Liberation of The Slaves

Chapter 71 – When The Mist Cries

— Celestia’s POV —

“No… no, no, no…”

My voice broke in a whisper, lost in the wind. My hands shook as I took in the sight before me.

The night was still—cruelly still. Moonlight spilled down upon a field of ruin, silvering blood-slick soil and torn bodies. The red wolves feasted like demons of flesh and fang, their eyes glowing with mindless hunger as they tore through what was left of the miners.

Their clothes were little more than shredded burlap sacks. Thin, broken bodies lay strewn across the earth—arms twisted, bones exposed, faces crushed or mauled beyond recognition. One corpse had its ribcage torn open like wet paper. I could almost hear the tearing. Another had fingers still mid-reach, as if they had tried to crawl away.

My heart raced.

Navy blue.

Strands of navy-blue hair clung to some of the bloodied scalps. Others had whole clumps matted with gore, smeared across the rocks. My breath caught. My stomach twisted.

They all had navy blue hair.

Freed’s hair.

"No…"

I clenched the reins until my knuckles went white. I wanted to look closer. I had to look. But I couldn’t. What if it was him? What if it wasn’t—but would that be better?

I forced myself to take a look, only to find faces beyond recognition. Is that him? Or is the other one him?

I didn’t know.

I didn’t want to know.

I didn’t want to take a guess.

A distant cave, bathed in the faint glow of moonbeams, beckoned as my sole hope. Swiftly, I spurred my horse towards the cavern, a desperate hope guiding my course.

The moment I moved, the wolves gave chase. I didn’t look back. The air was filled with growls, snorts, the thunder of paws against earth. I galloped through the carnage, past bodies—some no older than children. I caught a glimpse of a small hand, limp and bloodied, the same shade of blue as Freed's hair, a haunting echo of my brother's features, now forever lost in the face of savagery, the whole head gone as if it was bitten.

I almost fell apart right there.

Instead, I bit down hard on my lip, drawing blood, and urged my horse faster.

Inside the cave, the air was dry and cold, thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and despair. Rusted tools lay scattered beside dried pools of something dark—something once human. Many were still shackled—collars tight around skeletal throats.

Gold glittered faintly within the rock, veins of cursed fortune that had fed this hell.

Slaves.

There had been many.

Clothing—if it could even be called that—lay in torn bundles across the ground. Some bodies were still here, hunched against the walls or curled into themselves, as if death had taken them gently in their sleep. Others…

Others had been dragged out. Trails of blood. Claw marks in the dust. Pieces left behind.

I dismounted slowly. The silence here was unnatural—too still, like the cave itself was holding its breath, waiting.

It was here.

The end of the cave.

And no sign of life.

Then I saw it.

A rounded chamber of stone and bone, empty of life… but full of death. Piles of rags clung to skeletal forms curled along the walls. Some had died sitting. A few... still clutched shattered tools, fingers locked in death’s grip.

Gold veins glimmered faintly in the walls—mocking, as if the cave itself was laughing. This place had taken everything from them. Their bodies. Their names. Their futures.

And from me—

It took him.

I stared at the remains in front of me. One had collapsed near a rusted bucket, navy-blue hair matted against a bloodied scalp. Another, a broken back twisted awkwardly, navy strands peeking from under a hood.

Another with matted blue hair.

And another.

And another…

Until I couldn’t count anymore.

I staggered back a step, choking on my breath.

So many had that same shade. Some were so disfigured I couldn’t tell if they were young or old. The faces were gone. Just blood and bruised flesh, their identities wiped clean by violence and time.

Could have been Freed. Could have been any of them.

Could have been all of them.

"Which one is you…?"

My legs gave out. I fell to my knees, fists clenching against the cold stone.

"Which one is you, Freed!?"

My voice broke as it bounced off the walls—shaking, desperate, useless.

“Freed…”

*Thud*

I collapsed forward, forehead pressing against the wall, as if I could somehow pass through it, find him on the other side—safe, smiling, alive.

"I can’t—I can’t even tell if you're here…”

But only silence answered me.

<“I… I should’ve been here. I should’ve been here!”>

<“What was I doing while you were dying in this place? Sleeping? Laughing? Breathing?”>

I struck the wall with my fist, again and again, until the skin split and blood stained the stone.

<“I promised you. I swore to you I’d come back. That I’d take you away. That I’d protect you.”>

<“But I was too late. Too slow. Too weak.”>

The weight in my chest was crushing, unbearable—like the cave was collapsing inward, burying me with the truth.

<“If I hadn’t stopped for food—if I hadn’t wasted time talking—if I hadn’t rested for even a second—maybe I would’ve made it.”>

My head pressed against the wall, the chill biting into my forehead.

<“But I didn’t. I was selfish. I hesitated. And now…”>

A whisper broke free from my throat.

“…You’re gone.”

Silence. So deep it rang in my ears.

Gone.

A sob tore from me. Not loud—but empty. Drained. Like something had cracked inside and was leaking everything out.

<“You must’ve cried for help. You must’ve screamed my name. And I wasn’t there.”>

My shoulders trembled. My breath shook. Fog bloomed from my lips, each exhale thicker than the last. The air was colder now. Dense. Damp. Almost… suffocating.

<“I wasn’t there.”>

<“I wasn’t...”>

Water trickled down the walls. Mist clung to the stone like fingers reaching inward. A wind—low and constant—whistled through the narrow entrance behind me, funneling inward from some passage. It wrapped around me like a shroud, pressing cold kisses to my neck.

<”If only I had hastened my steps…”>

<”If only I had arrived here earlier…”>

<”If only…”>

““Grrrr…””

The sound came soft. Like a thread unraveling.

My eyes remained forward, locked on the walls. The wind shifted behind me, carried with it the foul breath of death and blood.

The wolves had followed.

But I didn't move.

Another growl. Closer.

I stayed frozen.

Let them come. Let them tear me apart like they did everyone else. What was left of me, anyway?

““Grrrr…””

The growls multiplied. I heard the scrape of claws. The rustle of movement. They were behind me now. The same ones who had stripped this place of life.

Still, I didn’t turn.

“If only…”

The wind blew stronger, sweeping dust and grit past my feet. The air thickened. Not just cold anymore—wet. My skin prickled. My breath fogged even heavier now, curling unnaturally in the still air.

They surged forth, running and jumping at me, a cascade of impending doom. I closed my eyes, bracing for the rush of teeth and claw—

But then… something inside me shifted.

Not strength. Not courage.

But resentment.

“If only—you monsters… weren’t here…!”

And the wind howled.

*FWOOOOOM*

A pressure surged in my chest. A pulse—deep, echoing through my bones.

The breath caught in my throat.

Then it exploded.

A cyclone of icy vapor burst from within me. A dense azure wind erupted wildly, plunging the cave into a sudden, biting cold mist. The cave screamed as moisture condensed into a storm of mist.

The wolves, mid-leap, collided with a wall of freezing fog—thicker than smoke, laced with razor winds. The temperature dropped violently. Frost crystallized across the ground in spider web patterns. Mist coiled from the cracks like rising spirits, wrapping the entire chamber in a swirling white shroud.

No matter how strong the monsters were, they couldn't withstand the unforeseen frost that stilled their life force. If they were exposed to a sudden coldness that far exceeded their limits, their brains’ functionality would slow down, the blood stops circulating and—

Death.

The wolves froze—literally. Mid-motion, mid-snarl, their bodies stiffened, eyes wide in confusion. The mist seeped into their lungs, their blood, their minds. One by one, they collapsed—silent, breathless, dead before they could understand what had happened.

And I—

I knelt at the heart of the storm, facing the wall that had been covered by blue mist.

Mist clung to my skin but did not bite. It danced around me like a guardian—no, a part of me. As if it had always been there, waiting.

And then—

The mist began to settle, but I didn’t.

My knees buckled, body trembling, arms limp at my sides.

The wolves were dead.

But so was he.

There was no one left to fight.

The silence pressed in again, thick and unbearable. The cold did nothing to numb the ache in my chest, the screaming void where hope used to be. My lips parted, quivering. My breath caught.

The mist calmed. The wolves lay still. All I could do was stare at the wall in front of me, vision blurred by tears.

Then it came.

From the hollow in my chest, came the scream I had buried since the moment I saw the first corpse.

“Hwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!”

The first scream tore out of me raw and broken—like something being ripped out of my throat, jagged and wet. I clutched at my chest, as if I could claw the pain out with my bare hands. The mist carried my voice, echoing endlessly through the cave.

My mouth opened again, and again, and again—

“HWAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAA!!!”

My back arched as another cry forced its way up my throat. My entire body convulsed with the force of it. The scream echoed through the cave like it was trying to fill the void inside me.

But nothing could.

Nothing ever would.

“I DID EVERYTHING!!!”

I slammed my fists into the wall—once, twice, again, again—blood blooming from my knuckles, smearing into the frost.

“TWO YEARS—!”

The mist around me twisted into violent spirals, reacting to the truth bursting from my chest.

“WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THE PAST TWO YEARS!?”

My voice cracked so hard it barely resembled a voice anymore.

“NEVER RELAXING NOR SLACKING OFF!”

I coughed between cries. My voice splintered like glass.

“I TRAINED HARD EVERY DAY—EVERY. SINGLE. DAY!”

I choked. Words tangled with sobs.

“TOLD MYSELF THAT IT WOULD PAY OFF IN THE END!”

My body convulsed with sobs so deep they felt like they might rip me in half.

“I SACRIFICED EVERYTHING—EVERY. FUCKING. THING!”

“AND IT WAS ALL FOR NOTHING!!”

“NOTHING AT ALL!!”

I screamed his name so loud it scraped the inside of my skull.

“FREEEEEDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!”

My anguished wail reverberated through the cavern, intertwining with the echoes of regret that lingered like mournful ghosts. Each syllable of his name was a raw cry, a piercing lament that shattered the cold stillness around me.

“You must have screamed for me…”

“You must have cried…”

I clenched my jaw. My nails dug into my palms.

“…and I never came.”

And I cried again—

“HwaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

As the echoes of my cries lingered, the cavern seemed to absorb the weight of my grief, becoming a chamber of sorrow and despair. The walls whispered tales of lost opportunities, the ground bore witness to shattered dreams, and the air carried the heaviness of a soul burdened with remorse.

“Title…”

I blinked through a flood of tears.

I have nothing left…

“Fame…”

I wasn’t the hero in this story.

“Happiness…”

I was just the last one left.

“Even my breath… My life…”

The one who failed to make it in time.

The one who lived while the person she loved the most… didn’t.

“None of it meant anything without him.”

My voice fell into hoarse whispering.

“I would have traded it all… I would’ve traded me for you!”

I stared blankly at the mist curling at my feet.

“FREEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!”

The cavern devoured my cries, swallowing the intensity of my sorrow into its very essence. It became a vault of lamentation, a repository of grief that echoed my remorse, bouncing off the walls in a haunting chorus.

My throat tightened. The scream couldn’t even come anymore. It was just silent weeping now. The kind that empties a person, drop by drop, until there’s nothing left.

And that was what I became.

Nothing.

Just a girl in a cave full of corpses.

Just a sister without someone to call her that.

And I—

I hate myself.

For being too late.

For being alive.

For—

For still breathing when he isn't.