The sun's relentless rays beat down upon the sprawling slave estate on the southside of the mainlands. Rows of shacks, dilapidated and weather-worn, lined the dusty paths where hundreds of slaves toiled from dawn until dusk. Among them was Akita, a fierce tribal woman with a fire in her heart that refused to be extinguished.
Akita's lithe, muscular frame bore the marks of her tumultuous past. Scars crisscrossed her bronzed skin, each one telling a tale of defiance, survival, and unyielding spirit. Brands from various estates marred her body, a testament to the many times she had been bought, sold, and returned—always considered too wild, too untamable. Yet, to Akita, these brands and scars were not symbols of defeat; they were the badges of a warrior.
Her latest captivity was no different from the others. The guards at this estate were particularly brutal, taking every opportunity to assert their dominance over the slaves. Akita, with her fiery temperament, often found herself at odds with them. She had become accustomed to the sting of their whips, the bite of their shackles, and the harsh words they spat at her. Yet, each punishment only strengthened her resolve. Akita fought the guards making her reckless as she went along to different Slave states working hard as her spirit never died and it never will.
One scorching afternoon, as Akita labored under the watchful eyes of the guards, her mind raced with thoughts of escape. She had lost count of the number of times she had attempted to flee, each effort met with swift and severe punishment. But the taste of freedom, however fleeting, was worth the pain. She could not bear to live the rest of her days in bondage.
The estate's perimeter was heavily guarded, with towering fences and patrols that seemed never-ending. But Akita was cunning. She had spent months studying the guards' routines, noting the shifts, the blind spots, and the moments of laxity. Her plan, still in its infancy, was beginning to take shape.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the estate, Akita retreated to her cell. Inside, she found a moment of solitude to reflect on her past and steel herself for the future. She was the last of her tribe, the others having vanished or perished in the relentless march of colonization and enslavement. The weight of their memory hung heavily on her shoulders, but it also fueled her determination.
The night was her ally. Under the cover of darkness, she would make her move. But there were obstacles she had to consider. The brands on her body marked her as a runaway slave, making it nearly impossible to blend in or find sanctuary. Yet, Akita was resourceful. She knew that the mainlands were vast, with places so remote that even the most diligent bounty hunter would not find her.
As she lay on the hard, cold floor of her cell, Akita closed her eyes and envisioned her escape. She would need to gather supplies—food, water, and tools. She had noticed a small shed near the guards' quarters that seemed to house provisions. It was risky, but she had no other choice.
Morning came all too quickly, and with it, another day of backbreaking labor. Akita toiled with a renewed sense of purpose, each task bringing her one step closer to freedom. She feigned obedience, biding her time and waiting for the right moment to act.
Just the day before, she had received a vicious lashing for talking back to a guard who had called her a "savage." The memory of the whip's bite still lingered on her back, but it only fueled her resolve.
"Akita, you're moving too slow," a voice barked behind her. It was Garret, one of the more sadistic guards who took particular pleasure in tormenting her.
"I'm moving as fast as I can," she replied through gritted teeth, her voice low and controlled.
Garret stepped closer, his face twisted in a cruel smirk. "Is that so? Maybe you need another lesson to remind you of your place."
Akita's hand clenched around the handle of her hoe. Every muscle in her body screamed for her to retaliate, but she knew that acting on impulse would only bring more pain. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm.
"Do what you must," she said, her voice steady, "but know that no matter what you do, I will not break."
Garret's smirk faded, replaced by a scowl. He raised his whip, but before he could strike, another guard approached, stopping him with a stern look.
"Enough, Garret. We need them working, not dead," the new guard said.
Garret lowered his whip reluctantly, casting one last hateful glance at Akita before moving on. The new guard, a man named Bram, lingered for a moment. He had always been somewhat more lenient, though he was still a guard through and through.
"You should learn to keep your mouth shut, Akita," Bram said quietly, his tone not unkind. "It'll save you a lot of pain."
Akita met his gaze, her eyes hard. "Pain is nothing new to me."
Bram sighed, shaking his head before walking away. As he left, Akita's mind began to churn with thoughts of escape. She had tried before—many times. Each attempt had ended in failure and more scars. But she knew that she couldn't give up. Freedom was worth any risk.
That evening, as the guards began their rounds, Akita slipped away from her assigned area and crept toward the shed. Her heart pounded in her chest as she picked the lock, her nimble fingers working quickly and quietly. The door swung open, revealing a small stash of supplies. She grabbed what she could, stuffing the items into a makeshift sack.
Just as she was about to leave, she heard footsteps approaching. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to remain calm. She pressed herself against the wall, holding her breath as the guard passed by, oblivious to her presence. Once he was gone, she darted back to her shack, her heart still racing.
The following nights were spent in preparation. Akita fashioned a crude map of the estate and the surrounding area, marking potential escape routes and hiding places. She knew that once she made her move, there would be no turning back. The guards would hunt her with a vengeance, and she had to be ready for whatever lay ahead.
Finally, the night arrived. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow over the estate. Akita waited until the guards changed shifts, then slipped out of her shack and made her way to the fence. She had fashioned a makeshift ladder from stolen materials, and with careful, deliberate movements, she scaled the barrier.
Her feet hit the ground on the other side, and for a moment, she allowed herself to feel the thrill of freedom. But she could not linger. She ran, her legs carrying her swiftly through the underbrush and into the dense forest beyond. Every snap of a twig and rustle of leaves sent her heart racing, but she pressed on, driven by the memory of her fallen tribe and the promise of a life unchained. Who would have thought it would be that easy to escape, though she had been unsuccessful in the past she was sure that she was able to run away this time scott-free. Since she was in the mainland there were villages among villages in the area making it easy for her to blend in.
As the first light of dawn broke through the trees, Akita found herself deep within the forest, far from the reach of the estate. She collapsed to the ground, her body exhausted but her spirit unbroken. She was free, but she knew that the journey ahead would be fraught with danger. Still, she was ready to face whatever challenges awaited her.
For she was Akita, the warrior of her long forgotten, and nothing would stand in her way or so she thought.