Chapter 5: Bound by Chains

The sun beat down mercilessly, scorching the open field where Olivera and her best friend, Jeremy, trudged slowly toward a gathering of laborers. The intense heat of the day was unrelenting, as if the sun itself waged war against the land and all who inhabited it. Dust rose from beneath their feet, swirling around them as they approached a scene dominated by bricks, sand, and the unmistakable weight of suffering. "I'm thirsty," Olivera murmured, wiping sweat from her brow. Her body felt drenched, sticky with perspiration pooling beneath her clothes. The heat was unbearable. She longed not only for a drink but to plunge herself into water, anything to relieve the oppressive sensation engulfing her. "We'll find water soon, maybe from that man," Jeremy replied, his voice hoarse from thirst. He swallowed hard, trying to moisten his dry throat. He wasn’t sure they’d actually find water, but hope was something he needed Olivera to cling to. Despair, especially in their situation, was not an option. Olivera nodded but eyed the scene before them. “What are they doing?” Jeremy squinted toward the laborers. “Looks like they’re building something,” he said, watching as men mixed sand and broke bricks. Their movements were sluggish with fatigue, their faces etched with exhaustion and strain. "They’re probably prisoners, forced to work as punishment. The Alpha must keep them here, laboring until he’s satisfied." A chill ran through him at the thought. They were in the heart of the Dark Shadows Pack, notorious for its ruthlessness, its prisoners rarely emerging alive, let alone free. The silver bracelets on the workers' arms confirmed their status—those bands would sap a werewolf's strength, leaving them vulnerable and weak. If prolonged, the silver could even kill them. Jeremy’s stomach churned, imagining himself shackled in such a way. He couldn't help but glance at Olivera, who, wolfless as she was, likely wouldn’t be affected by the silver. But even without those shackles, the harsh labor would break her in days. "Wicked," Jeremy muttered under his breath, feeling the heavy weight of their surroundings pressing in on him. Olivera looked at him, curious. "Did you say something?" Jeremy quickly shook his head. "No, nothing. Just talking to myself." He forced his focus back on the path ahead, anxiety gnawing at him. He knew what their future here likely held, and it was far from bright. "Penny for your thoughts?" Olivera asked with a faint smile, sensing his tension but attempting to lighten the mood. "It’s nothing, really," he lied, trying to match her tone with a weak smile of his own. "At least we’re still together," Olivera said, lacing her fingers with his. Her grip was firm, a subtle reminder that they still had each other amidst the uncertainty. That was all that mattered for now. Jeremy squeezed her hand gently, grateful for her attempt at optimism despite the bleakness of their situation. Her resolve was something he admired, though he feared it wouldn’t last in a place like this. Her seizures had already left her fragile, and the horrors of the Dark Shadows Pack were well-known. Survival here wasn’t a guarantee, and the weight of those thoughts settled heavy in his chest. Olivera's mind wandered as they walked. She had heard stories—many stories—about the infamous Alpha of the Dark Shadows Pack. His reputation stretched far and wide, striking fear into the hearts of werewolves and humans alike. He was known for his power, both physical and political, with rumors suggesting he had connections to influential human leaders. But beyond his might and strategic brilliance, it was his cruelty that echoed in every corner of the werewolf world. The tales told of entire villages decimated at his whim, all because their leaders dared to challenge him. And his treatment of women—Olivera had heard that too. He used them, discarded them, treated them as nothing more than playthings. And yet, there were always those who sought his attention, desperate to be noticed by a man so revered and feared. A part of her couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to catch his eye. What if, somehow, he noticed her? She shook her head violently, startling herself out of the strange, unwelcome fantasy. "What’s wrong?" Jeremy asked, his brow furrowed with concern. "Nothing," Olivera said quickly, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Just had a stupid thought." Jeremy laughed softly, amused by the way her blush deepened. "You were fantasizing again, weren’t you?" "No, I wasn’t!" Olivera insisted, though the blush on her face betrayed her. She crossed her arms, pouting slightly. "Come on, spill it," Jeremy teased, his voice light for the first time in what felt like days. He needed the distraction, even if it came from something silly. Olivera rolled her eyes. "It’s nothing, really." "Yeah, right," Jeremy laughed again. "Your face says otherwise." Before she could retort, a voice interrupted them. "You made it." They turned to see the man who had led them from their cell earlier. He stood with his arms crossed, watching them with the same unreadable expression he had before. Jeremy straightened, his hand slipping out of Olivera’s. “Yes, we made it,” he said, his voice tight with apprehension. The man nodded, his gaze lingering on them for a moment before he spoke again. “Good. So, Jeremy, you’ll join the others in the field. Your job is to work hard and stay out of trouble. If you behave, I won’t have to make you wear a silver bracelet." Jeremy swallowed hard, the reality of his situation sinking in. “I’ll behave,” he said quietly, though the thought of being subjected to this grueling labor day after day filled him with dread. The man gave a brief nod before glancing at Olivera. "And you," he said, his tone softening ever so slightly. "You can’t work in the field. You wouldn’t last long." "I’m strong," Olivera protested, though she knew deep down she wasn’t. But the thought of being separated from Jeremy terrified her. The man shook his head. "No, you’re not. Don’t worry. You’ll see him at the end of each day." Olivera bit her lip, her chest tightening at the thought of being apart from her best friend, even if only for a few hours. "Okay," she whispered, her voice small. "Follow me," the man said, turning on his heel and walking toward the other side of the field. Olivera glanced back at Jeremy as he made his way toward the laborers, her heart sinking. Whatever awaited them here, it was clear that their lives had taken a dark turn.