Chapter 3 – The Hell Called Kolar

The train rattled through the night, carrying Rocky toward a destiny he could not yet fully see. Outside the window, darkness swallowed the land. Inside, Rocky sat silent, the weight of the gold coin pressing against his palm. It was more than metal; it was a symbol of the world he had promised to claim for his mother.

When he arrived at the edge of Kolar, the sight made his stomach twist. The land was barren, scorched by the sun, scarred by years of exploitation. In the distance, smoke rose from the mines like black clouds of despair. The sound of pickaxes, shouts, and chains filled the air. This was no ordinary place. This was hell on earth.

Rocky’s heart thumped, but he remembered why he had come. He had to disguise himself as one of the slaves, blend into the crowd, and survive long enough to strike. Pride screamed in his ears: “A gangster becoming a slave? Impossible.” But his mother’s memory silenced it. He clenched his fists. He would do whatever it took.

The first step into the mine was like stepping into another world. Men, thin and exhausted, toiled under the scorching sun. Their hands were cracked, their bodies bruised. Overseers with whips barked orders, and any disobedience was met with pain. Rocky’s eyes darted around, memorizing every exit, every guard, every weak spot.

He joined a group carrying heavy sacks of ore, moving silently, pretending to be broken by the system. His muscles ached, but his mind was sharp. Every groan, every slap, every fearful glance was a lesson. He was learning the rhythm of this hell, and already planning how he could turn it to his advantage.

Days passed. Rocky observed quietly. He noticed patterns: when guards changed shifts, when certain overseers were absent, and which workers dared to resist in whispers. Slowly, the miners began to notice him—not for his weakness, but for the quiet strength in his eyes. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, it was calculated. A nod here, a small act of courage there, and soon, some of the slaves started following him, sensing a leader in the shadows.

But Rocky’s journey was far from safe. One afternoon, a cruel overseer caught him lifting a sack slightly faster than the others. The man’s whip cracked through the air, and Rocky felt the sting on his shoulder. Blood trickled down, but he did not scream. He held his ground, looking the overseer straight in the eye. The man hesitated, sensing a fierceness he had not expected in a boy-turned-slave.

That night, Rocky lay under the cold sky, chains clinking softly beside him. He stared at the stars and whispered to himself, “This is only the beginning. I will rise, no matter the cost. I will give the world my mother’s memory.”

Little did he know, the real challenges were only just beginning. A secret force within the mine watched him. Someone—or something—had noticed the strength in his heart. And soon, Rocky would be forced to choose between surviving the mines and starting the war that could change everything.

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