The straw crackled softly beneath their sleeping forms, the night calm and still. The quiet hum of the nearby village had faded hours ago, leaving only the rhythmic breathing of those resting above the stables. Everyone was asleep—except Astelle.
Restless, she sat up slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The stars above peeked through the open rafters of the stable roof, but her focus was elsewhere. A quiet discomfort tugged at her chest. She carefully climbed over the others, making sure not to wake anyone, and descended the wooden ladder step by step.
The stable floor creaked faintly under her weight as she tiptoed to the exit. The night air was cooler than expected, brushing against her skin as she stepped outside. Just as she turned toward the edge of the stable to relieve herself—
A sudden grip.
A hand clamped tightly over her mouth. She tried to scream, but it was muffled instantly. Arms pulled her back. Six figures—faces hidden by cloth, movements sharp and practiced—dragged her into the shadows before she could even turn to see their eyes.
And then—nothing.
---
Morning broke with a gentle breeze. The sunlight touched the edges of the village rooftops, and the day slowly came to life. Keon stirred first, stretching with a yawn. He blinked as he noticed someone missing.
"Where's Astelle?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.
Lynnea sat up, looked around—and frowned.
"She's not here..."
Tension spread immediately.
"Maybe she went to the village center early?" Tamir suggested, but even he sounded uncertain. "Still... she would've told someone."
They climbed down quickly and began checking the area, calling her name, looking in alleys, asking nearby villagers. No one had seen her. The four of them regrouped as the sun climbed higher—silent, worried, overwhelmed.
Keon's voice broke the silence. "What if... she was taken?"
Lynnea stiffened. "No... that can't be."
"We need to find her," she said quickly, eyes sharp with urgency.
They spread through the streets, knocking on doors, scanning windows, asking questions. Hours passed. The sun began to set. No one had answers. It was as if Astelle had vanished into thin air.
Back near the stable, they sat in frustration. The air was thick with defeat. No plan, no hope. Until—
Keon straightened.
"I have an idea," he said slowly. "If she was taken, it had to be by someone inside this village."
Tamir frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The gates are guarded. No one leaves or enters without being seen. If the gatekeepers didn't notice anything strange, then the people who took her are still here. Somewhere."
Lynnea looked doubtful. "Okay, but how does that help us?"
Keon's expression hardened. "We set a trap."
"What kind of trap?"
"We do exactly what we did last night. Climb up to the roof, pretend to sleep—and this time, Lynnea will go down alone."
Lynnea's eyes widened. "You're insane. What if they actually come again? What if they take me too?"
Keon's voice was calm, but firm. "If you want to find Astelle, this is the only chance we've got. We can't ask for help—they won't trust strangers like us."
She hesitated. Her hands clenched tightly. Then she nodded. "Fine. But the second you see something wrong, you move."
Keon nodded. "We'll be watching. The three of us will be ready to follow them. And once we find out where they're keeping her—we prepare. Wait for them to leave. Then we strike."
Elian, who had been quiet through the discussion, looked at them all and nodded. "Let's bring her back."
The group exchanged glances. Determined. United.
Night fell again. They climbed back up to the straw-covered rooftop of the stable, just like the night before.
But this time, they were waiting.
The night was dense with silence, pierced only by the sound of their breathing and the quiet crackle of distant lanterns. Keon's eyes scanned the shadows around them, every muscle in his body tense.
Then—soft whispers. Barely audible. Faint, like the wind brushing through tall grass.
He glanced at Lynnea. She met his eyes, hesitated—and then he gave her a single nod.
She took a breath, gathered her courage, and began her descent.
Each step down the ladder was slower than the last. When her boots finally touched the ground, she paused for a moment, heart pounding in her ears. Then she stepped out into the open, the cool air brushing against her arms.
From above, Elian, Keon, and Tamir crouched low, hidden behind wooden beams and bundles of hay. Their eyes tracked every movement in the shadows.
Moments passed. Then movement.
Figures—six of them—stepped silently from the darkness, just as before. They moved fast. One covered Lynnea's mouth, the others flanked her, and before she could react, she was gone—dragged into the night.
Keon didn't wait. "Now."
The three of them slid down quickly and darted into the shadows, following the figures at a careful distance.
But something shifted.
From another street, a young woman stepped out of her home—perhaps drawn by a noise, perhaps just unlucky.
The six figures turned.
They took her too.
Elian froze, fists clenched so tight they trembled. His breath caught in his throat. The cruelty—the ease with which they acted—boiled something in him. But he forced it down. Now wasn't the time.
They continued following.
Eventually, the figures stopped at a house near the edge of the village. It looked abandoned—dark windows, a crooked fence, and ivy choking the walls. The kidnappers disappeared inside with the two girls. The door shut behind them with a dull thud.
Keon, Tamir, and Elian exchanged glances.
They circled closer, hiding behind a wall of hay stacked nearby. The silence was thick again.
Then the door creaked open.
A massive man stepped out, broad-shouldered and slow-moving. He walked around the side of the house—relieving himself behind a tree.
None of them dared to breathe.
Eventually, the man returned inside. Time passed.
Then all six of the kidnappers emerged once more, now without their hoods, laughing softly among themselves. They sat near a firepit just outside the house, roasting meat, speaking in a language the boys couldn't fully understand.
Elian's jaw tightened.
"I'll take a look inside," he whispered.
Keon caught his arm. "Careful. If anyone stands, I'll warn you."
Elian gave a curt nod and slipped into the dark. He moved like a shadow, gliding from corner to corner until he reached the side of the house. The window was old—half-cracked, dust-covered.
He peered inside.
His breath caught.
Astelle lay on the floor, blood smeared across her temple. Her chest moved—barely.
Lynnea was slumped beside her, unconscious, her wrist twisted unnaturally.
The girl who had been taken second was lying nearby, motionless.
But it didn't end there.
Six more girls. Teenagers. Bloodied. Unmoving. Some still breathing, others not. The room reeked of dried blood, sweat, and rot.
A cold wave washed over Elian, followed by a heat—rage unlike anything he had ever felt.
He forced himself to breathe. Forced his legs to back away. He returned to Keon and Tamir without a word until they were safely behind the house.
"We go," he said flatly.
"What happened?" Keon asked as they ran through the trees toward the stable.
Elian didn't look back. "I'll tell you when we're safe."
They reached the stables, climbed up the ladder in silence, and crouched on the straw-covered roof under the moonlight.
Elian sat down. "They're all inside. Astelle, Lynnea, that girl. Six more. Blood. Unconscious. Some worse."
Tamir turned pale.
Keon closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. "We can't get them all out at once."
"No," Elian agreed. "We'll need a new plan. A better one. We have to wait until they leave the house. Then move fast."
They sat in silence, trying to think. The adrenaline was fading. The exhaustion returned.
They whispered ideas back and forth, but nothing felt solid. Nothing felt good enough.
Eventually, the night grew quiet again. Their words slowed.
And then, one by one, they fell asleep—too tired to fight it.
The stars shone coldly above them. The village, for now, remained unaware of the horrors hidden in one of its homes.