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Chapter 1: The Beating

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The oppressive heat of the Obsidian Ridge mines was a constant, stifling presence, even in the cooler depths. The air was thick with dust and sweat, and the rhythmic clanging of pickaxes against stone was a harsh soundtrack to Jarec Thorn's life. At fourteen, Jarec was accustomed to the grueling labor, his body bearing the marks of endless toil. His hands were calloused, his back ached, and every swing of his pickaxe felt like dragging a weight through molasses.

The overseer, a hulking man with a permanent scowl etched into his weathered face, patrolled the mine with a menacing authority. His presence was a dark cloud over the already grim reality of the miners' lives. Today, his ire was fixed firmly on Jarec.

Jarec was bent over a section of rock, his pickaxe striking with a rhythm that matched his labored breathing. The overseer's voice cut through the monotonous clang of the pickaxes. "Thorn! Are you trying to slack off again?"

Jarec's heart sank at the sound of the overseer's voice. He could feel the weight of the overseer's gaze like a physical presence. He was already pushing the limits of his endurance, and the overseer's demands were becoming unbearable. The exhaustion was palpable, each swing of the pickaxe feeling heavier than the last.

"Come on, Thorn!" the overseer roared, his patience wearing thin. "Is this how you repay the privilege of working in these mines? By dragging your feet?"

Jarec's breathing grew more labored as he tried to keep up with the overseer's relentless pace. Sweat dripped from his brow, mingling with the grime that caked his face. His muscles screamed in protest, but he pressed on, trying to push through the pain. The overseer's eyes were a relentless force, boring into Jarec and amplifying his sense of inadequacy.

The overseer's anger flared, and he stormed over to Jarec, his massive frame casting a looming shadow. "You think you're the only one here struggling?" the overseer spat. "You're falling behind, and it's my job to make sure you get back on track!"

Jarec's hands trembled as he gripped the pickaxe, his vision blurring from the exhaustion. The overseer's voice grew louder, more insistent, until it felt like an assault on his senses. "Move faster, Thorn! Or you'll get more than just a scolding!"

Jarec's strikes grew uneven and erratic, his body struggling to keep up with the overseer's demands. The overseer's eyes narrowed with anger, and he took a step closer, his presence oppressive and intimidating. With a grim smile, he raised a heavy hand and brought it down hard on Jarec's back.

The force of the blow sent Jarec stumbling forward, his breath coming out in a ragged gasp. The pain was immediate and intense, shooting through his back and making his vision swim. He tried to regain his balance, but before he could react, the overseer's hand landed another blow, this time across his side. The impact made Jarec cry out, his knees buckling under the force.

"You think you're entitled to slack off?" the overseer's voice roared, drowning out Jarec's cries of pain. "I'll teach you what happens to those who don't pull their weight!"

The overseer's strikes were relentless, each one more brutal than the last. Jarec's world became a blur of pain and darkness, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the beating. He fell to the ground, the cold, rough stone pressing against his face. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, each one feeling more distant as the darkness began to close in.

In the midst of his agony, Jarec caught a glimpse of a small, shadowy figure darting through the edges of his vision. It was a rat, sleek and glossy, with eyes that gleamed with an unsettling mixture of intelligence and arrogance. The rat moved with an air of casual disdain, a stark contrast to the brutality that had just transpired.

"Well, well," the rat's voice cut through the haze of Jarec's fading consciousness, dripping with a condescending tone. "What a pathetic sight you are, Thorn. Getting beaten like a common fool."

Jarec's vision swam as he tried to focus on the rat, struggling to make sense of the strange apparition. "Who… who are you?" he managed to croak, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The rat's eyes sparkled with a hint of superiority. "I am Velaris, and though you're in a rather sorry state, I've been keeping an eye on you. There's something about you that's worth noting. You have potential, Jarec. Potential to receive Azar's Gift."

Jarec's mind reeled from the rat's cryptic words. His strength was waning, and the darkness was becoming all-encompassing. "Azar's Gift?"

Velaris's eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and mystery. "Yes, Azar's Gift. But that's a tale for another time. For now, what's important is whether you have the strength to seize the opportunity that may come your way. If you're lucky, you might just find yourself in a position to grasp what you've been given."

Before Jarec could respond or ask further questions, Velaris turned and darted away, disappearing into the shadows of the mine. The last thing Jarec saw was the rat's gleaming eyes, fading into the darkness.

As Velaris vanished, the overwhelming pain and darkness began to swallow Jarec whole. The world around him faded into an abyss of blackness, leaving behind only the echoes of Velaris's enigmatic words. The cold stone pressed against his face, and the distant sounds of the mine seemed to fade into silence.

The beating had left Jarec barely conscious, and as his strength ebbed away, he felt a strange mixture of fear and curiosity. The encounter with Velaris was fleeting, but the rat's words had left an imprint on his mind. Despite the pain and the encroaching darkness, a flicker of hope remained—perhaps, just perhaps, there was something beyond the endless drudgery of the mines.

As Jarec's consciousness finally slipped away, the last vestiges of his awareness were consumed by the void. The promise of Azar's Gift and the mysterious figure of Velaris lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over the bleakness of his existence.