The first Escape
1686 Words
The morning came slow and grey. Anong sat by the small window in her room, watching the mist rise over the forest. Her body was tired, but her mind refused to rest.
She had spent seven days inside this strange place.
The guards didn’t talk to her. The servants who brought food only nodded and left quickly. And Alpha Phayu came at odd hours, always quiet, always watching.
Anong hated the silence more than anything. It made her feel like the walls were closing in on her. She wanted to scream, to fight, to run.
Today, she planned to do something.
She tied her long black hair into a loose bun, pulled the old blanket off the bed, and tore one of its corners into a long strip. Then she wrapped the strip around her waist and tucked a sharp spoon she had hidden under the bed into it.
It was nothing much—but it was better than being helpless.
The sun was rising, and with it came her chance.
When the young servant girl brought her breakfast, she waited by the door, pretending not to move. The moment the tray touched the table, Anong lunged.
She pushed the girl hard and ran out the door, sprinting down the long stone hallway. Her bare feet slapped the cold ground. The guards shouted behind her.
She turned a corner and saw a door at the end.
Anong ran faster. Her heart pounded like thunder. If she could just reach the forest…
The door flung open—and Phayu stood there.
She tried to stop, but it was too late.
He caught her by the shoulders and pushed her gently but firmly against the wall.
“Again?” he said, his voice calm but cold. “How many times do you want to try?”
“Until I succeed,” she hissed.
His eyes burned into hers. “You could have hurt that girl.”
“I don’t care!” she shouted. “You took me! You kept me like an animal! Why should I care about you or your people?”
Phayu didn’t speak for a moment. Then he stepped back.
“You want to leave?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then go.”
She blinked. “What?”
He stepped aside and pointed toward the door. “You’re not chained. You’re not locked in. Go if you want.”
Anong stared at him. It felt like a trick.
Slowly, she walked past him and pushed the door open.
She stepped outside—and froze.
It wasn’t the forest.
It was a tall wooden wall, surrounded by guards, high towers, and more stone buildings. The trees she had seen from her window were far beyond the fence. She was in the middle of a stronghold, not a village.
There was nowhere to run without being caught.
She turned around. Phayu stood with his arms crossed, watching her.
“This is not freedom,” she said.
“No,” he replied. “But now you understand where you are.”
She clenched her fists. “I’ll still find a way.”
“I know.”
Then he walked back inside, leaving her alone in the cold yard.
Anong sat on the cold stone floor in one corner of the room, her back against the wall. Her breathing was steady now, but her heart still beat fast. She didn’t know how long she had been there. The small escape attempt had failed, but something inside her refused to give up.
She looked at her hands—small, scratched, but steady. “I will not be weak,” she whispered.
The door creaked open slowly. It wasn’t the servant girl this time. It was him.
Alpha Phayu stepped inside, his dark eyes serious as always. He closed the door gently behind him and leaned against it.
“You are quiet today,” he said.
Anong didn’t answer.
He waited a bit, then crossed the room and sat on the low stool near the table. “Why do you keep fighting?” he asked her calmly. “Do you think it will change anything?”
She turned her eyes to him. “I don’t expect it to change anything. I just don’t want to feel like I’ve accepted this.”
Phayu nodded slowly, like he understood. “You think fighting will keep your spirit alive.”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
He stood up and moved to the window, looking out into the cloudy sky. “Most people cry. Some beg. You haven’t done either.”
“I am not like most people.”
He turned around. “No, you’re not.”
They stayed in silence for a while. Then he walked to the table and placed something there—a bowl of warm porridge, some fruit, and a small clay cup of water.
“You haven’t eaten all day,” he said.
“I’m not hungry.”
He didn’t force her. He simply stepped back and left the room without a word, closing the door behind him.
Anong looked at the food. Her stomach was twisting, but she still felt angry. She hated that he tried to be gentle after locking her away. But her body was weak. She waited for a few minutes, then dragged herself to the table and ate slowly, each bite heavy with shame.
That night, she lay on the thin mattress, staring at the wooden ceiling. She thought of her village, her people, her sister. Were they safe? Did anyone try to fight back after she was taken? Or did they all give up like she was supposed to?
The next morning, two guards came. They didn’t speak to her. They simply signaled for her to follow them.
She was led down a narrow corridor, out through the courtyard, and into a long stone building with a wooden roof. Inside, she saw rows of mats and young wolves—people around her age or younger, wearing simple clothes and training in hand-to-hand combat.
Anong stood at the door, confused. Phayu appeared again, standing at the far end.
“You need to learn how to defend yourself,” he said.
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because you’re not going home. At least not for now. You might as well learn how to survive here.”
She didn’t say anything.
“You can stay weak and depend on others, or you can learn to fight,” he said. “The choice is yours.”
She looked around. Everyone was busy. Nobody paid her attention. The sound of fists hitting mats and the shouting of commands filled the air. She didn’t like it here. But if learning how to fight gave her even a small chance of escape, then maybe it was worth it.
“Fine,” she said quietly.
Phayu nodded, then turned to a woman standing nearby—a tall warrior with short black hair and sharp eyes.
“This is Orasa,” he said. “She’ll train you.”
Orasa came closer and looked Anong up and down. “You’re small,” she said. “But I’ve trained worse.”
Anong straightened her back. “Try me.”
Orasa smiled. “Good.”
From that day, Anong trained every morning. It was hard. Her body ached every night, her arms bruised, her legs sore. She wasn’t strong, but she was stubborn. She didn’t cry. She didn’t quit.
Every time she fell, she stood up again.
Phayu didn’t attend the training, but she could feel his presence sometimes. Watching from afar, silent like a shadow. It annoyed her. She didn’t know what he wanted.
After one full week, Anong sat on the edge of the well near the kitchen yard, drinking water from a clay cup. Orasa had gone to help another trainee, and the guards weren’t around.
Then she saw him again.
Phayu stood on the path leading toward the forest, talking to an elder. His voice was low, his arms folded. He looked serious, as always.
She stood up and walked toward him without thinking.
“Why are you really keeping me here?” she asked boldly.
The elder excused himself and left.
Phayu turned to her. “I told you already.”
“I’m not just another prisoner. You’ve said that before. So what am I?”
He looked at her, long and deep. Then he said, “You are someone the pack is watching. They’re not sure what to make of you yet.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s all I can give you.”
“I don’t trust you,” she said sharply.
“You don’t have to,” he replied.
She turned and walked away, but her chest felt tight. She hated the way he stayed calm no matter what she said. She hated how he made her feel like a child trying to fight a storm.
But most of all, she hated how curious she was becoming.
That night, she had a dream.
She was running through the forest, branches scratching her arms. Behind her, a low growl echoed through the trees. She tripped and fell, and when she looked up, Phayu stood over her, eyes glowing like fire, fangs visible.
He reached down—not to hurt her, but to help her up.
She woke up sweating, confused and angry with herself.
“No,” she said. “Don’t dream about him.”
She sat up, wrapped the blanket around her, and stared at the wall. She didn’t know what Phayu wanted from her. He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t shouted at her, hadn’t even chained her like she expected.
That made everything harder.
If he were cruel, she would know how to hate him.
But this… this strange quiet care made her feel off balance.
She didn’t want to feel anything.
The next day, during training, Orasa knocked her to the ground again. “You’re distracted,” the warrior said. “Is your mind somewhere else?”
“No,” Anong said, standing up quickly. “Let’s keep going.”
- Writer
