Alone in the dim confines of the cell, Kenshin's senses heightened as he adjusted to the oppressive darkness. His fingers traced the rough walls, mapping out the limited space that was now his prison. Memories of his mother's loving touch clashed with the bitter reality of her betrayal, leaving a void in his heart that even the bustling sounds of the forest outside couldn't fill.
The trafficker's mocking words lingered like a curse, tormenting Kenshin's thoughts. "Worthless exchange," he repeated to himself, the words heavy with the weight of abandonment and betrayal. Yet, amidst the darkness and despair, a flicker of determination sparked within Kenshin's soul.
"I may be blind, but I am not weak," Kenshin whispered defiantly into the shadows. His fingers, though bound by chains, curled into fists as he resolved to survive and reclaim his identity, despite the cruel fate dealt to him.
Outside the cell, the trafficker's laughter mingled with the forest's whispers, a cruel symphony that mocked Kenshin's resilience. Little did the trafficker know, Kenshin's blindness was not a limitation but a catalyst for unlocking his true potential. The gods' blessings ran deep within him, waiting to be awakened by the trials that lay ahead.
As night descended and the forest embraced a blanket of silence, Kenshin's thoughts turned to his sister Enya. He wondered if she missed him, if she knew the truth behind their mother's deceit. With renewed resolve, Kenshin vowed to escape this prison, not just for himself but for the bond he shared with his sister—a bond stronger than chains and darkness.
As Kenshin grappled with his newfound determination, a distant murmur seeped through the cell walls, carrying voices conversing with the trafficker just beyond. Their words painted a grim picture of his fate, threading together the web of deceit and human suffering.
"Let's head to the North region. Lord Frozenfang is waiting for his merchandise. We now have the twenty slaves he asked for," one voice declared, its callousness slicing through the night air.
The mention of "twenty slaves" struck Kenshin like a physical blow, his mind reeling at the magnitude of the trafficking operation he was now entangled in. The coldness in their words mirrored the icy dread that settled in his heart, knowing that his journey into the depths of despair had only just begun.
The carriage creaked into motion, its wheels grinding against the forest floor as it followed the trail toward the frigid northern lands. With each passing mile, the air grew colder, carrying whispers of snow-laden forests and unforgiving terrains. Kenshin felt the chill seep through the cracks of his cell, a haunting prelude to the harsh reality awaiting him in the domain of Lord Frozenfang.
Though sightless, Kenshin's other senses heightened, attuned to every subtle shift in the environment. The rustle of leaves gave way to the hushed whispers of a world veiled in frost and shadows. His fingers traced the frost-kissed bars of his cell, a grim reminder of the boundaries that confined not just his body but also his hopes and dreams.
The moon's pale light danced upon the carriage's path, casting an ethereal glow on the snow-dusted foliage. Kenshin's breath formed misty clouds in the chilled air, a silent testament to the trials that lay ahead. His journey toward redemption intertwined with the clandestine movements of the trafficker's caravan, forging a path that would test his resilience amidst the unforgiving embrace of the North.