The nameless slave had been keeping a close eye on Elara for days. She had been quiet and pale, looking increasingly unwell, yet she still labored in the fields as hard as ever. He could see the strain in her movements, the way she pushed herself despite the obvious toll it was taking on her body. He kept shoveling, glancing at her randomly, his concern growing with each passing hour.
As he worked, he noticed her starting to sway. "She's going to pass out," he thought to himself. The moment the thought flashed in his mind, she went down. Panic surged through him. This was not good. They were going to beat her, and in her state, he was sure she would die.
He rushed over to try to help, but the overseers had already seen her collapse. "Get up, you worthless bitch!" they screamed. "You think you can just lie there?!"
The overseers were already on their way, ready to deliver the lashing with no mercy, with no care if she died. The nameless slave turned around just as the overseer closest to them raised his whip. Without thinking, he darted forward and grabbed the overseer's wrist.
"No," the nameless slave growled, "you'll kill her."
The overseer laughed, the glint of evil showing in his eyes while his lips turned up into a cruel smile. "Good," he spat. "One less worthless piece of shit for us to deal with."
This enraged the nameless slave, and he tried to wrestle the whip away. He almost overpowered the overseer by the time the other overseers arrived. The nameless slave fought a losing battle of six to one. While he was strong, they were still stronger. After all, he was a werewolf with no wolf. They managed to overpower him, chaining him into a kneeling position.
He looked over at Elara, still passed out. "At least she will live another day," he thought, as the overseer raised his whip. He took lash after lash, the pain searing through his whole body, but he would not give them the satisfaction of his screams, which only angered them further. Crouching over in pain, he let numbness take over his mind, each crack of the whip fueling his hatred for them and his yearning for revenge.
"Try to stop me again, and you'll wish for this instead of what I'll do to you," one of the overseers screamed at him, his voice filled with venom.
The nameless slave endured the brutal punishment, his mind retreating into a dark place where the pain couldn't reach him. He focused on Elara, on the hope that she would survive. As the overseers' shouts and the crack of the whip filled the air, he felt his consciousness slipping away. Eventually, he succumbed to the darkness, his body collapsing under the weight of his suffering.
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In the depths of unconsciousness, the nameless slave's mind wandered. He was surrounded by darkness, unable to see even his hand in front of his face. "Go forward," he heard a female voice whisper. He looked around but saw nothing, just the omnipresent darkness.
His hands searched in front of him, and he tried taking a step, but his feet felt like they were stuck in quicksand. Managing to free one foot, he took a step forward into the unknown. Splash! His foot landed in water. 'How weird,' he thought, as the cool water lapped at his ankle. In the dark, he searched for something to hold onto but found nothing.
Reaching down, he grabbed his other leg, still stuck, and pulled while he tried to lift it, in an attempt to free himself from the quicksand. This one was much harder to release, and he could feel his foot sinking deeper and deeper. The more he struggled, the faster and lower his foot went down.
"Take a breath." There was that whisper again. Exasperated, he yelled, "Who are you?"