Elara's mind swirled with questions as she lay in the slave infirmary, her body aching and her heart heavy with worry for the nameless slave beside her. She turned to Devin, the slave who had introduced himself earlier, hoping he could provide some answers.
"How long have you been here?" she asked, her voice still weak.
Devin shifted slightly, wincing as he adjusted his position. "I've been here for about eight years," he replied, his voice tinged with sadness. "I was taken when my village was raided. My family didn't survive."
Elara's heart ached for him, but she couldn't dwell on the pain. She needed to understand more about their situation. "Why is there an infirmary if the overseers don't care if we live or die?"
Devin sighed, a deep, weary sound. "The more slaves there are, the more work can be done for the masters. They don't want us to die too quickly. The infirmary is just to keep us alive long enough to be useful."
Elara nodded, the harsh reality sinking in. "It's cruel," she whispered.
"It is," Devin agreed. "But it's all we have."
She glanced over at the nameless slave, still unconscious and pale. "How badly did they beat him?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.
Devin looked at the nameless slave with a mixture of respect and sorrow. "He took the punishment meant for you and the punishment meant for him," he said. "The overseers showed no mercy."
Elara felt a surge of guilt and gratitude. "Why would he do that? Why would he take my punishment?"
Devin smiled faintly. "He's always been like that. Compassionate, even after all the abuse he's suffered. It's not the first time he's taken a punishment for someone else."
Elara's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? When was the first time?"
Devin's expression grew serious as he recounted the story. "There was a young boy, very sickly, who was caught trying to sneak extra food. The punishment was to not be allowed food for a week, which would have killed him. The nameless slave—Atlas, as some of us call him—stepped in and took the blame. He told the overseers that he had told the boy to do it, that the boy acted out of fear of him. They punished him instead of the boy."
Elara's heart swelled with admiration and sorrow. "What happened to the boy?"
Devin's gaze met hers, and she saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes. "The boy was me," he said quietly.
Elara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, Devin, I'm so sorry. I can't imagine...."
Devin shook his head. "Don't be. Atlas saved my life that day. He's done more for us than anyone else. The other slaves look up to him, even if they don't say it out loud. He's given us hope, shown us that compassion still exists, even in a place like this."
Tears welled up in Elara's eyes as she looked at Atlas, still unconscious beside her. "He deserves so much better than this," she said, her voice breaking. "We all do."
Devin nodded, his eyes filled with determination. "We have to find a way to help him, Elara. He can't keep taking the punishment for everyone. He needs to heal, to regain his strength."
Elara wiped her tears away, feeling a newfound resolve. "We'll do everything we can," she vowed. "For him, and for all of us."
As the days passed, Elara and Devin worked together to care for Atlas, tending to his wounds and doing their best to keep him comfortable. They knew the road to recovery would be long and difficult, but they were determined to stand by his side, to repay the debt they owed him.