The morning dawned grim and chilly after a restless night, where the cold winds made it hard to sleep. Leon, found himself jolted from his uneasy slumber by a piercing scream and a cacophony of cries.
Groggily rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sat up, squinting towards the commotion.
Outside the makeshift cage, a crowd of mercenaries had gathered seemingly out of nowhere. These Kantadar soldiers, recognizable by their uniforms adorned with the emblem of a white bird, were escorting a man of apparent importance, his military robe and the sword at his side signaling his high rank, perhaps a Kantadar officer or nobleman. The man's gaze was fixed on the unfolding drama with a mix of impatience and disdain.
At the heart of the chaos, two soldiers were forcefully extracting a woman from the cage, her resistance palpable as she clung desperately to a young man. The youth, her brother, was ablaze with fury, his actions a mixture of kicks and punches as he tried to fend off the mercenaries.
"You heartless monsters! Release my sister! Let her go!" His voice cracked under the strain of anger and despair, his eyes bloodshot as tears threatened to spill.
The sister's cries were heartbreaking, her pleas to her brother filled with anguish as she urged him to stop resisting, fearing the mercenaries' retaliation would only worsen their fate.
The Kantadar mercenaries, notorious for their brutality, showed little restraint. One hurled the girl to the ground while another seized the young man by the hair, yanking him back. A third mercenary, his patience worn thin, delivered a ruthless kick that sent the young man sprawling into the dirt.
Amidst the turmoil, a mercenary, spewing curses in a foreign tongue, unsheathed his sword in a fit of rage, aiming it menacingly at the boy.
Leon's instinct to intervene was overwhelming, fueled by memories of the violent deaths his own parents had suffered. Yet, the rational part of his mind held him back, reminding him of his current vulnerability, unarmed and powerless.
A firm hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. Turning, he saw Brandon, the boy he had met just the day before.
"Don't intervene. It's futile," Brandon whispered, his voice steady but filled with a resigned sorrow.
Meanwhile, the girl, her spirit nearly broken, crawled through the dirt to the feet of the sword-wielding mercenary. Her voice was choked with sobs as she clung to his boots, begging for her brother's life.
"Please... don't harm him. Take me instead, but spare him," she pleaded desperately.
The tense moment was momentarily diffused as the other mercenaries intervened, pulling their comrade back as they signaled to the slave buyers. Reluctantly, the man sheathed his sword and, grabbing the girl by the arm, dragged her toward their awaiting fate.
The brother, blood trickling from his mouth, staggered to his feet, his rage undiminished. "You Kantadar devils!" he screamed, lunging forward.
As one mercenary moved to strike, the young man dodged and, in a desperate move, grabbed for the hilt of the mercenary's sword. But the seasoned fighter was quick to react, securing his weapon and delivering a brutal knee to the young man's abdomen, quelling the last of his resistance.
With a resounding crash, the armor's clang marked the harsh reality of the young man's fate as he was flung to the cold, unforgiving ground, his body curling into a protective ball. His frail form was pushed beyond its limits as his blood surged with futile adrenaline, and the merciless mercenary delivered another vicious kick, rendering him unconscious.
"No, please, stop!" the boy's sister pleaded, her voice growing fainter as she was dragged away, her sobs echoing the despair of the moment.
(Uriah) "You worthless runt, if you weren't worth a coin, I'd chop you to bits," the mercenary spat venomously at the unconscious boy sprawled on the dirt. Disgusted and uninterested in further torment, he exited the cage with a string of curses.
Silence once again smothered the area, heavy and oppressive.
The remaining captives cast their gazes downward, overwhelmed by numbness or fleeting sympathy. Helplessness was a common thread binding them; tragedy had become a familiar companion. In some cruel twist, the boy was considered fortunate among them, many had witnessed the annihilation of their entire families.
Watching the mercenary's retreating back, Leon exhaled deeply, moved to the boy's side, and carefully checked his injuries. The assault left a tapestry of deep purples and blues across the young man's skin, but miraculously, nothing seemed life-threatening. He was still breathing, albeit faintly.
Gently, Leon maneuvered him onto his side to aid his breathing, but beyond that, his capacity to help was painfully limited.
By the time the boy regained consciousness, the sun was dipping towards the horizon. His eyes, red and swollen, snapped open, and a raw, animalistic groan escaped his parched throat, laden with grief and fury. Attempting to rise, he was quickly overcome by sharp pains radiating from his chest and abdomen, causing him to clench his teeth and his body to convulse in response.
His anguished cries eventually morphed into heart-wrenching sobs, his body instinctively curling tighter in an effort to contain the pain.
Leon observed the harrowing scene, knowing any attempt at consolation would be futile and perhaps even unwelcome. Words, no matter how well-intended, felt hollow against such raw, unfiltered despair.
Time crept by, marked only by the gradual ceasing of the boy's sobs.
As evening approached and the time for the mercenaries' sparse feeding arrived, Leon was more prepared than the previous day. He rose swiftly, collected the meager offerings tossed into their cage? a slight increase perhaps due to the decreased number of captives and returned to the corner where the boy lay still, curled up and utterly motionless.
With a quiet sense of solidarity, Leon placed an extra portion of the coarse, tasteless ration beside the despondent boy, then sat and slowly ate his own share.
The dry food was reminiscent of sawdust, a far cry from the feasts of his past life, intensifying the gnawing hunger that seemed more acute now amidst the sparse conditions.
Finishing his meal, Leon noted that the boy remained unmoved, his eyes empty, resembling a soulless marionette. The sight was unsettling, a stark reminder of the cruel reality they both faced, trapped within the merciless confines of their grim enclosure.
"If you keep this up, you'll starve and you'll never see your sister again," Leon said, attempting to coax the young man into action.
But the young man remained motionless, as if lost in his own hollow despair.
Leon sighed, admitting to himself that eloquence was not his forte. "If you won't eat, then I won't hesitate. Staying in this cage forever isn't an option for me."
With that, he reached for the piece of dry food. Memories of sumptuous meals from before his time travel flashed before his eyes, making the bland morsel in front of him seem a feast in comparison. But as his hand hovered over the food, the young man suddenly came to life, snatching it away with a sudden burst of energy.
His knuckles whitened as he clutched the food, his expression fierce as he took large, desperate bites.
Leon shrugged at the young man's unexpected vigor. It seemed he had inadvertently ignited some spark of survival in him.
After gulping down the food, the young man, wincing with pain, straightened up and fixed Leon with a penetrating gaze.
Leon felt a twinge of confusion under the intensity of that stare.
After a tense moment, the young man leaned closer, his voice a harsh whisper through clenched teeth, "You said you don't plan to stay here forever. Do you have a plan to escape?"
Brandon, overhearing, glanced their way with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Leon realized the young man's misunderstanding. "I hate the idea of being a slave, but no, I don't have a way out, not yet," he confessed, shaking his head in regret.
Disappointment flickered in the young man's eyes, prompting Leon to quickly add, "But as long as we're alive, there's hope. There's always a chance to escape."
The young man's gaze dropped to the dirt floor, his voice barely audible as he repeated, "As long as I am still alive."
He dragged himself to the corner near Leon, showing signs of trust and camaraderie in his bruised and battered state.
Leon, observing his resolve, decided to introduce himself, "My name's Leon. What's yours?"
"Liam," the young man replied, his voice firm despite his condition.
Looking over Liam's bruises and scars, Leon couldn't help but advise, "Don't let them provoke you into recklessness again."
"What do you mean?" Liam asked, confusion mingling with irritation.
"Do you want to die before you even get the chance to fight back? Keep yourself safe, don't add to your injuries. If you die here, who will be left to save your sister?" Leon's tone was serious, emphasizing the stakes at hand.
Liam met Leon's gaze, his initial resistance fading into a silent acknowledgment as he nodded, understanding the weight of Leon's words.
Leon sighed heavily, the shackles on his wrists a constant reminder of their grim reality. "It's easy to talk about hope, but the truth is harsh. Just figuring out how to break these chains is a daunting task," he murmured, his eyes closing in resignation.
As he settled down to rest, Leon reflected on his own advice. Survival wasn't just about keeping the body alive, it was about maintaining the will to keep fighting, to seize any chance for freedom that might eventually come.