The dust of Kade Shen’s escape settled cold and fleeting as Red Talon riders swarmed the canyon’s edge, their torches flaring like hounds on a scent. He’d barely made a mile—knife in hand, orb pulsing in his pack—when hooves thundered behind him, Ryle’s sharp-eyed trackers closing the gap. Kade fought, slashing with the crude blade, drawing blood from one rider’s arm before a lasso snared his legs, yanking him down hard. Fists and boots followed, a brutal rain that cracked his ribs and split his lip, until darkness swallowed him, the orb’s hum fading with his breath.

He woke to chains—iron manacles biting his wrists, bolted to a stone wall in a cavern deep within Vane’s stronghold. The air stank of damp earth and rust, thick with the tang of blood—his own, dripping from a gash on his brow. The cave was vast, its ceiling lost to shadow, lit by flickering braziers that cast jagged light across Red Talon guards—six of them, hulking figures in red bandannas, lounging with rifles and cruel grins. Crates lined the walls, loot from raids, and a wooden table held his pack, the orb’s faint glow seeping through the leather. His saber was gone—lost in the plateau’s dust—and the absence gnawed at him, a phantom limb severed.

Ryle strode in, his lean frame taut with smug triumph, a coiled whip in hand. “Tough bastard,” he said, circling Kade, boots scuffing the dirt. “Thought you’d slip us, huh? Carved your name like a damn fool—K.S., real cute.”

Kade glared, blood trickling into his eye, and spat red at Ryle’s feet. “Get it over with.”

Ryle laughed, sharp and cold. “Oh, we ain’t killing you—yet. Vane wants a word. Wants you breathing when he carves you up like your pa.” He cracked the whip, its tip snapping inches from Kade’s face. “But we’ve got time to play.”

The first lash struck his chest, a line of fire that tore through his shirt, and Kade bit down a grunt, chains rattling as he tensed. Ryle grinned, swinging again—back, arms, thighs—each hit a searing brand, skin splitting under the leather’s bite. The guards jeered, tossing bets on how long he’d last, but Kade locked his jaw, Wei’s voice echoing—flow, not force—and turned the pain inward, a forge to temper his hate. Vane’s face loomed in his mind—faceless still, but real now, the architect of his ruin.

Hours bled together, Ryle’s whip relentless, until Kade’s shirt hung in tatters, blood pooling at his feet. The tracker paused, wiping sweat, and crouched close, breath sour with liquor. “Where’s Mei?” he hissed. “She turn you loose, or you break free?”

Kade smirked, weak but defiant, tasting copper. “Ask her yourself.”

Ryle’s fist slammed his jaw, stars bursting, and the whip fell again—harder, faster, a storm of hate. Kade’s vision blurred, the orb’s hum a distant thread keeping him tethered, Jian’s vision flashing—for him—a vow he wouldn’t let die here. When Ryle finally stopped, panting, Kade hung limp, chains creaking, but his eyes burned, unbroken.

“Stubborn,” Ryle muttered, tossing the whip aside. “Vane’ll enjoy you.” He grabbed the pack, peering at the orb, its glow catching his scarred face. “This damn thing—boss says it’s power. Looks like junk to me.” He slung it back, barking at a guard. “Watch him. He twitches, break his knees.”

The guards settled into a lazy watch, dice clattering as night deepened. Kade sagged, pain a living thing, but his mind sharpened—chains, guards, the orb. The manacles were old, rusted at the bolts, and the wall’s stone crumbled where they anchored. He tested them, slow, wincing as raw skin scraped iron—loose, not free, but a chance.

The braziers dimmed, guards slumping, one snoring against a crate. Kade worked the chains, grit falling as he twisted, each move a spike through his wounds. The orb’s hum grew, a pulse syncing with his heartbeat—Starfall’s call, Jian’s strength. A bolt shifted, then another, and one manacle popped free, dangling heavy. He froze, breath held, but the guards didn’t stir.

The second took longer, rust flaking into his cuts, until it gave—silent, a miracle of decay. Kade slid down, legs shaky, and crouched, blood slick under his boots. The pack lay ten feet off, guarded by a dozing brute, rifle across his lap. Kade crept, each step a gamble, pain screaming, and snatched the pack, the orb’s warmth flooding his palm through the leather.

A snore hitched—the guard stirred, eyes fluttering. Kade bolted, pack slung, weaving through crates as shouts erupted. “He’s loose!” Rifles cracked, bullets splintering stone, but the cavern’s maze gave cover—tunnels branching dark and deep. He ran blind, lungs burning, the orb a beacon in his grip, until a side passage swallowed him, echoes fading behind.

He collapsed against a wall, dust choking him, and checked the pack—orb safe, pulsing stronger, a lifeline. No saber, no knife—just him, broken but alive, Vane’s prize snatched back. The cavern stretched, a warren of shadows, and Kade carved his initials—K.S.—into the stone with a shard, a mark of defiance etched in blood and will. Vane wanted him breathing; he’d get him fighting.

The hum led him on, a whisper of Starfall’s past, and Kade staggered deeper, chains gone but the fire unquenched.