Sylvain sat in the dimly lit hull of the slave ship, the steady creak of the wooden planks beneath him blending into the murmur of the waves outside. His wrists ached from the metal cuffs that dug into his skin, and the weight of the chains around his neck made every breath feel heavier than the last. Yet, none of it compared to the turmoil raging in his mind.
He had survived battles, betrayals, and the suffocating grip of time itself. He had seen the loops twist reality into something incomprehensible, had joined the Pit and Pendulum in their rebellion, had watched his sister die, and had fought to reclaim something—anything—from the forces that sought to control him. And then, there was Coverford. His mission. The moment that changed everything. The prince who had laughed in the face of death, the same prince who had whispered those final words before fading into nothingness.
"See you in the next loop… my only friend."
Sylvain clenched his fists. He hadn't even had the chance to ask Kseradyn what he had seen, what he had meant. And now, the one person who had understood the nature of the loops—who had understood him—was gone.
His thoughts were interrupted by a small voice beside him.
"Are you from Coverford as well, sir?"
Sylvain turned his head. A boy, no older than ten, sat beside him. His frame was thin, his clothes tattered, his face streaked with grime, but his eyes held a glimmer of innocence that hadn't yet been crushed by the weight of their reality.
Sylvain felt a pang of sorrow. This child didn't deserve this. None of them did.
"No," Sylvain answered after a moment. "I'm from Steelgate."
The boy's eyes widened. "Whoa, the capital!"
Sylvain nodded. "Yup."
"What's your name, sir?" the boy asked, his voice filled with a kind of naive curiosity that felt foreign in such a wretched place.
"Mine is Sylvain."
The boy beamed. "I'm Daniel, nice to meet you, sir! Let's be friends!"
Sylvain froze.
"My only friend."
The words echoed in his mind, cutting deeper than he expected. Kseradyn's dying smile flashed before his eyes, that strange, unsettling warmth that had accompanied it still lingering in his chest. It was a cruel joke. A sick twist of fate.
Sylvain forced a smile, though it felt hollow. He reached out and ruffled the boy's unkempt hair, a feigned lightness in his voice. "Mhm. Yeah… let's be friends."
The ship lurched as its speed slowed, the creaking of wood groaning beneath Sylvain's feet. The salty air clung to his skin, thick with the stench of unwashed bodies and damp rot. Around him, the other slaves stirred uneasily, their chains rattling like a chorus of despair.
Then, the shouting began.
"Get moving, filth!" The sharp bark of a worker's voice cut through the tense silence. Heavy boots thudded against the deck as the overseers stormed in, their whips and sticks at the ready. One by one, they were forced into motion, prodded forward like cattle to the slaughter.
Sylvain turned to Daniel, whose small fingers clutched the hem of his tattered shirt. The boy's eyes, wide and uncertain, flickered between the slavers and the dock beyond.
"Follow me, Daniel. You'll be safe with me." Sylvain's voice was steady, even as a knot twisted in his gut. He knew safety was an illusion here, but he would do whatever it took to keep the boy from suffering.
They stepped forward in line, the rhythmic clanking of chains marking their descent onto the docks. The warm sun bore down upon them, a stark contrast to the cold iron biting into their wrists. Workers, eager to quicken the pace, lashed out indiscriminately with their sticks. A sharp cry rang out as a man collapsed, the fresh welt on his back already darkening.
Daniel flinched as the shadow of a stick loomed toward him. Instinct surged through Sylvain like wildfire. Before the strike could land, he shot out his hand, fingers closing around the rough wood. The impact stung, but he didn't waver.
"It is shameful to hit a child," Sylvain said coldly, his grip tightening.
The worker's expression twisted in fury. "You dare to defy me, slave?"
With a growl, the man swung the stick with full force, slamming it across Sylvain's side. Pain erupted through his ribs, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of a reaction. The worker raised his arm for another blow, but another voice cut through the commotion.
"Hey, you! That's merchandise! Don't damage it."
At those words, the worker's arm froze mid-swing. His lips curled in frustration, but he obeyed, lowering the stick. "Tch. Lucky bastard."
Sylvain didn't respond. He simply took Daniel's hand and continued forward.
The docks of Ilisar were breathtaking in contrast to the horrors they harbored. Palm trees swayed lazily against the breeze, their emerald leaves shimmering under the golden sun. Vines curled around grand, traditional buildings adorned with intricate carvings, their walls painted in warm earth tones. It was a city of paradise—but for the slaves marching toward the market, it was anything but.
Their path ended at a vast courtyard, where wooden platforms had been arranged in a neat row. Here, they were to be displayed.
"Stand straight," barked a merchant. "You're here to be sold, not to slouch like rats."
Sylvain stood rigid as he and the others were lined up for inspection. His golden eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned the faces of the men gathered before them—their buyers. Greedy eyes raked over his form, weighing his worth in coin. A familiar disgust curled in his stomach.
Beside him, Daniel fidgeted. Sylvain placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, anchoring him.
"Don't be afraid," he murmured.
But even as he said it, Sylvain knew the worst was yet to come.
The scorching sun loomed high over the trading post, its golden rays painting elongated shadows on the cracked stone ground. Sylvain observed his surroundings carefully, his sharp mind piecing together the details that confirmed his suspicions. The towering historical buildings, their spires piercing the sky like ancient spears, were unmistakable. The massive castles stretched into the clouds, their aged stones whispering tales of former glory. Even the scent of the wind, carrying the faintest traces of dried spices and sea salt, affirmed his theory."Amzaar," he murmured to himself. This was once the capital of Ilisar, before the imperial seat had shifted. Though it had lost its political significance, it remained a crucial hub for trade—one of the largest in the empire. If slaves were being sold here, then the trader orchestrating this was no mere lowly merchant. Selling in Amzaar required status, connections, and wealth. Sylvain sighed. "It seems the trader here is a big shot. Selling slaves here is a big thing."
As he was lost in thought, a sudden presence broke his focus. An elderly woman, draped in lavish silk robes, approached with an air of confidence. Beside her stood a younger woman, presumably her daughter, whose demeanor seemed far less enthusiastic.
"A handsome young man," the older woman mused, her sharp eyes examining Sylvain like one might assess a fine piece of jewelry. "Isn't that right, Kenza?"
"Mother... I don't think we need a slave anyway," the younger woman, Kenza, replied hesitantly, her tone carrying a hint of disapproval.
The trader, eager to make his sale, interjected swiftly. "Ma'am, this slave is merely for pleasure… You look like you want a slave to pick up your packages."
The old woman scoffed, clicking her tongue in feigned dismay. "Why would you assume that? Only because I'm a bit older? I still like to have fun, you know!"
The trader, momentarily caught off guard, recovered with a forced chuckle. "Uhh, I see, ma'am. The brown-haired boy is worth 200 Yur."
Sylvain remained outwardly composed, indifferent to his potential fate. But his gaze flickered toward Daniel, the small boy standing beside him. His concern was not for himself—he had faced worse. It was for Daniel, a child who did not deserve this fate. Sylvain hoped that Daniel would be bought by someone kind before they were separated.
The old woman seemed to notice the silent concern in Sylvain's expression. Her eyes gleamed with understanding, and a small smirk curled her lips. "I'm taking him and the little boy beside him for 220 Yur."
"But ma'am—" the trader started, only for the woman to silence him with a pointed look.
"No more. That is a good price for you as well."
The trader sighed, rubbing his forehead, before begrudgingly accepting the deal. "Fine, they're yours."
The weight of the transaction settled in as the chains binding Sylvain and Daniel were loosened, their fates now tethered to the whims of this woman and her daughter. As they were led away, Sylvain kept his posture straight, casting one last glance at the marketplace filled with other unfortunate souls who hadn't yet been bought.
The old woman turned to them with a pleased expression. "Welcome, son. I am Nizrak Kirr, and this is my daughter, Kenza Kirr."
As soon as she spoke the name, something in Sylvain's mind sparked—an eerie familiarity, like a whisper from the past. He had heard that name before. But where? When?
He masked his thoughts behind a calm expression, nodding slightly. "I am Sylvain," he introduced himself. He hesitated briefly before adding, "And this is Daniel."
Notably, he left his last name unspoken.