  One-Six-Three takes two steps back and goes on his knees; I do the same immediately after.

  Pointing at me, the man asks me in a loud and clear tone.

  "One-seven-eight, why is there blood on your hand?!"

  I told him that I hurt myself, so he told me to wipe my hand with the cloth around my waist.

  Covering my hand with it, a few moments pass before it starts to drip, revealing that I am bleeding.

  That this is my blood and not someone else's.

  The man's shoulders sink; he sighs and looks in Macel's direction.

  "This bag filled to the brim, whose is it?"

  Macel points at the lucanthrope kid next to the mountain entrance.

  "It's from one-four-eight; we found him passed and carried him outside."

  The Guardsman glances over to the kid and back.

  Macel grabs my head from behind and pushes it to the ground alongside himself.

  He whispers to me to 'stay put' for now.

  While we hold our heads to the ground, I can hear the prison worker going through our bags.

  Shortly after the man tells us to raise our heads, I faintly make out Macel telling me, 'Tell them you are fine.'

  "Stay put there and don't move a muscle."

  Earlier today this man showed signs of compassion and even smiled when talking to prisoners like us.

  It's easy to act all high and kind if you are in a position that literally is above everyone else around, especially us prisoners.

  After a short while a whole group of guardsmen arrive.

  They are escorting a Beastfolk woman with wings for arms towards the cell in the middle of the courtyard.

  Four guardsmen stand next to the cage, while four more are coming directly towards us.

  Two of them got tasked with escorting us back to our cells; the other two are to collect the other prisoner inside the mine.

  One of the guys pointed out my still somewhat bleeding hand and asked me if I want to get it looked after.

  I get down on my knees and look the guy straight in the eye before answering.

  "I am fine."

  The man rubs his chin for a bit and slowly walks around me.

  Stopping after circling me twice, his partner comes over and tells his co-worker to stop messing around.

  "Hurry up and get moving already."

  While following the guards back to our cells, I manage to catch another glimpse at the woman inside the cage.

  Because it was night, I only managed to see her rough shape; it really is a beastfolk woman with wings for arms.

  Once we passed her, it crashed down on me.

  Her voice is soothing and beautiful; it was the same one I heard when I first got here.

  But her song – I can't make out a single word; rather, I am unable to understand it entirely.

  This is a songstress and not just any songstress.

  This has to be the Beastfolk songstress, the one and only.

  From above us steps can be made out; looking up, I can see her silhouette.

  Mare is standing there, looking down on her caged trophy, enjoying her private performance.

  We got escorted back to our cells, not speaking another word until it was completely silent.

  What now remains is a song I could not understand; the Beastfolk Songstress's voice fills the prison.

  This is my first time hearing a proper songstress. It instantly made sense when I heard words I could not wrap my head around.

  It's a beautiful song, and there is a clear structure to it, yet the words won't stick with me; they are muffled inside my mind.

  It really is just like people say, a beautiful, soothing song that feels like your mind is drifting afloat.

  Once the singing ended, Macel called out to me, making sure to tell me something 'important'.

  "Theodor, don't eat anything tomorrow."

  I can't exactly wrap my head around why that should be important.

  But it's clear that this prison has a lot of unwritten rules that need to be followed, or they will be strictly enforced.

  Can't even call it corruption, as prisoners we are but unclaimed government property after all.

  "Alright, I won't."

  Leaning against the wall on my right while sitting on the ground, it takes only mere moments until my mind goes blank.

  "Get up and stand back one-seven-eight!"

  With hammering and raised voices, my nightly shut-eye felt like it came and went as a fleeting moment.

  While getting up, I notice that my hand is not bruised up anymore; the wounds are gone.

  It does still sting a bit, but not nearly as much as it should.

  As strange as it sounds, I am feeling way better than I should.

  My blood is red again too, so that's an improvement.

  Not that I am complaining, but this confirms my suspicion: these chains are not exactly doing what I was told.

  "Inmate one-seven-eight, get up!"

  I lean myself against the wall and slowly get up.

  "I am up; no need to raise your voice so high."

  What greeted me on the other side of my now opened cell door were the same two guardsmen that escorted us yesterday.

  They order me to open Macel's cell door.

  He looked just as indifferent as yesterday, with the same slightly hunched posture, sunken eyes and not even muttering a single word.

  One of the guards walks in front of Macel and asks if he does not plan to eat again today.

  My cell neighbour slightly shakes his head and gets a scoff from the man.

  "Lead the way, beastman; you know where to go."

  "And you, one-seven-eight, follow behind him, no talking."

  Doing as we are told, I follow step by step until we arrive at our destination a few minutes later.

  A dining hall, filled to the brim with only male inmates.

  On the left side are a handful of newmans, all sitting at the same table, eating a lot bigger portions than those of the beastman.

  The Guardsmen tell us to grab some food and close the door behind us.

  Behind the food counter stands a man waving us over.

  Macel turns his head a bit and glances over to me, probably to remind me of what he said yesterday.

  Don't eat.