Chapter Six: The Escape
Inside the cell, Daniel stood with a smile on his face, the key in his hand. He glanced at the men around him, amusement in his eyes, and whispered,
"So… are you coming with me? Or not?"
They stared at him in awe and disbelief. None of them had thought the plan would actually work—at least not this easily. Even those in the neighboring cells, who had witnessed the whole scene, started shouting:
"Young man! Take us with you!"
"Please, don't leave us behind!"
"We saw everything—you're a genius!"
Daniel raised a hand, signaling for silence.
"Calm down… I'll start with my cell."
He bent down and slipped the key into the first lock. With a faint click, the door creaked open. He pushed it gently, then moved quickly from one cell to the next, unlocking them one by one.
Minutes later, everyone had gathered around him in the hallway. The air buzzed with nervous whispers and quickened breaths. There was no clear leader among them—but every eye was fixed on Daniel. After all, he was the reason they were free now.
As he calmly explained the next step of the plan, Daniel noticed that the three men who'd shared his cell had already changed into the clothes of the sleeping captors. They'd covered the lower halves of their faces with tattered cloth to hide their identities. One of them looked toward Daniel and gave a subtle nod.
Daniel nodded back.
Without a word, the three slipped out... walking like guards, scanning the area outside.
Five long minutes passed before they returned. One of them leaned in and whispered,
"They're either passed out or dead drunk... The path is clear all the way to the room with the carriages and the balcony. But that door is locked."
Everyone moved according to the plan. The first two disguised men led the way, and the freed prisoners followed in a silent line, while the third man in disguise walked at the rear, watching carefully, guarding their backs.
Ropes were still tied loosely around everyone's wrists—not tight like before, but in a clever knot that could be undone at any time. That small trick gave them a sense of control, and a touch of calm.
They left the storage room and crossed the palace in near-total silence, their steps cautious and tense. They passed through the wide courtyard where, just hours ago, their captors had thrown a drunken feast. Remnants of wine and meat were still scattered across the grounds.
This was the very place where the "celebration plan" had unfolded.
Whenever they passed a sleeping guard—especially one with a dagger, sword, or any sort of weapon—someone would quietly take it and hand it to one of the stronger prisoners. But Daniel, whom everyone still looked to as their leader, made one thing clear:
"Don't get greedy. Take only what we need to survive. Nothing more."
Even breadcrumbs and scraps of meat weren't overlooked. Anything they could carry without making noise—they took.
They moved slowly, with extreme caution, until they reached the door to the room with the balcony—the same room they'd first been brought through, and the one with the carriages behind it.
But when one of the three tried the door...
It was locked, just as they'd been told.
Everyone froze.
This was the first real obstacle they had faced since the escape began. The only door they had passed through without trouble had been the one leading back to the cells. This one was unfamiliar—no one knew what key opened it, or whether it was guarded.
Whispers spread among the group, worry starting to show in their eyes.
Then Daniel calmly stepped forward and joined the two standing near the door. He stood beside them and knocked—three soft taps:
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Everyone waited in heavy silence.
No answer.
Daniel spoke softly,
"No one's going to open this. You two... go downstairs. Search the sleeping guards for keys."
This was his second option. The third, of course, was to break down the door—but he knew that would be loud and could turn everything into a disaster.
Before the two could move, footsteps echoed from inside.
Everyone froze in place.
Then…
The door swung open.
A tall, muscular man filled the doorway with his broad frame. He scanned those gathered before him, then fixed his bleary, half-lidded eyes on the third disguised man and the others. His voice was slow and heavy with drink.
"What's going on here?"
The third disguised man stepped forward, his voice rough.
"These have been sold… and we're taking them to the deal."
His face was partially covered, but he spoke with confidence.
Suddenly, the muscular man laughed—a hoarse, joyous laugh that boomed through the room.
"All of them?! And on the first day too?! Ha! I never thought I'd get rich this fast!"
Then he waved his hand.
"Come in, come in."
He opened the door wide and turned to return to a small table in the corner, piled with wine and meat. He sat down, biting into a piece of meat while refilling his glass.
(That was dangerously close to failure…) Daniel thought, then took a slow breath.
But now the door was open—the path to escape was beginning to take shape.
They entered the large, dim room hesitantly, wrapped in the awe of silence. It was as if their breath had all been caught in the air the moment they crossed the threshold. Each took a cautious step forward, glancing fearfully over their shoulders, as if slowly feeling the threads of salvation.
The last two entered and closed the door behind them, turning the space into a bubble of tense silence.
In the far corner of the room sat a tall, muscular man with a commanding presence that needed no words. His eyes were half-closed, and his large body reclined on a heavy wooden chair next to an old table littered with wine bottles and grilled meat. He glanced briefly at the three newcomers with covered faces but said nothing. He made no inquiries.
The reason was simple—this place was surrounded by desert, where sandstorms often forced people to cover their faces to protect against the biting sands. This natural explanation, planned by Amado with the mustache during their disguise discussion, was perfect—and luckily, it spared them suspicion.
The entire group stood in the center of the room like wooden statues, unsure what to do. No one moved. No one spoke. Their eyes darted between each other, the tall man, and the lined-up carriages on the side. Time seemed frozen.
The tall man was about to speak, but Amado with the mustache cut in nervously, reading his thoughts before he spoke,
"Why are you all standing there? Hurry up and get the carriages ready."
His voice carried the tone of a seasoned leader giving orders—not a shout, but a serious command full of control.
He moved first, approaching one of the bound men and pretending to untie his wrists. Behind him, Karo the bulky man followed, his performance believable thanks to his physique, then nervous Kaoro came last. And with these simple acts, the charade began.
Some were untied and instinctively went to prepare the nearest carriage.
Meanwhile, as eyes watched the carriage and the hesitant footsteps, the tall man called out,
"Come... have a drink with me before you leave."
His invitation carried a faint glimmer of hope. But he didn't expect the firm reply from the third disguised man from Daniel's cell—Amado with the mustache—who answered without hesitation,
"No. This is a very sensitive mission. One small mistake and we'll die at the commander's hand."
A heavy silence followed this statement. Then the tall man's laughter rumbled low,
"Haha, the commander? Yes, he's terrifying when he's angry... Can't blame you."
It was an offhand comment Amado had heard before from the three watchers in the corridor, but now everyone fully understood the danger they faced if this mission failed.
Suddenly, while one man prepared a carriage, the tall man struck him suddenly, muttering,
"Even at the feast, you drink alone."
The blow wasn't light—it was enough to send the man crashing to the floor. As he fell, a small dagger slipped free from his clothes.
In that instant, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
The dagger clattered to the ground with a sharp metallic sound that echoed through the stone walls, sending an unexplainable shiver through every heart.