The sun had barely risen when the slavers drove their caravan forward, the creaking of wooden wheels and the clinking of chains the only sounds breaking the early morning silence. The road was rough, dust swirling with every turn of the wheels, stinging the eyes of the captured villagers. The weight of iron shackles bound their wrists and ankles, a cruel reminder of their fate.
Njuwa sat at the back of the cart, his wrists rubbed raw from the rough edges of the chains. His body ached from the previous night's blows, but none of it compared to the sharp pain in his heart. His village was gone. His mother—he didn't know if she was alive or dead. The last thing he remembered was her bloodied face as she urged him to run.
Jua sat beside him, clutching his arm as if letting go would mean losing him forever. She had cried herself to exhaustion during the night, her small frame trembling against him. Now, she was silent, her eyes distant and empty.
Njuwa swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to be strong for her.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice hoarse from thirst.
She shook her head without looking up.
"Stay close to me," he murmured. "No matter what happens."
She gave a small nod.
A sharp whip crack cut through the air, making them both flinch. One of the raiders, a burly man with a thick scar running across his forehead, rode alongside the cart, glaring down at them.
"Wake up, slaves!" he bellowed. "No crying, no whining. You belong to Lord Baran now, and he has no use for weaklings!"
The mention of the name sent a chill through the prisoners.
Baran.
Even Njuwa, a child from a small village, had heard the name before. Baron Baran was a ruthless noble, infamous for his wealth, power, and cruelty. He controlled vast lands and had hundreds of slaves working in his fields, mines, and estates. The thought of being sold to such a man filled Njuwa with dread.
One of the villagers, an older man, lifted his head weakly. "Please," he croaked. "At least give the children water—"
A spear butt slammed into his ribs, knocking him to the floor of the cart. Jua gasped, gripping Njuwa's arm tighter. The slaver sneered.
"Slaves don't make demands," he spat. "Learn your place."
Njuwa clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. His anger burned, but he forced himself to stay quiet. Fighting back now would only bring more suffering. He needed to wait. To survive.
Hours passed as the caravan moved through endless stretches of barren land. The sun climbed higher, scorching their skin, yet no water was given. Some captives had already collapsed, too weak to continue sitting upright. The ones who tried to resist earlier had been tied and gagged, their muffled groans barely audible.
As the road wound through a narrow mountain pass, Njuwa spotted something ahead—a towering stone structure rising from the cliffs. A fortress.
"Blackthorn Keep," one of the slavers muttered to another. "Baran's main estate."
The keep loomed like a beast waiting to devour them. High walls, lined with guards, stood imposingly against the sky. The massive iron gate was already open, awaiting their arrival.
Fear clawed at Njuwa's chest.
Once they passed those gates, escape would be impossible.
A loud horn blew, signaling their approach. The caravan came to a halt just outside the fortress, where a group of armed men awaited them. At their center stood a figure draped in fine robes, his presence commanding respect and fear alike.
Baron Baran.
He was not what Njuwa had expected. Unlike the slavers, who were rough and barbaric, Baran carried himself with an air of refinement. His long black hair was neatly tied, his beard trimmed, and his sharp, calculating eyes swept over the captives with a cold indifference.
"These are the survivors?" he asked, his voice smooth yet devoid of emotion.
The slaver captain dismounted, bowing deeply. "Yes, my lord. Strong ones, good for labor or... other purposes." He chuckled darkly.
Baran's gaze drifted over the prisoners as if assessing livestock. When his eyes landed on Jua, something flickered in his expression. "That one," he said, nodding at her. "She's young. A rare find."
Njuwa stiffened, pulling Jua behind him.
"Brother," she whimpered.
Baran's lips curled slightly. "A protective one, I see."
The slaver beside him stepped forward, grabbing Njuwa by the collar and yanking him forward. "He's just a brat, but he's got spirit. Could make a good servant or whipping boy."
Njuwa struggled, but the slaver twisted his arm painfully, forcing him to his knees. Jua sobbed, trying to reach for him, but another slaver held her back.
Baran watched them for a moment, then nodded. "Take them both. The girl to the estate, the boy to the training grounds."
"Yes, my lord!"
Before Njuwa could react, rough hands seized him, dragging him away from Jua. She screamed his name, but the sound was drowned by the roar of the iron gates slamming shut behind them.
He twisted, trying to fight, but a hard punch to his stomach knocked the air from his lungs. The last thing he saw was Jua being led toward the fortress, disappearing beyond the grand stone doors.
Then the world spun as he was thrown onto the dirt.
The last words he heard before darkness claimed him were cold and final.
"Welcome to your new life, slave."