The first thing Aydin felt was the jarring, uneven rumble of wheels against dirt and stone. His body ached, cold metal chafing against his wrists and ankles, and his head throbbed as though it had been split open and stitched back together by unsteady hands. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, revealing a grim, overcast sky framed by the bars of a wooden cage.
He tried to sit up, but his body protested, every muscle stiff and weak. The cage jolted as the cart hit a rock, sending him sprawling against the rough wooden boards, reinforcing his apparent weakness. Around him, other figures were huddled together in silence, their faces gaunt and their clothes reduced to rags. They didn't speak, didn't meet each other's eyes. The air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, damp straw, and the metallic tang of blood.
'What's… all this…' he thought to himself as he observed, his mind a haze, his thoughts fragmented.
He tried to dig into his memory to understand how he was in such predicament, one that felt so foreign to him, but nothing came to mind. No matter how much he struggled to remember who he was or where he came from, all he got were vague flashes of something, someone, hovered at the edge of his mind, just out of reach. He shook his head, but the fog didn't lift. Only an inexplicable sense lingered, deep in his gut: a feeling that he didn't belong here, that this world itself was wrong.
Rapidly, a deep feeling of unease filled his chest as he felt his breath become heavy, his chest tightened. It was only a matter of time before the frail boy fell to his side, passed out. Like a rat at the corner of a cold and gloomy corner, no one seemed to notice or even pay attention to him.
…
The caravan trundled on through the Harrowlands, a forsaken expanse of cracked earth and jagged rocks. Even the sky seemed drained of color, a perpetual haze of gray casting everything in gloom. Sparse, twisted trees jutted out of the ground like skeletal hands, their brittle branches swaying in a cold wind that carried the faint smell of withering and decay.
The slavers marched alongside the caravan, their boots crunching against the gravel. They were brutish men, their armor a patchwork of scavenged scraps, their faces hidden beneath crude masks that resembled snarling beasts. Their leader, a hulking figure with a voice like grinding stones, barked orders every few minutes, his rusted spear tapping against the bars of the cages periodically.
Aydin stared out through the gaps in the wood as the landscape rolled by, his wrists and ankles raw from the iron shackles. Despite his frail physique, his eyes held a glint of curiosity as he fervently studied the environment which felt very distinct and foreign to him.
The other slaves avoided his gaze, their hollow eyes fixed on the wooden floor of their cages. Aydin studied the other slaves, looking past the younger ones that looked to be around his age to the older looking slaves. When he glanced at his own hands, he found them pale, lean, and unmarred, he felt out of place. The others bore the rough, calloused palms of farmers and laborers, their backs naturally bent from years of toil. The children his age were the same in the fact that they bore a distinctive look… maybe he was the one who looked off.
Aydin's slender fingers curled into fists as a question gnawed at him, 'why am I here?'
Each night, the caravan stopped to rest, the guards forcing the captives to huddle together on the cold ground, with nothing but their own body heat to warm themselves. The night cold was unforgiving, Aydin could even see some children his age shivering as though they would collapse any moment. Aydin kept to himself, observing the slavers as they drank and laughed around their fire. Whispers from some of the older slaves spoke of buyers waiting in the west, noble houses eager for cheap labor… or worse.
Aydin already had an idea of how he was going to end up, as a servant in the house of whoever bided for him, 'but as long as I won't be used for inhuman experiments, I'm ok.' He thought to himself. He didn't quite understand what he meant by what he said, but he was sure that he wanted nothing of it.
After a bit, one of the slavers came up to the slaves and shared hard bread, just chunk sizes, to all of them. There was no water to push it down, they only got to drink a little bit of water after they forced down the bread. It was a cruel experience, but Aydin endured.
…
After what felt like weeks, the scenery began to change gradually, the gloomy forests slowly turned to green lands, quite unfitting to house such slaves. The caravan finally arrived at its destination, a sprawling estate nestled at the base of a jagged hill. Its high stone walls were crowned with iron spikes, and its gates were reinforced with blackened wood and heavy iron bands. The banners of the Deylamir household flapped in the wind, their sigil, a Tigre Standing on top a mountain, emblazoned in silver and black.
If there was one thing Aydin noticed, it was that they had arrived at the residence of a very prestigious individual. Even though they passed through the city on their way to the estate, he seldom noticed any house with any fence at all, talk-less of such a huge one.
The slavers herded the captives into a courtyard paved with cracked stone, bringing them deeper into the estate.
Aydin stumbled out of the cart, his legs unsteady beneath him. The slavers lined the prisoners up, snapping whips to silence anyone too slow or too weak to stand. Aydin's stomach churned as the guards paced down the line, their greedy eyes sizing up the newest "stock."
Above the courtyard, on a raised platform, stood a dignified woman, undoubtedly someone who was part of the family that owned this estate. The Lady who looked to be in her early thirties stood in between two girls, her beauty evident, showing the prestige of a noble lady indeed, as she surveyed the slaves. Beside her stood two young girls, her daughters. The older looking girl, stood tall and stern, had a posture as rigid as her father's, after all, it could not be of her mother's. Her eyes, dark and piercing, swept over the prisoners with detached precision. The younger girl seemed softer, as her gaze lingered on the captives with innocence.
"This one," The lady said suddenly, pointing a finger at Aydin. Her tone carried no malice, just the detached efficiency, like one of a man selecting a tool. "Assign him to the lower quarters. Let him earn his keep."
"As you wish, my lady. Do none of the rest interest you?" The leader of the slavers asked.
"I am satisfied with that one. You may leave." She said in a cordial tone, but the authority under her breath was unmistaken.
'Damn it, why did we have to meet her instead of the General…'