The march began before dawn.
Donavan did not know how long he had been unconscious before waking. When awareness returned, it came slowly—like claws dragging him back into pain.
The first thing he felt was iron.
Cold shackles bound his wrists, the metal biting into skin that had already been rubbed raw. His arms were tied together with those of other children, forming a chain that forced them forward whenever the elves pulled.
The second thing he heard was crying.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
A child somewhere behind him sobbed in a language he did not understand. Another whimpered quietly, as if afraid even their voice might invite punishment.
Donavan said nothing.
The third thing he felt was hunger.
It gnawed deep in his stomach, sharp and constant. His throat burned with thirst. When he tried to swallow, it felt like swallowing sand.
The Light Elves noticed everything.
They said nothing.
The march continued through the forest for hours before the first child collapsed.
A boy no older than seven stumbled, his legs too weak to carry him any farther. The chain jerked as his weight dragged the others down with him.
One of the elves approached without hurry.
He knelt beside the child and tilted his head slightly, observing him as one might observe an injured animal.
Then he kicked the boy in the ribs.
"Stand."
The boy tried.
He failed.
The elf sighed as if mildly inconvenienced, then gestured toward another of his kind.
A small metal device was produced.
Donavan watched as it was placed over the boy's eyes.
The child screamed.
Light vanished from his world instantly.
The device sealed itself with a quiet metallic click, plunging him into complete darkness. A faint pulse of magic rippled outward as the enchantment took hold.
Moments later, the boy stopped screaming.
His breathing grew frantic.
He could hear the forest.
The chains.
The footsteps.
But something was wrong.
The voices of the other children faded into distant echoes.
Only the elves remained clear.
The Light Elves leaned close to him.
And began to whisper.
"Your parents did not die in war."
"They abandoned you."
"You created those stories so the truth would hurt less."
"No one is coming for you."
"You belong to us now."
The boy shook his head violently.
"No… no…"
The whispering continued.
Soft.
Patient.
Relentless.
The march slowed after that.
What should have taken days stretched longer. The elves paused frequently, repeating the ritual. Hunger weakened the children. Darkness isolated them.
And in that darkness, the whispers carved their lies.
Some children screamed until their voices broke.
Some begged.
Others simply cried.
Donavan did none of those things.
They had placed the device over his eyes as well.
Darkness surrounded him.
But the whispers did nothing.
Because every lie shattered against a memory.
A trembling smile.
"Mom… please come back."
"I will."
He remembered the way she looked at him.
Not fear.
Not regret.
Apology.
The elves whispered again.
"You were abandoned."
Donavan clenched his teeth.
Lies.
"You belong to us."
Lies.
"Your parents never loved you."
The chains rattled softly as his fists tightened.
Lies.
They did not understand.
They could starve him.
They could blind him.
They could whisper until their voices cracked.
None of it mattered.
Because Donavan had seen something the elves could never erase.
He had seen them kill her.
Hatred burned quietly in the hollow space where grief should have been.
And it burned hotter with every word they spoke.
One of the elves eventually noticed his silence.
The Light Elf crouched beside him during the march.
"Interesting."
He tapped the metal device covering Donavan's eyes.
"No screaming."
"No begging."
"No tears."
The elf leaned close to his ear.
"Do you believe our words, child?"
Donavan said nothing.
The elf chuckled softly.
"It doesn't matter."
He stood again, gesturing for the march to continue.
"All minds break eventually."
The chains tightened.
The children were pulled forward once more.
And far to the east, beyond the forests and mountains—
The towers of the Elven Empire waited.
---