"Kamae."
The word echoes in her mind, a whisper of the kendo instructors she left behind.
Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent.
The first stance isn't about power—it's about balance.
About grounding yourself, even when the world around you shifts like sand."
.
The overseer barks an order, and the slaves shuffle back to their work. Every movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through my back, the welts burning like fire. My hands trembled as I sifted through the pile, each piece of scrap a distraction from the pounding ache. The others glanced my way—some curious, some indifferent—but none offered a word of comfort. Not that I expected it.
My fingers brush against something cold and metallic. I pull out a rusty butter knife, its edge dull and corroded. A bitter laugh bubbles in my throat. "What kind of craftsman made this?" I mutter under my breath, holding it up to inspect it. "Barely sharp enough to spread butter, let alone cut anything."
The irony isn't lost on me. The overseer's sword glints in the corner of my vision, a cruel reminder of how little power I have here. My grip tightens on the knife, the rough metal biting into my palm.
The overseer looms above the rabbit boy, his face twisted with rage. "You're not getting off that easy," he growls, advancing on the boy. His sword catches the light, a wicked gleam that sends a chill down my spine. "Let's see if you can survive this, rabbit."
My breath catches. Every instinct screams at me to stay silent, to keep my head down. I tighten my grip on the butter knife, its weight insignificant but grounding. I glance at the boy, his wide, tear-filled eyes locked on the blade. Something snaps inside me.
"No!" The word escapes my lips before I can stop it.
The room falls deathly silent. All eyes turn to me, a ripple of shock spreading through the slaves. The overseer's gaze snaps to me, his face darkening with fury. "What did you just say, meerkat?" he snarls, his hand tightening on the sword hilt.
I swallow hard, my pulse hammering in my ears. "Leave him alone," I manage, my voice trembling but steady. My body screams at me to stop, to back down, but the words tumble out before I can think. "He's just a kid."
The overseer steps closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over me. "And what are you going to do about it?" he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. "You think you're some kind of hero? A slave, standing up to me?"
I tighten my grip on the butter knife, its dull edge pressing into my palm. "If you want to punish someone, punish me," I say, my voice firmer this time. My knees shake, but I don't back down.
For a moment, his face twists into something almost amused, but the smirk fades as a faint glow catches his attention. His eyes drop to my arm, and a wicked grin spreads across his face. "Well, isn't that convenient," he says softly, his voice laced with malice.
Heat blooms on my chest, sharp and sudden. I gasp as the pain builds, spreading like wildfire through my veins. The crest on my skin ignites, glowing with an unnatural light. My knees buckle, and I clutch my body, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
The overseer's grin widens. "Looks like the Master heard you," he sneers, folding his arms as I collapse to the ground. "That's what happens when you forget your place."
The pain intensifies, a searing brand that feels like it's tearing me apart from the inside. My vision blurs, the world tilting as I fight to stay conscious. My mind screams at me to move, to stand, but my body refuses to obey.
Around me, the other slaves watch in stunned silence. Some avert their eyes, their faces masks of indifference or fear. Others—like the fox-eared man—stare with a mixture of pity and unease. The rabbit boy trembles, tears streaking his face as he takes a step toward me, only to be yanked back by another slave.
The overseer leans down, his face inches from mine. "Let this be a lesson, meerkat," he spits. "Speak out again, and I'll make sure the Master does more than just activate your crest."
The overseer barks another order, and the slaves shuffle back to work, the room's oppressive rhythm resuming as though nothing happened. My body doesn't move. I stay slumped on the ground, clutching my stomach, the faint glow of the crest fading but its heat lingering like an ember pressed into my skin.
The pain is everywhere. Not just in the pit of my stomach, but in my arms, in my chest, in the weight of every breath I drag in. It's as if the crest reached inside me and grabbed hold of something vital, twisting until I could barely think, barely breathe.
My vision swims, but I force myself upright, my movements slow and shaky. I catch a glimpse of the rabbit boy, his wide eyes glistening with tears as another slave ushers him away. The fox-eared man lingers a moment longer, his tail flicking nervously, before he too returns to his task.
No one speaks to me. No one offers a hand.
The pile of scraps looms in front of me, and I know the overseer is still watching. His presence is like a weight on the back of my neck, daring me to falter again. I grip the edge of the table to steady myself, my knuckles white, and force my trembling hands back to work.
The sorting becomes automatic, a distraction from the searing ache in my arm and the burn of humiliation crawling up my throat. My mind is a storm of fragmented thoughts: anger, shame, helplessness.
This isn't a second chance. This is a cage.
The crest—it wasn't just a mark. It was control. A chain that bound me to their will, just as surely as the shackles I'd seen on others. My body wasn't mine to command, not when they could snatch it away with a single word. The gods called this a gift, a new life, but it felt more like punishment.
My hand brushes a shard of broken glass in the pile, its edge biting into my skin. I barely feel the sting, the pain swallowed by the raw fury building in my chest.
The slaves are careful not to look directly at me, but their whispers ripple through the room, sharp and biting.
"She thinks she's different," a voice mutters from somewhere behind me. The bird-like demi clicks her beak in irritation, her feathers ruffling. "Stupid meerkat, drawing attention to herself. She'll get us all punished."
"She's lucky the Master didn't order worse," another voice hisses, low and venomous. "Next time, he might."
Not all the whispers are harsh. From the corner of my eye, I see the fox-eared man glance my way again. His expression is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe. Or pity. He doesn't speak, just adjusts the load on his shoulder and turns back to his task.
As the overseer's footsteps fade into the distance, a shadow falls over me. I tense, expecting another reprimand, but when I look up, I see the rabbit boy. He's clutching a small, worn piece of cloth in his hands, his fingers trembling as he holds it out to me.
"It's... for your face," he whispers, barely loud enough to hear. His ears droop, his whole body hunched as if bracing for a blow.
For a moment, I just stare at him, too stunned to speak. Then I take the cloth, my fingers brushing his for the briefest second. "Thank you," I manage, my voice hoarse.
He nods quickly and scurries away, disappearing into the crowd of slaves. The cloth is rough and fraying at the edges, but I press it to my face anyway, letting the coolness ground me. It's not much, but it's something.
The reprieve doesn't last long. The overseer's voice cuts through the room like a whip. "You think breaks are free? Move faster, or you'll all feel what she felt!"
The slaves flinch, their movements growing frantic as they scramble to obey. I grit my teeth and force myself to work faster, the cloth tied around my arm a small defiance hidden beneath the table.
As the day drags on, the pain in my body dulls to a persistent ache. My body moves on autopilot, sorting and stacking, my mind churning with thoughts of escape. Not from the estate—not yet. But from the chains they've placed on me, the crest that burns like a brand every time I step out of line.
I glance down at my trembling hands, the faint stain of blood smudging my fingertips from the shard of glass earlier. The gods gave me this body, this life. But they didn't give me chains. That was man's doing.