Following his proclamation, the lead prison guard turned towards the group standing behind him.

"For the duration of your stay here, commands given by the heroes behind me will be treated as law. Sebastian Selvig—" he motioned towards a man who had been looking familiar to me "—is the leader of the Wallowhackers. You are to follow his every command without question. Trust me when I say you will not like the consequences if you don't."

Sebastian wore a condescending smirk as his comrades chuckled darkly behind him, clearly amused by our discomfort. It was in that moment that I finally recognized him. This was Grian's brother—the sadistic maniac Billy had warned me about. I'd known to expect him, but seeing him in the flesh made everything far more real. I felt a chill run down my spine as I silently vowed to stay out of his way, desperate to avoid becoming one of his playthings.

"Thank you, Johnson," Sebastian said, his gaze sweeping over us as though we were nothing more than vermin. "However, I doubt these hardened criminals are easily intimidated by mere words. So a demonstration is in order. That way everyone understands precisely what happens to those who shirk their responsibilities. James! Bring out Ascott."

A soldier jogged away and quickly returned, roughly dragging a prisoner bound in heavy chains. The captive was young, probably around my age, at least eighteen if he was here but not much older. He stumbled forward, eyes wide and fearful, breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Ascott here," Sebastian announced, gripping the prisoner roughly by his shoulder, "is one of my many conscripts. Unfortunately, he got the foolish idea into his head that he deserved special treatment. He believed he was more volunteer than conscript, and he thought himself above performing the duties assigned to him."

He paused dramatically, his eyes narrowing in malicious anticipation. "Tell me. Do any of you know what it's called when a soldier refuses to follow orders?"

"Treason," a shaky voice muttered from the far end of our line.

Sebastian nodded approvingly, a cold smile twisting his lips. "Precisely. Treason. And the penalty for treason is death."

In one smooth, practiced movement, Sebastian drew his sword and swung. Ascott's head toppled from his shoulders and hit the ground, bouncing gruesomely before rolling to a stop. Before the head had even settled, Sebastian casually wiped his blade clean against the dead man's clothes.

A wave of terrified whimpers rippled through the line of prisoners. Instead of following the head as it rolled, I kept my eyes on the threat—Sebastian—but he caught my stare, and his expression shifted into a chilling smile. At that moment, I realized my error. In a single heartbeat, I'd managed to capture Sebastian Selvig's attention. Now, I knew with absolute certainty, I'd landed directly in his world, and that was the very last place I wanted to be.

"Now you all understand precisely what's at stake," Sebastian declared with disturbing cheerfulness, casually strolling away with a satisfied smile on his face. Behind him, the corpse remained sprawled grotesquely in the dirt, a grim and vivid reminder of what awaited us if we stepped out of line.

A stunned silence hung heavily in the air, each of us too shaken to even breathe too loudly. Eventually, Johnson cleared his throat, jolting us back to reality.

"Celine has informed me you've been training in pairs, and that's exactly how you'll continue to operate here. You will remain together at all times, sharing your duties as well as your living quarters," Johnson announced firmly. "Mr Franks will now show you to your bunks and assign your jobs. I trust there will be no further complaints after Sebastian's demonstration?"

"No, sir," we chorused obediently, though our voices lacked any enthusiasm.

Mr Franks turned out to be a gaunt, balding man whose eyes had a permanently exhausted look, as if years of paperwork had slowly drained him of all spirit. He ushered us forward with a weary gesture and guided us through the fortress, explaining its layout in clipped, dispassionate tones.

Any optimism I'd foolishly clung to about our sleeping arrangements vanished when we reached our destination. Instead of the shared barracks I'd envisioned with other conscripts, we were led deep beneath the fortress to the dungeons. A dark, oppressive stairway spiralled downwards, each step slick with grime, and the air grew colder and more foul with every step.

The dungeon cells themselves were the most miserable spaces I'd ever laid eyes on. Worse by far than anything we'd endured at the prison. There were no proper beds, just thin, threadbare rags tossed carelessly over piles of damp straw. The stone walls were stained and crumbling, dripping moisture continuously onto the floor, forming stagnant puddles in several corners. An acrid scent hung thickly in the air, a nauseating blend of mold, urine, and the coppery tang of dried blood.

Lighting was nearly nonexistent, with only a handful of torches scattered sparsely along the corridor, their flickering flames providing little more than faint illumination and eerie shadows that danced along the walls. The iron bars of the cells were rusted and pitted with age, as though they had been there for centuries, long forgotten except for when new prisoners arrived.

Some cells bore traces of past inhabitants. There were faded bloodstains on the floors and walls from some unlucky former occupants. Claw marks gouged into the stonework, and dark smudges that hinted at untold suffering. The sight filled me with dread as I imagined what horrors these walls had witnessed, and I silently prayed my own stay wouldn't be added to their grim history.

Moving quickly to secure a better cell—if such a thing even existed—I found one that seemed marginally less horrific, near the start of the hallway. It was still cold, damp, and miserable, but at least there were fewer stains and it offered a slightly larger space. Tom shuffled in behind me, expression sullen, and slumped onto the straw with a sigh of weary resignation.

"I don't know about you," I said to Tom, glancing around the cell with obvious distaste, "but I'm not interested in just sitting around in this depression pit. We've got plenty to do, why don't we get to it?"

Tom looked at me with an irritated scowl, clearly not thrilled at the prospect of more work after the exhausting trek. But after another glance at the dank, miserable surroundings, he grudgingly stood up and gave a reluctant nod.

"You're right, I suppose," he muttered, spitting onto the filthy stone floor. "Anything's better than rotting away down here."

We stepped out of the dungeon and headed towards the courtyard where Mr Franks had indicated the tools were stored. The area was cluttered, but surprisingly well-organised, with tools of varying quality neatly arranged in racks. Because we were the first to arrive, we quickly picked out the best set, discovering that they were actually superior to the tools we'd trained with back at the prison. The wooden handles were smoother, the iron heads freshly sharpened, and they felt sturdier in our hands. Looking at the sets available, it seemed as though one of the blacksmiths had been churning them out in practice—much to our good fortune.

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"Looks like we got lucky for once," I remarked, hefting a hammer experimentally. "Maybe this place isn't entirely hopeless after all."

Tom snorted dismissively, but I caught a small hint of approval in his eyes as he inspected the tools himself. "Yeah, well don't get your hopes up. Good tools ain't gonna make the monsters outside any friendlier."

Tom still seemed morose, but at least we'd moved beyond one-word answers. I figured the shift in his attitude had something to do with finally being here; he no longer had to imagine the worst now that he'd arrived on the doorstep to hell. There was a certain relief in the reality, grim as it was.

We loaded up our tool belts and started a thorough inspection of the fortress walls, trying to decide which areas needed immediate attention. Truth be told, we had plenty of choices because almost every part of the place was desperately in need of repairs. Moss grew thickly in between stones that were cracked and weather-worn. Some sections were so poorly maintained that it seemed a stiff breeze might knock them down.

We began our circuit at the corner of the wall facing towards Achrane. It was in rough shape but still held firm enough. The stones were loose and needed new mortar, and we'd likely spend hours patching gaps, but at least it didn't appear to be at immediate risk of collapsing entirely. Crossing above the main gate, we found a similar situation: worn but not critical. It wasn't until we approached the opposite corner, the side furthest from Achrane and away from the Fracture, that I discovered something promising.

At first glance, it didn't look especially bad. It was easy to miss if you hadn't been training to spot structural weaknesses, but upon closer inspection, I saw clear signs of instability. The stones here were subtly misaligned, gaps between them widening further than they should have. A careful prod revealed loose mortar that crumbled at a gentle touch. A solid strike or two in the right place would likely cause the whole section to collapse, creating an opening large enough to slip through. A surge of excitement rose within me, but I quickly suppressed it, glancing around to ensure Tom hadn't noticed my interest. He was busy examining another patch of wall, looking lost in thought.

I marked the location in my memory. It faced away from the Fracture, which meant it would likely receive less scrutiny during the Challenge. That meant it was less likely to be patrolled heavily, and more importantly, that it wouldn't become an immediate priority for repairs once the fighting started. This was exactly what I'd been looking for: a potential escape route. A secret ace in the hole for when the chaos of the Challenge provided me with my chance to slip away. Feeling a sense of success, I moved quickly to catch up to Tom, careful to conceal my thoughts beneath an expression of weary resignation.

"Found anything?" Tom asked gruffly.

"Nothing important," I replied casually, fighting back a smile. "Just more crumbling walls. Let's keep moving."

As we moved along the walls toward the Fracture, I carefully studied the layout of the fortress, noting each detail and searching for potential opportunities. One spot immediately stood out: a rack of spears sitting behind a loosely locked gate, across from where I currently stood. The lock seemed simple enough—clearly designed to be opened quickly in case of an emergency—but I felt confident I could bypass it even faster. It was practically begging to be opened.

I glanced around, assessing the likely routes guards would patrol and the general visibility of the area. Acquiring a spear would be the easy part. The real problem would come after: moving around the fortress unnoticed, particularly if tensions hadn't spiked during the Challenge. What I needed was to rely on chaos and distraction to cover my tracks. These were two things I expected to be plentiful once the demons arrived. Still, it was reassuring to have another option available. Piece by piece, my plan was coming together. All I needed was to keep my head down, stay patient, and be ready to strike when the moment finally came. This was something I kept repeating to myself so that I didn't go off course. I knew about my penchant for impulsivity and wanted to reign it in as much as possible. My hope was that reinforcing the plan in my head would help me stick to it

My breath was taken away when we finally reached the side facing the Fracture. Stretching out before me was a kilometre of vivid black flowers. Every patch of ground was blanketed in the dark orchids known as Demon's Bane. We had studied them extensively at school, as they represented a strange botanical phenomenon unique to this precise area of the continent. Touching them would quickly numb your skin, and if you were unfortunate enough to ingest one, death wouldn't be far behind. Despite their resemblance to ordinary orchids, we'd been taught they were something altogether different, especially considering their dangerous properties. Even stranger was the fact that no other orchid—or plant for that matter—could survive in this hostile environment, let alone flourish so vigorously after countless brutal battles.

To my side, Tom took a deep whiff of air and exhaled slowly.

"There it is," he said quietly, scanning the field. "The smell of death."

Curious, I mirrored his action, drawing in a deep breath. I was shocked at how powerfully sweet the scent was, even at this distance.

"They smell amazing," I said, genuinely taken aback. We'd been taught extensively about their intensely sweet fragrance, but I hadn't anticipated it carrying so far.

Tom nodded grimly. "It lures in some of the beasts as soon as they approach. They get close, entranced by the smell, and before they even know what's happening, their legs collapse from under them. Then the rest of the horde stampedes right over their bodies. That's how these flowers got their name. Demon's Bane."

I'd heard this before in lessons, but I didn't want to discourage Tom from opening up further.

"The demons are drawn in by their scent as well, then?" I asked, already knowing the answer. The orchids stood around three feet tall, ensuring any creature walking through them would quickly find itself immobilised if it lacked proper protection.

"Nah," he corrected, shaking his head slightly. "It's not the scent itself. Those monsters just walk right into them. Soon enough, their legs turn numb, and down they go. Makes them easy pickings for the defenders. It's the reason we've all survived this long. Without this field, we'd have long since fallen to a Challenge."

"What do you think caused them to grow here?" I asked thoughtfully, still staring across the dense field of orchids.

Tom shrugged lightly. "I've always figured a demon brought it over. Or maybe one of the beasts. Animals swallow seeds all the time, yanno? Maybe one of them had been chewing on something from the other side, and when it died out here, the seeds sprouted from its body."

I nodded along as he spoke. That was a common theory we'd been taught in class, especially since similar phenomena had occurred with beasts escaping containment. Plants never seen elsewhere had suddenly sprung up in areas where beasts had fallen.

"I think the energy from the Fracture mutated them," I told him, recalling a long conversation I'd once had. "My friend Dillon convinced me. He said there's no record of these orchids ever appearing. As far as historical accounts go, they've always been here."

Tom scoffed skeptically. "That doesn't prove much. Everyone knows we barely have reliable historical records from ancient times."

"Sure, but wouldn't there at least be legends or myths about them?" I pressed, repeating the argument Dillon had used to convince me. Noticing Tom's unconvinced expression, I continued. "Think about it. There are stories about everything else. The first demon invasion, the first beast stampede. Hell, there are even records about building these fortresses. But nothing mentions the orchids. Why?" I emphasized, slamming my hands on the battlements for effect and trying not to show that it actually hurt. "Because they were always here."

"Alright then," he said as he turned to face me. "Why are they so different from normal orchids?"

"Pfft, easy," I replied with a smirk. "The Fracture mutated them. Changed their very essence when it appeared."

"You're as bad as H," he groaned, shaking his head. "Tell me then, why hasn't that happened to anything else? The ground looks normal… Well, from what we can see."

Considering the ground was covered with orchids, it wasn't that we could see much.

I shrugged. "Maybe it's not. Maybe the ground's been changed too, we just don't know it. Nobody's exactly out there planting crops to find out, are they?"

"You're chatting a load of nonsense," he said, scoffing. "Those flowers came from the other side. I'm telling you."

I knew I wasn't going to win this argument but I was happy to have pulled Tom out of his funk a bit more.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. Right," I said, nodding at the crumbling wall in front of us, "what do you reckon? Should we start on this section?"

He looked at it with clear disdain. "Yeah, I suppose we should. It's barely even a wall anymore. And if this bit goes, we're all screwed."

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