MIDAS

The rope tied around his wrists didn't leave much room to move his hands; the rough fiber scratched against his skin, itching, as he looked to his left to see to where he was tied. A long rope connected everyone together, held by a guard in the front and the other behind the girl who decided to come with him; it spanned from the start to the end of the row of prisoners. The man in front of him had trouble walking, tumbling slightly every few steps he struggled to take, as his bare soles must be burning from the continually heated sand, his heavy body lightly sinking in the grains. Heavily huffing, before finally collapsing onto the sand.

Tucking the boy forward, as he was connected to the unconscious body, he nearly collapsed with the prisoner, who came before the collapsed man. With worry, the both of them looked down onto his heavy body, lying numbly in front of them, watching the guards lightly slap against his face as they crouched down to make sure if he was alive. Upon not getting any sign of life from him, the guard let his balding head rest in the sand, cutting off the rope that connected him to the main rope with one clean hit. Before turning to the front, the guard remarked, "You bring bad luck with you, boy." His voice was slightly teasing before he took the front again, signaling the row to leave the collapsed man behind in the middle of the desert.

The boy could only sink his head further into what had played out in front of him; only now was he able to see the value of what Alma had gifted him. With time, questioning his intentions of teaching him the language of this region, giving him food, a place to rest—things you typically wouldn't give to a foreign child. Alma could've been just following the teachings of the sun by helping him, possibly just helping him out of good will, that at least Midas hoped. He felt guilty for growing weary of him as he watched his guards treat others like that, not wanting to believe Alma shares the same set of values.

Before he noticed, the chain of imprisoned people stopped in front of a wooden gate, the entrance to what ever lied in front of the lower, sandstone walls that stretched in both directions out from him. Mud was crumbling off of the layered sandstone bricks, which made up the wall that surrounded the camp he would be forced to enter. It took a while before the wooden doors were opened, revealing stacked up slabs of roughly rectangular cut sandstone, mere meters away, a pathway sloped down into a quarry. The wood slightly creaked as the doors shut again. 

Guards crawled around the compound, some coming closer as the chain of people were brought into the quarry. Midas looked to the side with contempt glances. On the other side, away from the quarry, stood an expanded shack, covered by large cloth, laid on top of the old wood that made out the building. Near its entrance stood gear, pickaxes, rope, and mining equipment. Vital for whomever they are forced to work here. One of them untied their hands with their saber; none of them that stood before the boy dared to move their feet once their wrists were freed, being directed to enter the quarry once they got handed one of the stored pickaxes.

The wooden handle felt heavy in his hand. Looking closer, the metal was lumpy, lightly rusted, its surface marking its old age, most likely passed down from multiple prisoners until it was Midas' turn to swing it. The girl behind him was handed a pickaxe as well, balancing it on her shoulder as she tried to balance the weight of the metal to keep a hold of it. The both of them were directed not to the quarry entrance but to an open field next to it. Rough piles of stones were stacked on top of each other, piled together to form multiple piles of rough rubble. The sun directly hit the dusted stone floor, and Midas wiped off the sweat from his forehead, as he now was able to move his hands freely again.

The guard in front of them turned with one hand ontop the handle of his saber, tucked between his belt, as he faced back at them the holes of his metal mask dark, before he announced their task. "Break these - Crumble these up to tinier pieces. Collect anything that seems shiny.. No, just collect anything off the floor, no matter what it is. I want to minimize losses."

His hand stretched out in the direction of the stone piles. Watching the boy drop his pickaxe to the ground, walk off to the pile to grab a rock with both of his hands, only able to relieve his grip from it by letting it fall to the ground. Huffing, he picked up the mining tool again, both of his hands firmly grasping the wooden handle, swinging it until his hands were behind his head, before letting the metal tip impact the rock.

The girl quickly followed in his steps, struggling to get her chosen rock off the pile. Rolling it on the ground, lifting it up to let it roll forward, bit by bit, until she roughly arrived in the middle of the plain, Midas looked to her half-mindedly, his hands lightly shaking as he had hit the surface of the rock with his lump pickaxe. Clanking against the tough rock, the boy got knocked back slightly, his wrist beginning to ache by the time he had started hitting against the third rock. 

For the sake of spending their time more wisely, Midas instructed the girl to transport the rubble from the broken up rocks to the mining carts that lay ontop a rail, which led into the covered-up wooden shack. His breathing became drier with every swing, adjusting the strength he had to use for breaking the rocks once he got used to the task. The sun's warmth caused his head to fog up; the boy struggled to keep his balance as the stinging light of the sun shone atop his head. 

The guard looked at him, watching him loosely swing as he struggled with the heat. Letting the boy burn in the sunlight, watching over the both from a distance. With droplets of sweat dripping down his chin, he looked over to the girl, sharing the same struggle as him, her forehead reflecting the sun's light slightly. Midas looked down to the chipped away rock in front of his feet, balancing himself on the pickaxe, swinging once more before the rock crumbled completely. 

His lungs feel dry, raspy, and he aches for fresh air, letting another rock fall to the ground, loosely letting it slip out of his grasp, barely avoiding it hitting his feet. The girl glanced at him as she picked up fragments of the rock, searching his eyes for a moment, turning again as she relished Midas rather tried to stay on his feet, wondering if he wasn't used to the climate of the region.

The boy looked up to the setting sun, the bandages covering him damp, as his numb hands hung loosely off his shoulders. Letting himself fall to the dusted ground, he looked at his pickaxe blankly, watching his new acquaintance run in excitement towards him. Her finger eagerly pointing towards the guard as she quietly exclaimed, grinning lightly. As Midas got up again, he risked a look towards the masked man, seated on a stool. He laid back, one arm on the table, as he rested motionless in his seat, shrouded in the soft darkness his tiny tent gifted him. 

After processing what he saw in front of him, he nodded to her, quietly signaling her to follow the boy as he ran to leave the plain behind. A clear pathway formed in his head as he hid behind one of the stacked-up stone slabs, making sure the girl followed him. Emerging from the stone stack, he passed by the guard, who walked down the same path in the direction of the gate, facing away from the both of them jumping from one crate to another, which were dotted arround the compound.

Even though it went well for the both of them, their run came to a halt as Midas cought a look at two guards being stationed between an opening in between two sandstone slab stacks. The boy took a while, scanning his surroundings, before setting sight on a wooden crane holding onto one of the slabs, two sets of ladders leading up the stack of massive stone rectangles. He didn't take long. Before starting to climb the wooden steps, one of his eyes fixated on the solo guard walking up and down the path that lay in front of the two stationary masked men.

As he reached the base of the crane, reaching the top of the stone stack, he looked beyond, watching the other prisoners be funneled to the wooden shack by the guards. He scanned the metal contraption nailed onto the base of the crane, a gear seemingly holding onto a thick rope, able to be turned by a lever, which the boy instantly formed a grip onto.