The pig enclosure was not built for endurance.
It was built for humiliation and for animals.
The stench settled into the lungs first, then the skin, then the mind. Even when I forced myself to breathe shallowly, it found a way in. Sour rot. Wet straw. Filth that clung to dignity and refused to let go.
I had endured battlefields thick with blood and burning fur. I had stood over corpses without flinching. I had slept in forests under rain and frost.
But this… this was designed to break something quieter.
The pigs did not care who I was. They shoved and squealed and rooted through mud with indifferent urgency. The guards stationed beyond the gate cared even less. Their eyes avoided mine. Whether from shame or fear, I did not know.
By the third day, my body began to respond.
My head sw
