CHAPTER 189: CHAPTER 189: THE AWAKENING OF SHADOWS

After that first night when Adrien had joined the orange eyes at the bottom of the tunnel, everything gradually changed for the slaves in the barracks. This first passage was not the last. Soon, almost every night, Mordred would discreetly come to open this secret door in the cold and dusty ground of the camp, to bring, one by one, new slaves to the underground training room that he had carefully prepared with Livia.

The process was extremely cautious. Mordred never took too many slaves at once, and brought them only one night out of three, to avoid their absence being noticed by the draconic guards, but also to preserve their bodies already battered by forced labor.

Each time, he waited patiently in the shadow of the tunnel, his orange pupils glowing with gentle assurance, welcoming each newcomer with a reassuring, calm and powerful word:

— "You are safe here. As long as you follow my instructions, you will be protected."

Gradually, a discreet and efficient routine was established. Each night of rendezvous, the concerned slaves waited impatiently in their beds, hearts beating, hoping that the hole would reappear, a tangible symbol of freedom regained, even if temporary. And each time, this hole appeared, a faithful promise kept by Mordred, welcoming them with his reassuring and solid presence.

Livia, meanwhile, had become their main trainer in the underground training room. The young woman proved severe but fair, aware that the survival of these slaves would depend on their ability to quickly become strong and resilient.

She organized their training methodically, beginning each session with an intense but carefully calibrated warm-up to allow them to adapt without exhausting them completely. She first taught them the fundamental basics of combat: how to stand, how to dodge, how to deliver a precise and effective blow. Her teaching style was direct, rigorous, but always imbued with deep respect for these men, these women, these teenagers who had suffered so much.

— "Every blow struck, every movement made must be thought out and controlled," she repeated firmly. "Your body is your most precious weapon. Never waste it in useless gestures."

Meanwhile, Mordred continued relentlessly to dig further, much further, under Paris, to build what he hoped would become a permanent escape route for all the slaves in the network. He advanced cautiously, constantly drawing his complex runes on each wall to ensure the stability of the tunnels. His work was exhausting, both physically and mentally, but he never slowed the pace, aware of the urgency of the situation.

Each day, each night, he progressed a little more, his tunnels slowly extending underground, always invisible to the dragons. And soon, he began to connect other slave barracks to their secret network, slowly and surely extending their range of action, offering more and more human beings a chance to learn to fight and, perhaps one day, to regain their freedom.

The weeks passed thus, with implacable regularity, and the number of slaves joining this secret network gradually increased, each new face bringing an additional glimmer of hope to this discreet but crucial struggle.

Adrien observed all this with constant amazement. For him, each night in this secret training room was a miracle in itself. He still struggled to believe that this crazy dream of partial freedom had become reality, and yet each blow struck in the exercises organized by Livia proved to him the reality of their nascent hope.

The first time he had joined this place, he had remained shy, nervous, intimidated by the other older slaves who surrounded him. But quickly, he had understood that they were all the same, all animated by the same deep desire to survive, to learn, and to regain freedom one day. Livia had quickly noticed his silent determination, his intense gaze charged with suffering and hope, and she had given him particular attention.

— "Adrien," she said softly to him after a particularly difficult training session, "You have more strength in you than you think. Keep it up, don’t give up anything."

These simple and sincere words touched him deeply, motivating him to persevere each night with renewed energy. Little by little, he gained confidence, physical strength and technique. His daily pain was still present, but it now became bearable, tempered by the concrete hope that this training brought him.

Adrien also gradually bonded with the other slaves he met in this secret place. They came from different barracks, had varied ages and stories, but all shared the same suffering, the same determination to survive. They quickly became his new companions in misfortune, forming a united, supportive group, where each found a place, support and unexpected brotherhood.

When they returned to their respective barracks in the early morning, Adrien’s heart always tightened painfully. The reality of the camp was still atrocious, but now, he bore it better. He knew that each evening spent in underground training gave him additional weapons to resist the cruel daily life imposed by the dragons.

Despite the intense fatigue, despite the physical pain increased by the nights spent training, Adrien felt a kind of inner peace, a new strength. Each time he met the contemptuous gaze of a dragon guard, he could now sustain that gaze without lowering his head, animated by an inner strength that no one could take from him.

Yet, he knew that all this was still fragile. Each night, he anxiously awaited the opening of the passage, constantly fearing that it would disappear permanently, that Mordred would never come back. But each night, the passage faithfully reappeared, accompanied by the reassuring orange eyes of their mysterious savior.

That evening, as he was preparing to return to his bed, exhausted but deeply satisfied after an intense training session, Adrien turned one last time toward Mordred. He hesitated for a moment, then asked timidly:

— "Why do you do all this for us?"

Mordred remained silent for a moment, his orange pupils glowing in the dim light. Then, slowly, he replied with a calm and sincere voice:

— "Because no one deserves what you suffer here. Because I know what it is to lose one’s freedom... and I refuse to let you remain prisoners of this life. You deserve better."

These words resonated deeply in Adrien, touching a sensitive chord deep in his heart. He nodded slowly, grateful, a new determination shining in his eyes:

— "Thank you... Mordred. We will never forget you."

Mordred gently placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, a slight warm smile on his lips:

— "I need no recognition. Your survival, your strength... that’s all that matters."

Adrien slowly returned to his bed in the barracks, these words spinning in his mind. For the first time in a very long time, he no longer feared the dragons. He knew the road would still be long and difficult, but he finally felt ready to face whatever awaited him.

The weeks passed slowly, bringing their share of hard training and growing hope. Despite the almost complete absence of adequate equipment, Livia had skillfully adapted, focusing mainly on physical strengthening and methodical learning of martial arts. Her training methods were rigorous but deeply respectful of the physical and mental limits of the slaves.

Each night spent in the underground room strengthened their bodies, but especially their spirits. The initial despair had given way to calm determination, to an increasingly visible fighting spirit in their tired gazes. And this transformation had not gone unnoticed.

The dragon guards watching the barracks began to notice subtle but troubling changes. Silent submission had given way to harder, more assured gazes, a prouder posture even under the lash of the whip. These slaves now seemed less terrified, less broken, as if something had revived in them a flame extinguished for a long time.

This did not please the dragons.

One morning, without warning, several guards burst brutally into the barracks, arbitrarily selecting certain slaves whose attitude had particularly changed in recent weeks. They violently took them aside, subjecting them to brutal interrogations, demanding to know what could have caused this sudden change.

But each time, the slaves remained silent, denying everything. Despite the blows, despite the humiliations, despite the wounds, no one revealed anything about Mordred, Livia or the secret tunnels.

This stubborn silence deeply irritated the dragon guards, who finally decided to report these troubles to the superior in charge of internal discipline: Alaryon Draegor, from a second noble draconic house specialized in internal slave management and implacable maintenance of order. Alaryon was renowned for his strategic intelligence as much as for his apparent cold cruelty.

Intrigued, Alaryon came to personally observe the camp. His reptilian eyes, of a piercing metallic yellow, carefully scrutinized each slave, each detail. His gaze, accustomed to detecting the slightest subtle changes, stopped particularly on Adrien, whose eyes now shone with a particularly intense gleam of hope and combativeness.

— "This one," he murmured coldly to his guards. "Watch him carefully. I want to know everything about him: his habits, his relationships, his connections with the other slaves."

Quickly, the draconic spies identified those with whom Adrien had forged solid bonds within the camp. The boy had developed an almost fraternal relationship with two other young slaves, Lucas and Théo, with whom he now shared a strong complicity born from secret training and trials faced together.

Satisfied with this information, Alaryon then decided to summon Adrien to a private interview in his own luxurious quarters, a strategy designed to break the boy’s mistrust and discover what these slaves were really hiding.

The first time the guards came to fetch Adrien, the boy’s heart instantly froze with terror. He was escorted through a long corridor to a massive door carved with complex draconic motifs. Inside, the room was sumptuously decorated, far from the brutal austerity of the barracks.

Behind a desk of precious wood, stood Alaryon Draegor, imposing and elegant. He welcomed Adrien with a surprisingly warm, almost benevolent smile:

— "Come in, Adrien. Come sit down, my boy."

Adrien timidly obeyed, wary, his eyes hesitating to meet those of the dragon.

— "You have nothing to fear," continued Alaryon with a soft and reassuring voice. "I simply wish to talk to you, to understand a little better what you feel in these camps."

Adrien remained silent, keeping a reserved and wary attitude, his body tense like an animal ready to flee.

— "I know what you think," added Alaryon with apparent sincerity. "You see me as an enemy. But let me tell you something: I am not like the other dragons. I deeply hate what my kind inflicts on your people. It deeply disgusts me."

Adrien frowned, surprised by this unexpected declaration. Yet, his mistrust remained intact. Alaryon, aware of this reluctance, contented himself with an understanding smile:

— "I understand your mistrust. After all, why would you believe me? But let me at least improve your daily life a little."

To his great surprise, Adrien was led to an adjacent room where he found a hot bath prepared especially for him, clean and comfortable clothes arranged on an armchair, and even a hot meal whose appetizing smell immediately filled his hungry nostrils.

He hesitated at first, suspecting a form of cruel trap. But Alaryon smiled softly, leaving the room to give him privacy.

— "Take your time, Adrien. Eat, wash, rest. We will talk again soon."

Adrien finally gave in to the call of hot food and the comforting bath, his exhausted body desperately craving these luxuries forgotten for so long.

During their second meeting, Adrien was still on guard but slightly less distant. Alaryon continued to subtly play his role, asking him simple, harmless questions, sincerely interested in his past, his family, his friends. Each word seemed carefully chosen, each gesture of Alaryon seemed sincere and deeply benevolent.

— "I am sorry for what you have suffered," Alaryon confided to him, an apparent hint of sadness in his voice. "The dragons could have found another way. But cruelty seems to have become our nature, unfortunately."

Adrien gradually felt his barriers weaken in the face of this apparent compassion. He still delivered no sensitive information, but his attitude gradually became less closed, less cold.

During their third meeting, Adrien entered almost without apprehension into Alaryon’s luxurious quarters. This time, the dragon was waiting for him with books of human history placed on his desk, as well as a particularly generous meal.

— "Here, Adrien," he said softly. "I thought you would like to remember a little of what you really are, beyond this unjust condition of slavery."

Adrien slowly took one of the books, touched despite himself by this attention. His eyes scanned the pages with sincere emotion, rediscovering forgotten memories, a humanity he thought lost forever.

Alaryon watched him carefully, noting the mistrust almost entirely disappeared from the boy’s gaze. He murmured softly, like a friendly confidence:

— "I would so much like to help you more. But for that, I need to know what is really happening in the camps. Something has changed in you, I can see it. If you could only tell me more, perhaps I could do something to lighten your suffering."

Adrien slowly raised his eyes to him, still hesitating slightly, his mind torn between gratitude and caution. But Alaryon’s constant kindness was slowly beginning to erode his last resistance.

He did not speak yet, but doubt had now taken root in him. Alaryon smiled softly, understanding that he had to be patient a little longer, but clearly feeling that he had just crossed a decisive step.

— "Take your time, Adrien. I will never force you to talk to me. But know that I am always here for you, for all of you."

Adrien slowly nodded, touched, but still hesitant:

— "Thank you..." he murmured timidly.