Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

This story is inspired by Journey of the Shield Tanuki By Thebobman6059
...
The faded light peered through the dark shabby cloth that was crudely tied to serval rustic, metal poles. Past the fabric was a thick layer of darkness, that was dimly lit by a minute number of improvised torches that hung lazily by an invisible wire hid by the veil of black. That was lit by the torches displayed dilapidated, coarse, and unkempt iron cages: if you could call them that.

They were much too small to hold much, perhaps a few moderately sized animals, any more, more large creatures and things would have difficulties being held within them. Shallow and hoarse panting emanated from the cages. The sound of cloth shifting accompanied by the scratching of flesh, by unseen creatures filled the silent vastness of the darkness bestowed upon them.

The ground likewise was unwatered and rigid with copious amounts of dirt mounds and stones scattered across its coarse surface.

The darkness however didn't last as what little natural light this place had begun to expand as someone drew back the cloth, revealing two figures. One was a short portly figure of a man, his face was square and his nose was large, rested neatly upon its ridge was a pair of round glasses with fogged-up lenses that obscured his eyes. He was dressed in a fancy ringmaster's uniform with an array of lush green feathers that were attached to its lapel. Nestled on his head was a large soot-colored top hat with a white stripe at the bottom meeting where the rim of the hat began.

Next to him was a much taller figure, he was also much skinnier and lean. His skin was an almost deathly pale; as if he had spent many months without much sun. His long hair was a mix of white and black that stretched to his shoulders, his sunken blue eyes were glued to the ground below him, not looking up to meet the gaze of the man adjacent to him. Unlike his associate his outfit was much less fantastic and a lot more dirty and unclean, he simply wore a brown tunic that had several rips and tears in its fabric. His skin was bruised battered and cut.

Though the most striking thing about him was his unusual appearance. Much like his hair, was a tail of similar colors, it drooped toward the ground mimicking the boy unconsciously. Another odd thing was, unlike the fat man next to him, he had no ears on the sides of his head instead two tiger ears sat upon the top of his head.

They walked silently into the palpable atmosphere of the vast darkness that lay ahead. Though one breath of the dust-filled air caused the boy to cough uncontrollably, making him clutch his throat with his hand. The stubby man paused in his step to face the boy.

"I thought that with the amount of time you spend here you'd get used to the air." The man commented, with a grin upon his face. "Careful now, don't want to lose that medicine of yours do you?"

In the other hand of the malnourished child was a colorless viscous liquid that he clutched onto tightly: even to the point where his knuckles turned a ghostly white. After a moment to regain his composure, he continued in his step and ventured further into the darkness before him: not even glancing at the man beside him. As he walked every now and then his eyes wandered toward the cages on either side of him which were stacked high above him.

Trapped within them were things that looked human but something odd, something feral changed his thoughts upon them, their skin was covered by unkempt fur some spots had parts ripped from their flesh. Likewise, their hair was long and shaggy, coupled with their animalistic faces creating a wild and dangerous air around them Dozens of large disturbed, dilated eyes watched as he passed them by.

A long gaunt arm reached out towards him and grasped at the air a few inches from him, this sudden movement caused him to recoil in surprise, bringing the glass vial close to his chest. The grinning man laughed at this, "Come now, they don't bite... or at least I won't let them." With the piece of backhanded reassurance given he snapped his fingers together causing a lilac marking to burn through the dirty clothes that clung to the caged creature's body.

Purple electricity danced its way across its skin, causing them to howl in pain and retract their arm then retreat into the darkness of the back of its enclosure. Yet even after the creature was dealt with the boy didn't stop clinging to the glass, as he strode through the ill-lit corridors of cages he never once lowered his guard, "Your quite protective of that glass aren't you?"

The alert child only grunted in response to the man's comment. Soon they came upon a larger enclosure draped in tarpaulin, it was wider than its fellow cages though not by much, and was situated at the end of the cloth structure, its flakey rusted back brushing against its old and worn fibers. The shorter man produced a large ring containing many different varieties of keys, each of different shapes and sizes as well as differing materials.

After selecting a larger iron one he brushed aside the rough fabric that hung idly over it to reveal a small keyhole built into the front of it. Inserting the key and twisting it chimed a shill and coarse chorus that emanated from the old and worn hinged on which the door clung. With some exertion of force, the man opened the door to the inside of the cage.

It was dark, darker than anywhere else in the building. On the floor were a few shaggy bags, that lay off to the side as well as a scarce amount of provisions that sat side by side in an orderly manner. Toward the far corner of the cage, pressed up against the bars was the huddled form of an unstained yet rugged blanket that near the ends thinned out into strains of beige string.

Every few seconds the blanket slightly shifted, as if whoever was wrapped in the spread was in a state of discomfort, the boy's face softened as he watched intently. Without hesitation, he lowered his head as he stepped into the cramped space. As he slowly approached the blanket shifted towards him, wrapped within the walls of fabric was the face of a young girl.

She couldn't have been older than ten. She was wrapped with a cacoon of bandages that weaved around her face and around her head. Similar to the boy her hair was also black and white, but she seemed to be more fragile than him. Her lips were chapped and her face was in a constant state of pain, similarly, her body was skinny and showed signs of extreme malnutrition.

And yet despite all these ailments, she rose to a sitting position in order to greet the boy's arrival.

"Vedui' toror'." She spoke, and he looked at her with a slight hint of confusion written across his face. The boy didn't understand the alien words the girl spoke.

"Come again?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow.

She looked at him with a smug grin on her face, "It's a greeting. It means Hello Brother." The older child rolled his eyes at her,

"Is this another one of the languages you keep on trying to learn?" He asked as he began to search through a rough, shaggy bag made from hastily made patches of various fabrics, "I don't even know where you keep learning these phrases from."

Her grin became bigger, he knew he'd walked right into her trap, despite not being able to see him, he knew she could read his expressions. "Well, I can't exactly do much considering that I'm not allowed to leave this cage. So I listen to the conversations of the slaver's customers and try to learn their languages."

"Of course you do." He commented.

"Perhaps you should try to learn some of these languages with me, might be beneficial."

He paused for a moment before continuing to rummage around through the container, "What's beneficial is your safety and health." He said in a serious tone of voice.

As soon as he said that his sister's facial expression soured. "Stop going on about my health. I worry more about your health more than anything, always fighting in those tournaments."

He didn't respond instead he uncorked the vial which was once again in a firm grip in his hand, it emanated a strong pungent odor of herbs and chemicals causing his face to scrunch up slightly at the smell.

Carefully he brought the vial to her face, ready to administer the medicine. Though she hesitated she finally gave in and drank the remedy, "Wasn't that hard was it." He asked.

"I suppose not... though the taste is a vile one." She expressed. Fohl rolled his eyes at his sister, though she could be insightful for her age she was still very childish when it came to her medicine.

"I imagine it won't be long until I slip from consciousness." Atla paused, "So long as I am still awake may you tell me about your endeavours today?"

Fohl once again ignored her request instead deciding to reach into the worn-out bag, he felt around inside of it then froze: he retracted his hand to see that a greenish goo latched onto his skin, along with a small cut along his fingertip that seeps a crimson sap.

"Why must you not speak to me about your battles within the arena? I'm aware of your activities and yet you still refuse to inform me." She said, voicing her frustrations to her sibling.

"If you are aware of the battles then you already know that I fight to win." Deflecting the question entirely he pulled out shards of green foggy glass from the bag. Atla sighed.

"I'm not omniscient, I may have a vague understanding of it... I want the full picture of what you do. I may not have eyes but I do have ears." She pressed onward with her interrogation.

"What good are ears if what they hear are the grim retellings of someone forced to fight for his sister's survival?" He retorted, Fohl brushed his finger against his dirtied tunic so as to expunge the blood from his pale, boney fingertips. Atla's face morphed into one of disappointment, she furrowed her brow and scowled at her brother.

"No one is forcing you to do anything."

Her voice began to get more faint, becoming as mellow as the calm waters of the tides. Fohl put down the bag causing it to make a distinct, shrill cracking noise. He shuffled across the dirty and craggy floor of the slaver's cage and watches over her like a hawk, he wrapped his arms around her small torso in an act of protection.

He watch as her glassy eyes opened and closed slowly as she drifted from the land of the conscious, falling into a deep slumber. They stayed like that for minutes perhaps hours, though it was impossible to tell as the darkness of the tent acted as an impassable barrier between them and the outside world, though for the moment he didn't care about what was beyond the parameters of the tent, he didn't care to see the lush trees, nor the craggy cliffs that overlook crystalline lakes being tended to by the most wonderful of creatures.

Quite right. What would be the point if his sister wasn't with him, gazing upon mother natures beauty with him.

...

The sound of heavy wheels grinding against the ground chimed in a rhythm against the sandy grounds of Zeltoble. Attached to the wheels was a small carriage, and built up from its framework was a dusty fragmented wooden seating area, rising above and encompassing the carriage were dozens of thick iron bars, go were the metallic characteristics that accompanied it, its reflective surface was replaced with a faded dull hue speckled with flakey orange spots.

Sprawled out across the floor of the carriage was the figure of Fohl, his arms were wrapped around himself, clasping at something that wasn't there. The wagon suddenly jolted launching him up into the air, causing a rather rude awakening when he landed back on the wooden floor.

"Ow..." Fohl rubbed the back of his head as he looked around at his surroundings, then his rather sanguine expression turned into a sour one. He shot right onto his feet and faced towards the front of the carriage where the iron bars had congregated together the most. Peering through the gaps in the bars was the reflective lens of the eccentrically dressed man.

"Ah, so glad that you could join me this fine morning." He greeted, though he couldn't see them he knew that the man's beady eyes looked at him with excitement and some sort of sick enjoyment. Fohl remained silent, his eyes locked on the portly man, however, his indignant expression seemed to go unnoticed by him either that or he simply didn't care.

Then the face of the man seemed to disappear into a sea of light as the morning sun wrapped around him in an ethereal glow. The man clicked his tongue, "By the way, I do apologize for the rude awakening, the roads do tend to become less pristine in these parts of Zeltoble." He paused before continuing "I was planning to awaken you earlier but it seems that you were happy enough sleeping, it's not too often I get to see your face as anything other than hatred."

After a few chimes of what sounded like glass, an object flew through the iron bars, Fohl only just managing to catch the mysterious item as the sun almost blinded him with its intensity. "I'd recommend you drink that." The fat man commented.

"What is it?" Fohl asked skeptically.

"A health potion, should top you up for today, no?" He replied.

"Why should I trust you?" The boy interrogated.

"Because you are a very good source of income to me, now don't go looking a gift horse in the mouth, just drink it." He pressed with a more serious tone. Begrudgingly he wolfed down the red concoction.

"Where are we going?" The demihuman questioned, though he couldn't see the fat slaver he knew that he was grinning widely, the man let out a small chuckle, as he pulled the reigns on a large purple feathered bird, the creature chirped in delight as it quickly changed direction heading into a more paved part of Zeltoble. Because of the eagerness of the animal, it caused the slaver to become quite unsteady letting out a groan as he check that he was secured to the wagon.

He muttered under his breath about, 'How annoying Filolials can be.' He quickly cleared his breath as he addressed the boy, "If I were to tell you then it wouldn't be a surprise would it?" He paused, "But if I were to give you a hint let's just say you'll be needing that potion." The lavishly dressed man said in a playful tone. The wagon continued down the path.

On either side were different market stores selling different goods and products, some were wooden stands with wicker baskets weaved together containing fruits and vegetables with a colorful felt draped over the top of it. Others were larger with metal holders standing on either side of a varnished oaken desk, each holding a weapon or armor piece of some kind.

It was a real mixed bag of random items that seemed to congregate in one place, similarly to the diverse range of weapons so were the people buying and selling, demi-humans were seen trading with humans for different goods, laughing with each other.

Fohl stared with a longing look in his eyes which soon turned sour.

"What are you staring at?!" A passerby yelled at him, picking up a stone they lobbed it at his head, Fohl ducked out of the way as the rock weaved between the bars, hitting the wooden benches that lay on either side of the wagon. Soon another joined in on the hollering, this time a man with wings protruding from his back joined in.

"We don't like criminals around here!" He screamed.

The boy had an ambivalent expression written across his face: one of hate and sadness. "Mankind truly is interesting. " The slaver commented.

"I'm not a criminal." Fohl grimaced.

"But they won't see it that way, all they see is a caged beast." The slaver stated, he yanked the worn reigns attached to the purple creature up front, it in turn eagerly turned into a larger street. There the buildings were a lot grander, containing more complex designs as flawless stone was carved into wreaths that wined and bloomed around many different marble buildings. The tallest of which was a large cathedral that was made purely from gold and other precious metals.

Carved around it was a golden laurel wreath that wrapped itself around the upmost spire overlooking the city, further down the structure was a large dome, it's surface reflecting the light of the sun, within the outermost walls of the cathedral were statues of a Shield, Bow, Spear, and Sword each had a different gem engraved within a part of the statue.

Its door spaned twenty feet in width and fifty in height. On either side of the doors two large armored guards stood sentinel. Had it not been for the small portions of skin that were visible through their armor Fohl would have mistaken them for statues themselves.

However, the wagon continued still, the minutes dragging out into eternity, soon it pulled off into a much less majestic-looking alleyway. The cobbled floor transitioned into a more disheveled craggy ground. With an exaggerated hop, the slaver jumped from his seat at the head of the wagon. He sauntered around the carriage until he reached a small iron gate on the other side of the main body of the wagon.

He produced a large bulky key from his pocket. Its edges, a lot more angled and much more hastily put together. With a few seconds of fiddling with the lock, it unlocked with a satisfying clank.

The slaver bowed his head similar to how an actor would bow after a performance. Though Fohl wouldn't know much about plays, he had only been to a select few plays in his life with his family, he did however know that the man was mocking him. The fat man motioned him to leave the vehicle with his arm, without a second thought he complied, though it took a few moments to squeeze his way through small the doorway.

Fohl look around, the location seemed wholly unfamiliar to him, dark buildings loomed above and untented plants sprouted from the ground. The boy turned towards the slaver who unapologetically smiled back, "I take it you wonder where you are right?" He teased.

Fohl simply nodded his head in response.

"Well I oh so generously decided that you should take a break from these big competitions you like to throw yourself into, you're getting too high profile; wouldn't be long until you were targeted by some other slaver." He lectured. He flung his arms out and spun around on the spot, "And where is more low profile than here!"

The demi-human looked at him with the most dumbfounded expression he could muster, "Low-profile, here? That massive heroes' church is just a few blocks away from here!" He exasperated.

"Well I'll admit that it may not be the most low-profile place but it isn't the worst either. The 'host' doesn't like to stay in one place, this would likely only last until the end of today anyway before migrating somewhere else: stays secret that way. They're a very careful person." He said.

Fohl scowled, and the slaver clicked his tongue, "Tut, tut, don't give me that look, it pays well all the same you'll be glad to hear."

He clapped his hands together, "Now! Let's get moving, it'll start without us soon." He energetically walked past the boy slapping him on the back as he walked, giggling to himself.

After a moment of hesitation, he began to follow his lead. The location was different from the arenas he was used to, it was something he couldn't quite understand why, its atmosphere emanated some sense of looming danger, it was something he just couldn't grasp. That feeling continued as they made their way to an unassuming iron door nearby a tall dilapidated fence. The whole place seemed so vacant, so empty, so different from the grandeur of that church not but twenty minutes from where they were currently.

The slaver leaned against it as he tapped against its hard surface, creating a large clanging sound as the pressure reverberated throughout its metallic body. Not a second later the door swung open, causing the man to stumble over himself, "Charming." He muttered.

He then looked up at Fohl, "Well get moving boy."

The interior of the door was not unlike the outside, the floor was made from brick, so were the walls and so to was the ceiling. Juxtaposing this rather drab spectacle was a few seats that on it sat ten or so lavishly dressed individuals, not unlike the slaver himself. Fohl assumed they were the masters of those competing. One tall lean man stood up to greet him, "Ah Beloukas what a wonderful surprise, and who do you have with you here." His eyes landed on Fohl, "Was this your prizefighter you were talking about? I can see what you mean, he seems like a formidable foe. A very strapping young man indeed."

Fohl averted his gaze from the man, "I'll tell you what, I'll offer you ten- no twenty gold coins for him." He said.

"I'm sorry but he's not currently available." Beloukas replied.

The man looked a bit disappointed for a moment before returning to his more sunny disposition, "Ah very well, I can't fault you for keeping the money maker. Well, the next room over is where he'll be spending his evening until the round begins."

"Very well. Run along Fohl"

The boy gritted his teeth, the slaver really like to toy with him. He'd become more lenient with the orders as time went on as he already knew the boy was going to comply with his instructions.

And he did just that, he followed them, entering into a larger room, settled around in different spaces were different people- no competitors. Some were doing some kind of pre-fighting workout, others just kept to themselves. They looked different compared to the ones he was used to fighting. They seemed more disheveled, wilder than the rest he fought before.

It was unnerving to look at, one of the men seemed to be tearing at his own skin, blood dripping from the gash he made on his arm. The man looked up at him and smiled at him before returning to pick at his arm. Fohl's eyes widened in a mixture of fear and confusion.

He found himself glued to the spot not wanting to move it was as if he were prey and was being stalked by predators. He didn't need it spelling out that these people had a few screws loose.

"Alright, there son?" A gruff voice asked him, Fohl turned to meet the gaze of a slightly taller man, dressed in a pair of black trousers and a black and white striped tank top. He was much more muscular than Fohl, a bushy handlebar mustache sat on his upper lip as well as having a completely shaven head. He looked like the typical 1900s, strong man.

"I'm fine." Fohl responded cooly.

"Course you are, tough lad ain'tcha." His accent was hard to pinpoint it seemed threatening but also in some strange way friendly. The man eyed him, and he could see Fohl's hands shaking profusely, "Would you like a cup of tea mate." He smiled an overly friendly smile at him raising his eyebrows at him. His overly friendly attitude towards the boy didn't go unnoticed.

"Come on son, it's rude not to accept a good cup of tea, calms nerves it does." Nor did his interesting way of speaking go unnoticed either. Hesitantly the boy nodded his head.

"Good, I'll be back in a few minutes son, stay away from those nutters while you're at it.." Pointing in the general direction of the rest of the fighters in the room. For some reason, Fohl heeded his advice, normally he wouldn't trust the advice of someone he just met, however, he was smart enough to read the room and understand that it was a good idea to listen to the man.

Though he didn't know if should have been too pleased with the man's less than amicable remarks as a few of those within earshot turned to face him. The man turned around and was about to take his first step when he stopped and looked at the faces of those who had heard him, staring at them both, or more like they were staring at Fohl, "What the are you starin' at, hah?"

One of the men rose to their feet in an attempt to intimidate the bald man, the man looked at him with what could only be described as rage, he gritted his teeth as he got a bounce in his step as he walked towards him which soon developed into a full-blown sprint at the taller man which ended with the smaller one slamming his bare-knuckled fist into the side of the other face sending him to the floor.

Then within that moment, a flash of purple lightning shot out from his chest electrocuting him, "Ah you bastard!" He hissed, he clutched his chest in pain, "Okay! Okay, knock it off will you!" Within the next moment, the lightning dissipated leaving a small mist of smoke around him. For a moment the room was full of deafening silence. Fohl was sure that the rest of the room was going to devolve into a full-on riot but it never happened.

Though if he'd hazard a guess as to why he'd pin it on the slave crests that he was sure that everyone here had as if the bald man set an example for the rest of them as a word of warning for the next people to attempt to start a fight or at least a fight their masters couldn't profit off.

After a short eternity, the man spoke up in a more hushed tone. "I'll... I'll go get that tea for you son." Fohl watched as the man retreated into a smaller room off to the side to go and retrieve the drink and leaving Fohl to process what had just occurred.

...

Fohl sat in silence as he watched the matches unfold down below him. The matches were but a few feet down below him, the fighters were situated in what he would only describe as something akin to a large animal pen. On top of that, he hadn't seen as much magic as he was used to, from what it seemed like most of the fighters preferred the usage of standard weapons.

Though then again they probably didn't have access to magic as what he could gather from what Beloukas and the other slavers, they were all some form of crook or criminal. Nothing special about any of them. Splatters of blood had gathered on the walls of the "Fighting Arena" as well as painting the floor crimson. Dust seemed to linger in the air as the fighters continuously swept up more and more of it.

The more muscular of the two opponents attempted to slice through the arm of the other, a taller woman with a pale complexion and deep blue eyes with a longsword, who in response raised a large trident to intercept the incoming blade, the sound of clanging metal echoed through the room as the trident trapped the sword between its barbed prongs.

This caused the other man to recoil as he hopelessly attempted to unlodge his weapon, to no avail. Suddenly a large gash appeared on his chest, blood flew out of the newly opened wound: adding to the pool of dried blood on the floor. The woman had her arm extended with the trident pointed to her side, Fohl didn't even see her move. How high a level must she have been to pull something like that off?

He cried out in pain, Fohl wincing at the sight of the wound, He didn't think he'd ever get used to that amount of blood no matter how many times he'd witnessed it even in his own fights. The boy knew the fight would be almost over, not a moment later he'd be proven right. The woman impaled her opponent with the end of the trident, the man grasping at the end of it trying to once again dislodge himself from her trident.

His strength failed him and soon enough he went limp entirely. "Contestant 11 wins." One of the slavers shouted, the woman turned on her heel and left the pen through a gate on the far side from where Fohl was situated.

The bald man from earlier stepped through the gate a few minutes later storming towards the limp body of Contestant 10. Hunching over he picked it up in a fireman's carry and tossed him out the pen, leaving it to ragdoll on the floor a few feet away, kicking more dust into the air.

"Right, I've done your dirty work." He spoke as he looked in the direction of the slavers who were watching from a short distance away, he noticed a couple of drops of blood on his vest, Fohl could see the man getting angrier as he looked longer at it; to the point, he visibly started shaking. His face morphed into one of an attempt to suppress his fury.

"Na then, get down 'ere son." He addressed Fohl, he crossed his arms, and stared at him. His foot began tapping against the floor violently as he waited. "Come on son, I don't have all day."

One of the slavers looked away from him in disgust, "So uncouth."

The boy looked towards Beloukas who simply nodded his head at him, signaling him to go to the ring. Slowly he rose from his seat, his cat-like eyes slowly keeping a cautious eye on the man as he slinked his way down to the pen.

"No weapon lad? Course not- no need 'cause you're hard as nails ain'tcha." He closed his fist as if he were gripping something within his palm tightly, his knuckles turned white as he continued to squeeze them tighter, "All you need are your bare-fucking-knuckles."

The man got into a boxing stance, "Got a name son?" He asked. Fohl's gaze hardened as he gazed upon his form.

"You're just as crazy as the rest of the people here if you think I'm going to tell you my name." He responded, the other looked exasperated, his face taking an expression of mock surprise.

"No! Not your real name, a stage name, got one?" He asked again, Fohl remained quiet putting his fists up in a defensive stance. "Fine, I'll give you time to think about one." He said.

For the next few moments, they stared at each other in a palpable silence. The Slavers watch from above their eager eyes entirely focused on the two below them. Fohl waited for the other man to make a move.

His arms were large and muscular and had a lot more mass than his less muscular legs, Fohl assumed he was a straight-to-the-point bruiser plain and simple. If that was the case he'd have an easier time against him as he fought many of his type before.

The bald man began to hop on his feet, to the right, to the left, and back to the right again. Fohl kept a weary eye on his foot movements as he quickly bobbed from side to side.

That was a mistake.

Not a moment later his opponent shot out his fist as he stepped onto his most forward foot. Fohl attempted to raise his arms to block the attack, however, the kinetic energy the man built up within that punch caused a lot more pain than the demi-human had originally anticipated.

Fohl winced as he felt his knuckles dig into his skin. Though he did not have time to take in that punch as another blow from his opposite arm came hurtling at with great speed.

This time Fohl managed to duck under the attack, same with the next one and the one after that. Though he knew that he couldn't spend his time dodging his fists.

After the next punch missed his target he ducked curled his fingers and brought his fist up connecting with his opponent's jaw, drilling deep into his chin. He reeled back from the devastating blow, seemingly ignoring the attack.

'So he's got an iron chin.' The boy knew it was going to be hard to knock him out, most people he fought seemed at least winded by his attack. But the way he attacked it felt much more like a bull than a person. Like some kind of wild animal.

"Come on son, you have to start hitting harder than that, you're not some lightweight are you?" He asked.

Fohl couldn't tell if the tank of a man was mocking him or not. His tone was overly friendly yet it seemed laced with a wave of underlying anger. It felt like he was treading on hot coals: like at any moment, some kind of switch will end up being flipped.

His opponent ran at him full sprint, ramming into him, pushing him off balance. Fohl grabbed hold of his opponent by gripping the back of the base of his neck. In retaliation the man grabbed his inner elbows tightly, Fohl pushed against him shuffling forward, keeping a hold of his opponents neck: like a horse's reigns.

The bald man pushed back, as his grip grew tighter his nails digging into him, and so did his feet, digging deeper into the sandy ground, "You're better than that. Don't fuckin' disappoint me." His voice became more serious. He began pushing back against Fohl, he easily pushed the smaller boy who was struggling to hold his ground.

Fohl's feet gave in as his steps went from a slow careful plod to a struggle to maintain control of his footing. As the seconds passed the less dominance he held over the bald man.

The muscular man began to apply even more pressure. Fohl knew he was wearing down his stamina, he had to do something. Fast.

After a moment he stopped struggling against the man, the sudden ease of pushing the boy backward caused the man to stumble slightly. This was all Fohl needed, this small window of opportunity.

The demi-human lunged downwards, his knee driving downwards between the bald man's legs, with his hands, he tightly gripped them together around the back of his knee.

With great effort he pushed the man's leg's backward sending him hurtling toward the ground, quickly he scrambled up the titanic form of the downed man Fohl scrambled onto him, putting what little weight he had on the man. He slivered one arm underneath his opponent's upper arm, then with the other he wrapped his other arm around the base of the other's muscular neck.

With an even greater effort than before he connected his two hands together; it was as if he was trying to wrap his arms around an oak tree.

Despite the difference in size between the two the way in which Fohl had him pinned prevented him from escaping. All the bald man could do was thrash around like some wild animal.

This was good. Fohl didn't have to do any of the work now, or at least minimal work; whereas the body below him was overexerting himself trying to break free. All he'd have to do was adjust himself for when this man moved around and wait for him to run out of steam.

Though there was one thing he didn't account for.

...

Up, not but a few meters stood the slavers watching attentively from above like vultures. One produced a gold coin from his shirt jacket, placing it on a small spruce wood table in front of them. Then another followed suit, depositing two golden coins onto the table, then another did the same. Within a few moments, two stacks of gold were arranged neatly in a row in front of them.

Beloukas eyed the coins intently, his grin faltering for a few short moments, "Oh dear." He mumbled, another slaver turned to face him.

"Oh cheer up, what's there to be lost? It's only damaged goods at the end of the day." She said. Beloukas readjusted the lapel of his suit, fiddling with it aimlessly as he stared downwards.

"Perhaps, though I'll miss his feisty attitude. Usually, you break them within a few days or weeks... This one, not so much." He commented, sighed, and shifted his gaze to the brawl below, "Still, I suppose there's no reason to cry over spilled milk, no matter how much cash that milk rakes in... I'll just have to do overtime afterward to recuperate this lost profit."

The other patted him on the back, "That's the spirit."

Across from him, a tall man swept his arm over the money, pulling it towards him, the metallic coins scraping against the table. After collecting his money he looked up at them, "Thank you, gentlemen, and gentlewomen your generosity humbles me." His voice was null and void; robotic even. His tone was professional, not giving away any emotion Beloukas could discern. He bowed to them, then turned to face Beloukas.

"My apologies."

The man swiveled on his heel to face a cloaked individual Beloukas hadn't noticed earlier, he was sure that he would have distinguished him no matter palpable the darkness around them was.

The distinct presence of magic lingered on his form; weaving through the long robes he sported. Coiling around his limbs like a snake.

He raised a hand up to chest level, the skin aged and covered with a deep blanket of wrinkles, he stretch out his long gangly fingers toward the brawl that raged on below. He began muttering to himself, murmuring- no chanting to himself.

Suddenly a fantastical fire ignited below, its teal flames ebbing and flowing around the brawny adversary below.

Fohl closed his eyes and braced himself for the impending burns he was sure he was going to receive. Though the searing sensation never arrived, instead the flames coiled and danced around the downed man before extinguishing themselves. Leaving behind no trace of them being there.

[Appraisal]

Name: Edmund Woodstock

Class: Slave

Class Lv.34 (EXP: 217/3128)

Health: 350/380 (+78)

MP: 150/150 (+25)

Attack: 206 (+70) [?] Magic:?

Defense: 103 (+60) [?] Magic:?

Magic defense: 51 (+30) [?] Magic:?

Agility:? (+50)

Beloukas cringed at the states, his eyes fixated on the status of his property's opponent, they were quite frankly absurd, despite the appraisal not showing everything he knew he had made a fatal error. Perhaps he had become too careless, too easy-going, too foolish: assuming that Fohl would win every fight he was in.

He was just lucky, that was it. He should have realized that the train would run out of steam eventually. Upon gazing upon looking at the status of the competition he had put to bed the idea of gaining any ounce of profit from this match.

The outcome had been decided.

Fohl stubbled and struggled aimlessly to maintain a grip on the bald man, his movements had become much too fast to keep up with. He had rolled his ankle a couple of times while he clung desperately to the other form. His sharp nails dug deep into his skin, piercing it like a knife through butter. But no blood came out. Neither did he react to the physical stimulus the boy was exerting on him.

As if he were beneath him, inferior. No, he couldn't lose, he couldn't let him win: he'd come so far. His adrenaline had been kicked into high gear, his breathing became more shallow as his legs began to feel less like a solid and more like a liquid as they began to tremble. As if some primal instinct had been activated: the sort that said he was staring at his impending doom.

He felt the uncontrollable need to dart to his feet and abandon the arena as the newly invigorated Edmund escaped from beneath him with great ease. His brows were furrowed and his teeth were grit in a great fury. He gripped his fists with an unyielding conviction, his knuckles paled and a crimson ichor trickled slowly from his balled hands.

Fohl scrambled backward, tripping over himself as he rose to his feet. Raising his quaking fists to meet the monster before him as he readied himself in an awkward boxing stance.

"You look a bit, pale there son."

The boy's feline eye's shifted erratically as paranoia began to set in within his mind: gnawing away at his confidence as he gazed forward. Before he knew it he was knocked upside the head within an instant. He felt his neck pop and his jaw seemingly implode on itself as he recoiled from the attack. Before he could stabilize himself another punch slammed into his skull, it felt as if a sledgehammer had bludgeoned him next to his ear.

He felt skin tissue flay along with a cool liquid run down his neck. He was in agony but still fought back the desire to collapse onto the floor. He helplessly tried to put his fist up in an attempt to impede the strikes.

Then another slugged him in the nose, he felt the fibers in his nose collapse under pressure as the knuckles bored further into its bridge, his bones failing to absorb the weight being pressed against it. Blood splattered into the air in a thin red mist.

Fohl found himself struggling to breathe as well as stand against the attacks, as he let out a horrendous scream. Tears welled up in his eyes as he finally lost his footing; plummeting toward the ground.

He was too weak, too fragile, too delicate.

He lay idly on the floor, a crimson sap collecting and converging in one large puddle beneath a large open gash that seeped blood. The boy felt nauseous, his head began to spin; he tried keeping down the urge to vomit.

He'd lost. There was no getting up from this: let alone besting that beast in a fight. Ironically humans seemed to be more animalistic than the demi-humans themselves. Instead of thinking about the events that led him to this position, this position in which he wasn't sure if he would be knocking on death's door or not: instead he thought about who he had failed, who he'd let down, who he'd left to die.

It wasn't fair.

Tears trickled down his face, and his nose made nasty gurgling and whistling sounds as he erratically breathed in and out. He tried to steady himself, tried to calm himself but he couldn't. It was pathetic.

Atla, I'm sorry...

...

Not but a few feet away from the downed form of the demi-human stood the hulking form of the boy's assailant. He intently watched the boy as he loomed above him, his gaze bore holes into the boy's head. Even more, blood flooded out of that nasty trauma he'd dealt the small boy's head. The ichor monotonously crawled toward him across the dusty, cracked, and stained arena floor.

It was a terrible business all in all.

He was just a child after all, but if a child wants to sit at the adult's table he'd get treated like one. It was cruel but things in life were cruel.

The man recognized the fact he was cruel, he knew he didn't have to be but things just don't pan out the way you or other people want, do they?

He observed the boy's breathing become irregular, the boy began to convulse. Quickly the man tipped the boy onto his side using the end of his dusty old shoes, and a yellowish liquid splattered onto the floor next to him. What Edmund assumed to be vomit, though it was a lot less solid. He'd not eaten much food.

Poor sod.

He averted his gaze toward the spectator stand full of the slaver, "Right he's had enough!" He pointed at the now bloodied boy below him, "Na send 'im on his way!"

One of the slavers leaned forward, his face looking rather disgruntled, his thick eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at the gruesome scene before him, "Not very good at pleasing a crowd are you?" He asked indignantly, his tone indicating a sense of utter disappointment. He turned sharply to one of his associates, "Think we should top the boy up on a healing potion: you know, makes the fight more enjoyable that way."

"Sorry darling but that just wouldn't seem fair to the rest of us now would it? I spent a fair few gold coins on this and I'd rather not try and have a repeat of what happened earlier in this brawl." The second slaver yawned, "It makes for an awfully drab spectacle, rather a quick and entertaining round than a drawn-out dull one."

The other put his gloved hands up to protest but was shot down yet again by others chiming in against him. Interestingly the demi-human's master didn't seem opposed to the idea of ending the fight with him on the losing end, had he already given up?

Or perhaps he didn't want his property damaged further, maybe the boy was valuable to him. Edmund had seen his fair share of fights, his fair share of humans, demi-humans, therianthropes even a few monsters on occasion. Out of those fights he'd never seen a demi-human with those distinct traits, snow white, and charcoal black hair. Tiger eyes, ears, and tail. He'd seen opponents that had traits of animals you saw regularly if you were wondering the outskirts of Zeltoble but never a white tiger.

Quite a rarity indeed.

The man's train of thought came to an end as another figure discreetly stepped into the pen. It was one of the other slaves, they carelessly slogged the boy over their shoulder, and they mumbled to themselves about getting blood on their nice clothes. If you could call them that, it was more like a piece of ragged cloth that just barely hung around their body

Speaking of blood, he looked down at his hands: the knuckles painted in a red blanket of the stuff. He sneered at them: well better get this off then. As he walked out of the pen he wiped the backs of his hands against the ragged cloths of the man holding his downed opponent while trying to disguise it as a pat on the back.

"Good man."

The other man now newly smeared in blood followed Edmund up and out of the pen. He extended his dusty, dirtied arm outward toward a door outward off to the side, its frame somewhat obscured by the large blotches of darkness that gnawed at the lingering motes of light that shot into it.

"Place 'im on a bed in there, he'd get seen too soon enough." He instructed, the other nodded his head in acknowledgment, stepping toward the dilapidated entrance.

Passed the worn-out frame squat a dimly lit room, the few torches there were, were hastily put together with coal and sticks and strung up on the craggy dilapidated walls of the room. The light emanating from the torches was couldn't reach more than a few feet without the darkness coiling and choking it out.

The floor had several indents on it, the seemingly ancient stone blocks deteriorated at the surface, leaving a jagged and sharp surface: like millions of tiny teeth poking out from the ground. On the floor were several beds that lay in neat rows on either side of him. If you could call them beds. More accurate to say they were dirty and of poor-quality piles of fabric that were woven tightly in some areas and loosely in others. They looked as if their maker had given up halfway through weaving them.

One thing was certain, however, there were definitely not enough beds to house all the fighters in this little tournament. The man dumped the boy on the nearest bed to him, turned on his heel sharply, and disappeared through the doorway behind them. Not seeming to care about the terrible fate that could befall the injured boy.

Leaving him in the room unattended and without medical assistance. On the cold, scratchy, and uncomfortable bed. Though Fohl didn't care about that, nor did his mind linger on his injury for too long, the thoughts that raced across his brain: trampling on his happiness caused him much more severe pain.

One that couldn't be healed with a simple healing potion, more tears flooded out his eyes, his shattered nose still making the nasty gurgling sound, he could taste the strong flavor of iron on the inside of his mouth.

It wasn't fair. How can slavers live like kings when they commit the vilest acts on their own kind and get to live on through the benefit of others' suffering? Like leaches, causing misery to those who they can sink their teeth into.

That parasitic nature will be the death of him. Though it seemed more and more and more that it would rather be the death of his sister.

'Will I even find a medicine that cures her?' He questioned, it seemed so far out of the realm of possibilities like a myth or something he conjured up himself. Once upon a time she had medicine that improved her condition but never fully mended it, that time is long gone.

Shapes in the darkness shifted around the light, bending its dim rays around them. Emerging from the deep black a humanoid shape, a large feminine stood on the interstice between the muted torchlight and the murky shadows behind her.

She strode in large steps towards the downed form of the demi-human. Crouching down she met the filthy bed with her pale fingers, running the tips through the restless fibers that poked and prodded at her skin. She paused and then gazed upon Fohl's face letting out a deep sigh, as if reflecting on something, before producing a translucent vial of a crimson ichor. The flimsy torch light reflected off the liquid surface tenfold.

Unbeknownst to Fohl she twisted and turned the spotted oaken cork that sealed the glass tight, sloshing it around: and checking its viscosity. Before tipping Fohl's head forwards gently, the boy still gurgling as small streams of blood still trickled from his swollen face.

The substance was sweet like a succulent sap had caked the walls of his throat in its warm embrace.

[+50 Health Points]

Within an instant, the boy's bloated face began to shrink, cuts and bruises began knitting themselves back together as flayed skin seemingly grew back; his nose partly snapped back into shape. Though his face had not entirely healed, it was an improvement over the injury he had been dealt before.

"Hang in there." Was all the woman said before rising to her feet and drifting back into the gloomy background.

...

Well. This was a disappointment, a complete and utter waste of time, might as well have just burned my hard-earned money instead; saves me the effort of coming out here in the first place at least that wouldn't end with the damage to my property.

Well, I'll admit it was a wake-up call at least. Mind you it was an obvious one, no boy could beat every single, fighter, slave, or monster in Zeltoble. Perhaps my greed just got the better of me.

I pushed myself off the concrete barrier on which I leaned, wiping down my clothes to remove any of the dust and dirt that clung desperately to the fibers. I spun on my heel, my eyes keenly focused on the exit door, "Anywhere do you think you are going, darling?" A feminine voice asked, I turned to face the woman I had been talking to earlier, Evota.

"I am taking my leave, my dear. I rolled the dice and my roll came back as snake eyes on a biased dice." I stated, her face morphed into one of mock disappointment as she continued to press me.

"Aww, don't take it to heart. Happens to the best of us." She cooed, I laughed in response.

"I wouldn't dream of taking it to heart, I too would have paid my fair share if it meant walking away with a profit." I grinned at her, before facing away from her: gazing at the exit. "However I seem to have put all my eggs in one basket, and the basket has seemed to fall on the floor in an eggy mess. I can't make an omelet out of a dirty egg, nor can I make an omelet with no eggs. So I think I shall retire tonight, I shall return another time, hopefully, then the fixture will be more in my favor."

"I didn't know you cared so much for your property. Are you perhaps gaining a heart? If I was you I would heal that boy and send him back out there." She scoffed, I paused for a moment but that moment seemed to draw out into eternity before responding.

"Good thing I'm not you then isn't it? I know when I'm outclassed in terms of bets, no point completely destroying an egg is there?" I retorted, I strode towards the exit before pausing, "Good night to you all!" I bid farewell to my associates before resuming my stride.

Now then better go retrieve the boy. I looked to the side of me, and stood sentinel was a man in rags, "Excuse me, but may I request you retrieve my property?" Robotically the man turned in place and plodded into the room adjacent to us. Not but a few moments later he returned holding Fohl's beaten form in his hands. He'd seen better days, though his condition was better than it was inside the ring.

Still, he wouldn't be ready to go back out just yet, what a bother. I'll have to work overtime to regain the losses from this utter failure of a night then. I shifted my gaze to the raggedy man, "Well then, let's get moving then." I said as I moved towards the iron door that I had entered a few hours earlier.

It didn't take long to load the boy onto the wagon, unsurprisingly it didn't take too long to get the Filolial moving again after not being able to stretch its legs for a few hours. Before I clambered through the caged door I looked once more at the boy, still, even now some blood still trickled down his nose. Carefully I bent down and wiped the remnants of his brutal engagement from his face. Well aside from the bruises and swelling that still persisted, though there wasn't much I could do about that until we got back to the tent.

Returning to my upright stance I strode back through the door crafted from iron bars that were built into the framework of the cage that was molded into my wagon. I jump out, landing on the stony, uneven surface of this half-baked road with a less than enthusiastic leap in my step, I mean this path had more potholes than stone bricks in it at this point: that's how poorly maintained it was.

Merchants really do have strange priorities when it came to the design of this city sometimes. I ran my fingers across the body of the wagon as I placed the key into the blocky, rust keyhole; swiveling it until it made a metallic clank.

Letting my hand drop to the side idly, I began to make my way to the front of the wagon: dodging and avoiding the vast amount of potholes that lay scattered on the ground.

Finally reaching the driver's seat I hoisted myself onto it, placing myself on the uncomfortable, plain driver's seat I seized the reigns. Without even having to lift a finger the filolial chirped happily as it began to pull the wagon. Perhaps a little too happily as it wasn't long before the wagon's wheels began snagging on the potholes causing me to be thrown up into the air, then back down onto the wooden seat.

Needless to say, it hurt whenever that happened, though I was too deep in thought to complain about it too much.

What to do now?

Perhaps I should toss him a few potions and get him back in fighting condition, but then again what if he failed? It'd cost even more money to regain the damage done. Not to mention he was getting too high profile for my liking. Perhaps another trader may not have cared about their property being damaged, but not me: I'm anything if not cautious.

Suddenly the cart turn abruptly, it felt as though the cart was about to tip over, "Stop doing that. Otherwise, I'll find another more careful creature to pull this cart. Maybe I'll find a dragon if you can't behave yourself." I chastised the bird. In response, it squawked in annoyance as if threatening me. Though what was it to do? A bird couldn't attack its master.

One thing the jolt did was bring me back to my senses, as I took in the night air I shifted my gaze around me lazily. The street seemed less busy, less alive. Though here and there were a few people who were idly walking by off to nowhere in particular. Some vendors were still out by their stands, some excitedly trying to get my, or others' attention in an attempt to make some last-minute sales before they turned in for the night.

Others were packing away their products, into crates that they stored behind the stands, though the vast majority lay empty. Warm lights shone through various windows in dozens of different houses as we wheeled on passed them, even at night the streets seemed as bright as they did in the day.

Indeed it was a city that never truly slept.

The sky was void of clouds but full of shining stars that dotted the dark sky above; like white paint on a black canvas. At the forefront of the canvas was the moon, its brilliant lights casting a cooler light that mixed with the warm light of the streets. Perhaps if it were a better day then I might have appreciated it more though, of course, it wasn't.

We continued to amble down the stone road for a little while longer before pulling off into a familiar alleyway. All of a sudden we were plunged into darkness, no longer did the street lights reach brush against my skin; instead, a cooler air rolled over me. The moon was obscured by the dark looming form of the buildings that lay on either side of me, down through the street we passed by near identical buildings.

Left, right, left right; the wagon was pulled around through different shadowy alleys; none of it looked familiar in the slightest.

Wait a moment...

"Hey, I want us to go to the tent; I'd rather not stay out in the cold for much longer. So if you would mind, stop taking us on detours." This bird was beginning to get on my nerves. With a few more squawks and harsh words, the filolial pulled off once more this time pulling to more familiar territory. Only a few minutes later the tent began to take shape in the distance.

Its dull, faded red and white colors weren't exactly easy to tell apart from the shadows which surrounded it however I could just make out the entrance to the tent. Slowly the filolial began to slow to a halt. It let out a few sad chirps when the cart reach a dead stop, as if its will to live had died there and then.

What was it with these birds' strange attachment to anything with wheels? Materialistic little things. I stepped off the wagon and wandered around to the side where the rusty cage door stood, once more I produced the key from my pocket put it through the lock's bulky shape, and twisted it.

It clicked once more making a satisfying clank.

Now then what is the next course of action? I'd rather not have to carry around the boy myself so...

"Hey Baldy get over here, will you?" I called out to the large bid that sat at the front, after a few muffled chirps suddenly the wagon began moving around. Wait. I forgot to remove him from the wagon. "Stop!" I called out, then immediately it stopped once again.

After a few minutes of fiddling with the reigns and doing a few laps of the cart, I got "Baldy" detached from the cart. Grabbing it by the beak I brought it around to the cage exit. Clambering aboard once more I heaved the boy's body onto my shoulder, I somewhat struggled to lift him out of the cage.

Despite him being relatively light, I still had to maneuver around his limp limbs which continuously attempted to trip me over. After a few minutes of struggling I slung his body over "Baldy's" back, "Well it ain't a cart, but it's something."

Its response was a simple chirp of acknowledgment, I made sure the boy was secure to the filolial as best as I could despite there not being a harness on it. I began to stride towards the tent entrance, motioning the bird to follow along.

I threw back the shabby tarpaulin, holding it open for the bird to trot through. Noticing I got some grime on my glove I wiped it discretely on my trouser leg as I trailed behind "Baldy". As I trudged after them I inhaled deeply through my nose.

'Smells like home.'

We trekked past the dilapidated, rusty cages that were stacked high upon one another, looming over us. Gangly arms Shot out once again through the tightly packed together, flakey bars, their owner's teeth gnashing at the filolial as their eyes followed them intently, the bird squawked at them, standing its ground; its neck arching as its fluffy tail stood on end. "Ignore them." I said, clicking my fingers; lightning engulfed several cages in light as I continued walking unimpeded by these interruptions.

The violet lightning ran up and down the cages as lightning grew in intensity. I snapped my fingers once again and the lightning ceased.

"That should do."

The smell of seared flesh permeated the air around us, clinging to my clothes; its putrid smell followed us as we continued journeying through the tent: kicking up large amounts of dust into the air. Was I imagining it or was that bird drooling? It wasn't doing that earlier.

The boy's body began slipping off "Baldy" who whipped its head around, snagging the ripped-up, bloodied cloth that loosely clung to his torso. Gently the bird turned the demi-human back onto the pale nest of its lilac feathers, slowly nudging him into a safer position. It reminded me of how a mother cat would hold the scruff of her kitten's neck. It cooed softly, before turning its gaze forwards once more.

'Almost there.'

Further at the back was a slightly larger cage, draped in tarpaulin. I remember the boy requested it, and for some reason, I complied with his request; I believed he wanted it put up so his dear sister remained hidden. I don't know why he needed to do that, such a paranoid child; no one was likely to purchase her anyway. A sick and fragile girl like her would be useless for manual labor.

She'd be useless for most things aside from draining the money from her owner's wallet. But he still pestered me on it until I complied, perhaps I did it so he could shut up.

A boy like that won't get far in life, though I guess he hadn't. He hadn't exactly won the lottery tonight nor did he when he was sold into slavery.

We came to a half right outside the cage, from within I could hear the shuffling of rough fabric, its fibers acting as teeth as they scraped across the floor. Accompanying those sounds was the noise of heavy, hoarse breathing.

More like wheezing though. No doubt the girl was awake. My suspicions were confirmed a few moments later when a high-pitched voice emanated from beneath the tarpaulin,

"Hello?"

"Baldy" picked at the grimy cloth, firmly clasping it in his bill it pulled back the tarpaulin; draping it over to the side. It cooed gently as it looked into the mucky enclosure, there sitting right slap bang in the center of the cage was the boy's sister. Or what I assumed to be his sister. Looked more like a cocoon of bandages with a scarred face pocking out.

On its person, the cocoon wore a faded green, plain dress. It looked like it hadn't been washed in a millennium. Though there seemed to be an attempt at cleaning it, no doubt her brother was responsible for that, though he did a shoddy job at it. She moved towards the sounds spawned from the bird, and with much struggle, she managed to heave her body to the entrance to the cage.

She reached her hand out and touched the bird's bright yellow beak. She rubbed her hand along it slowly, "Baldy" responded positively, tilting his head to the side as he almost seemed to purr to himself. The girl's hand ran down from his beak to his neck, stroking the soft clusters of feathers it sported; she grinned widely as she stroked him more affectionately as she became more excited.

"Is this what I think it is...? A filolial?" She asked, almost taken aback by this discovery.

"But what's a cute little thing like you doing here?" She asked it, as she gazed into its eyes, "You are much too elegant to be in a place such as this..."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, he's a bastard; nothing elegant about him." I commented, slowly the girl turned to face me; her nose wrinkling up in disgust.

"I thought you were nearby, though I mistook your scent for this little guy's." She said. Though the bird didn't take too kindly to that backhanded compliment and squawked in what I could only describe as offense.

"Aren't you a charming little money waster?" I retorted, her face morphed into a frown as she stared at me. Despite not being able to see me it felt as though her eyes piercing my soul.

"What's this Filolials name?" She questioned, changing the subject. I humored her.

"Baldy." I replied.

She stuck her hand deep into the plumage of the bird, the thickness of the feathers consuming almost half of her skinny, bandaged arm. "Either you're as blind as I am, or you're just as incapable of choosing names for your pets." She paused for a moment, "Well then... Baldy... Thank you for taking care of my brother."

What?

"Are you sure you're blind?" I asked, perhaps a bit too bluntly. Though perhaps my bluntness was warranted, how in the world did she know her brother sat on its back? I wasn't as if he was saying all that much, there was nothing to suggest her brother was even present.

She retracted her hand from the filolial after rustling its feather one more time, "There is more to this world, more than your sight will allow you to see."

Well then, that was cryptic.

The bird lowered its head to the cage's, rusty; aged door. I retrieved my key from my jacket pocket, inserted the key, and unlocked it. On cue, the bird nudged the door ajar with its beak acting as a makeshift hand. Once again the animal lowered its head; this time to the floor causing its feathers to sprawl out beneath it like a feathery carpet.

The boy upon its back began to roll down its lengthy neck, like a slide. After passing down its body, the demi-human left a path of crimson ichor that clung to the tips of the bird. Gently the bird nudged him through the door, carefully as not to disturb him nor to reopen any wounds fixed by the healing potion he had received. The cocooned girl sat and waited for the bird to finish man-handling her brother before placing her hand on his chest. Causing some of the fresh blood to soak into her bandages, though she didn't seem to mind.

She looked at him solemnly, "I had anticipated for this to happen, though there wasn't much I could do about it. It's a wonder he got as far as he did." Weakly she reached for a loose bandage that hung from her arm, pulling it as hard as he could, it came loose. Though it seemed to take a lot out of her as she began breathing deeply and heavily.

With the bandage free, she placed it on one of the many wounds her brother had sustained. She applied as much pressure as she could to the gash, and after a short eternity, it slowed in its bleeding; entirely coming to an end within the minute.

"I must ask something of you slaver." She spoke between her short breaths.

"And what would that be?" I questioned.

"Do not let my brother compete in any more matches." She mumbled.

"What did you say?" I asked, bewildered; were my ears playing tricks on me?

"I said, don't let my brother compete anymore." She spoke, this time louder and more direct. Now that had me stumped.

"Might I ask why?"

"Because sooner or later he will end up dead in some dirty arena; run by dirty, heartless slavers fighting a lost cause." She said, her voice dripping with desperation. Once more her gaze bore through me; piercing my soul.

"And why would I agree to that; he is a very good money maker," I stated,

"Well, sooner or later he will become too high profile. Or maybe he already has, I wouldn't know: he doesn't speak about his "experiences". I haven't seen him hurt like this before... but these injuries he has on his body lack what I would call the "quality" from a sword gash or fist fighter." She returned her gaze to her unconscious brother, "They seem barbaric in a way I'm not confident in describing. If this kind of punishment continues he would almost certainly die."

Clever girl, she was correct in her assessment I'd give her that much.

"I'd imagine your brother wouldn't appreciate his hard work going to waste." I pressed on.

"Better one life going to waste than two..."

I spun my cane around in my hand as I pondered to myself, I exhaled deeply. Well, the answer was obvious, she was right; he was too high profile. Perhaps I gave her too little credit when it came to her intelligence. Such a great divide between her and her brother's minds. She seemed outright prepared to die, it was a little disturbing if I was being honest. Though I suppose that same resolve linked them both together.

I'm not so stupid to not be able to read a situation. Though it felt like I was leaving behind an item dear to me; one that made a whole lot of money. Oh, well; better not put all my eggs in one basket. Perhaps until she passes I could train up another slave.

The girl sat in anticipation, she shifted on her knees as she sat on her legs; antsy would best describe it. She grasped tightly at her clothes as she waited for an answer. With every second passed the atmosphere became more and more palpable. The air was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife.

I watched her a bit longer before responding, "Very well girl if you want to die then so be it."

"If I must die so another must live then so be it." She responded, her voice filled with conviction as the vast space of the tent once more fell silent. I pulled a face at her almost accidentally in disgust.

"Not much of life if you ask me."

That shut her up. After that comment she lay back down, facing away from me; as if I were no longer important to her. As if I were beneath her, I had half a mind to zap her and end it there and then but something in the back of my mind told me not to. A small voice telling me it wasn't a wise thing to do. Though neither was this whole business about these two slaves.

I suppose in a way it was the lesser of two evils.

That sounded rich coming from me.

After the popularity around Fohl died down along with his sister, I could enter him into matches again.

I felt giddy after that thought, almost jumping up and down; had I not controlled myself I may have let out a squeal similar to how a child would react to an expensive present by their parents. I forced those thoughts out of my mind, for the time being, that can wait for later.

I grabbed the filolial by the beak, "Come on then, I believe you have spent far too much time in this tent. I fear this place is too good a place for you, back outside." Hesitantly it moved from its sentinel position next to the cage; quickly it draped the cloth back over the enclosure before being guided by my hand that sat firmly on its bill.

...

I heard the footsteps of the slaver fade into the air, the echoes of his shoe's hard soles seemingly dissolved into the ether as the space between us lengthen.

Still.

I lay still in this pen that I have called home for the better half of however I've been here for. Time seemed to elongate within this tent, it seemed to warp around itself, never giving me any clue as to how long I'd been trapped within the confines of this prison.

My guess would have to be around six months, though my estimate may be off by a county mile.

The abrasive roughness of the fabric that I find myself resting upon kept pricking my arms and legs; constantly biting at my legs. My limbs felt especially weak after my altercation with the slaver, my mind may get used to this affliction but I doubt my body will ever resist it. They felt liquidy as if one wrong move may mean them seeping out into the cloth I lay on.

Sometimes I wished I could just "spill out" into the floor if it mean not having to deal with my weakness any longer. But before that ever happened Fohl would pull me back from my "melting point".

I felt a twinge of guilt briefly pass over my conscience.

He tried his hardest to keep me well. But his spirit is weighed down by me, it is an almighty burden to bare, and as such I want him to be rid of it. I hope that with my passing he will find a way out of this tent for good.

I suppose it felt like in a way I was crushing his hard work, crushing his efforts.

I felt the mass of my brother shift as he "slept", even if I had the strength to do so I dared not face him.

Instead, I lay there in silence letting time pass by me as I listened to the various sounds of the tent. The gentle rustling of the tent as the wind ran through all the nooks and crannies of the fabric; the pattering of rain as it slowly began to collide with the tent's roof, its sounds equally as gentle. However occasional howls and grunts of pain from cages a few meters away seemed to immediately drive away any serenity from the atmosphere.

It was the sort of sound that you could never unhear, one you could never forget. All the sounds molded together into a discordant symphony that endlessly played on a loop within this tent. When we had first arrived it was the same, the chorus of screaming from the other slaves never seemed to cease.

Occasionally I heard the whispering of voices close by, the exchanging of gold as large quantities collided with each other as if fell into another voice's hands. Each new voice seemed to speak differently from the last, sometimes even the language spoken was different.

I didn't need to see them to know every last one of them was here for the same reason. It was the way they carried themselves that set them apart from everyone else in this world, the same attitude, the same sense of superiority, and disregard for others' lives.

It wasn't a place children should believe kept in.

...

I was awoken by the sound of heavy horseshoes colliding with the cobbled surface of the Zeltoble streets. Accompanying it was the loud braying that emerged from the animal as it stopped somewhere outside.

I must have fallen asleep without even realizing it. I struggled to pull myself into a sitting position, using both arms to support me as I did so, the undisturbed form of my brother lay still beside me, I gingerly placed my hand on where I had felt the greatest gash that he had sustained. For the most part, the wound had healed, or at least it had stopped leaking blood.

I sighed in relief.

Though just to be on the safe side, I fumbled along the cage floor accidentally knocking over a few empty glass vials in the process making an audible clink as they hit the floor until I perched over him.

Under heavy breathing once more I unraveled the cloth that was tightly tethered to my person. Breaking it off with my teeth I placed the bandage upon that same wound once again, being sure to replace the previous one.

I did so as carefully and meticulously as I could in order to not disturb his well-deserved rest. Afterward, I returned to my resting position. I leaned against the cold metal interior of the cage, allowing my spindly arm to idle slip through the bars; my fingers brushing against the craggy cobblestone floor.

"Did you hear the news?" An unfamiliar voice asked, I couldn't recognize the accent but I knew that its tone was one of shock.

"News, what news?" Another echoed back.

I couldn't quite discern whether they came from within the tent or outside of it though it sounded like they were quite alarmed.

"Those fools from Melromarc have summoned the Cardinal Heroes." The frantic rustling of clothing made it clear he was in a state of intense distress.

"What all of them?" The other responded, his voice mirroring the first man's concern.

"Well from what I heard, it was only the Spear, Bow, and Sword Heroes, but-"

The heroes had been summoned? I felt a deep joy well up inside of me, I felt giddy in a way. It was as if a fairytale had come true, the stories that every child is told growing up had become reality. The legends of diligence and valor that mothers and fathers tell their kin with such pride you'd think they were related to them personally. I have fond memories of my father reciting the kindness and generosity of the Shield Hero above all other Cardinal Heroes.

He wasn't a hero that slew dragons, nor the hero that went on daring quests to far-off lands to gain vast amounts of fortune; rather he was described in such vivid detail by every demi-human as a benign, kind God whose philanthropic nature won over the hearts of any lucky enough to meet him.

To me, he was the true hero.

Without skipping a beat the other blurted back, "What do you mean 'only'!? Do you realize the implications, that means the waves have arrived - our nation is crippled without a hero to help fend off the waves!"

I heard the sound of thumping against what I discerned to be a wooden board.

"Get on, you." The second voice snapped, his tone full of venom. Quiet, breathless grunts followed by the clanging of chains chimed a tune as the almost weightless pattering of bare feet slowly followed the man's instructions. Though perhaps it was too slow, as only a short eternity later did the familiar cracking of electricity permeated the air, along with the crying of a child. "I said to move faster!"

Soon a second weight boarded the wagon, albeit a lot lighter, accompanying this was the sharp, frantic cracking of reigns as the sound of horses filled the air with their braying. My ears quickly pressed against my crown to stop the explosive whipping sounds from piercing my eardrums.

How horrible.

"Where are you going?" The first voice asked.

"I'm leaving, I suggest you do the same before the waves hit. Buy whatever slaves you need and leave." By this point, the man's voice had started to fade, and become more distant as the horses presumably carted him off into the distance.

It felt like I had been pulled back down to earth, my excitement ceased immediately. I was so transfixed with the Cardinal Heroes that I had somehow forgotten where I was. I suppose that it was unlikely that-

"Uggh..." The muffled groaning of my brother pulled me out of my thoughts. The rustling of cloth scrapping and snagging along the uneven ill-made iron floor accompanied his pained groans. I heard him rise to consciousness as he went about propping himself up with what sounded like a lot of effort on his part if his heavy breathing was any indicator of this.

"What happened?" He asked no one in particular.

"You lost." I answered rather bluntly.

"I... what?" Fear seemed to have leaked its way into his voice. He mumbled to himself for a minute, "That can't be right..." After an abrupt pause, he gasped; it was as if he was struggling for breath. "But... maybe it is..."

"The slaver dropped you off here last night. You were so brutalized; from your head to your toe, you were covered in all sorts of horrid injuries." I answered once again.

He didn't respond, rather he sat in silence, preferring not to respond. For what felt like hours. Though it could have just as well have been a few minutes; before he took a pained breath,

"I'm- I'm ready to go back out there- I think." He said; though I don't know if he was assuring me or himself. "Hey! Hey, where are you slaver!" He called out. But no one replied, all that answered him was the haunting ambiance of the tent.

Then he tried again and again, like a broken record: playing endlessly. Each try drained more and more hope from him, it seemed to draw out more frustration in his growing desperation. Still, no one replied.

Once more I felt a twinge of guilty well up inside of me. That nagging voice in my head telling me I had made a mistake seemed to get louder and louder, the more I thought about it the more intense the feeling became.

My brother's voice became silent once again, until he finally decided to speak, "Where is he; usually he's eager to drag me through brimstone if it meant making a profit..."

"Maybe he wants you to be in your best form for your next bout." I lied through my teeth as I spoke. He wouldn't be going anywhere until I'm gone.

"He'd have healed me if he had wanted that, he's done it more times than I can count..." He responded, I could tell he was scowling; scowling at what he thought to be naivety most likely.

"What happened yesterday?" It was less of a question and more of a demand.

"Like you said. I lost." He responded bitterly.

I sighed, he was difficult to talk to like this. His pride was prodigious, it wasn't easy to get him to speak about anything when his ego was damaged.

"Fine. If you want to bottle it up..." I trailed off. I didn't have the strength to argue with him, nor was it efficient to do so. I was going to make use of my limited time. I smiled at him.

"Canne êower oncnâwan sê ðâ ðe?"

I could only imagine the look on his face, probably the look of someone who had just witnessed another grow a second head. "Not this again." He groaned. If I was going to help him I was going to have a little fun while doing so. "This really isn't a good time for your jokes." His voice was practically drenched in utter annoyance.

"Actually I think you'll find it's perfect for this; this also isn't a joke. Besides if you learn some new languages you'll at least be able to get the slaver's attention in a whole new lexicon." I chided.

I lightly patted the floor in front of me, signaling for him to move closer. Reluctantly I heard the movement of my brother who soon after planted himself in front of me. "Do we really have to do this? I mean there are more serious matters at hand…" He asked.

I sighed, furrowing my eyebrows, "Honestly brother you really only have a one-track mind. Look, if you can't get the slaver's attention now you won't get it for what could be days."

"Fine." That was all he said in response.

"Now then we shall start with what I believe to be the most common dialect in Faubery." I said.

"What you believe? You don't know? Why are we learning Faubian languages anyway?" He asked skeptically.

"Because it is the language of business" I retorted, "Now then let's get this started. We'll start with basic greetings."

...

Due to a lack of parchment or paper learning languages become even hard than it seemed before. Atla had spent enough time with her brother to know it was much easier to teach him visually. Though they didn't have the luxury of those resources, as such oral learning had to be used.

"And how do you say "My name is."?" Atla asked, testing his knowledge. She watched him intently, patiently waiting for a response from her sibling. After a thoughtful pause, he answered her.

"Iċ hātte Fohl" He replied. Atla smiled gently at her brother,

"I didn't ask what your name was." She stated, very matter-of-factly. Fohl scrunched his face up in response as if he were sucking on something sour. Atla didn't need her vision to know her brother was grimacing at her. After a moment she started to giggle, "Lighten up, I was only playing; you're doing great."

"Now then shall we move onto some grammar... This is going to be difficult to teach, isn't it?...Uh..." Her train of thought came to a stop. Fohl stared at her, one eyebrow raised,

"You don't know any do you?"

"Listen, it's difficult enough to teach a language as it is... Grammar is especially hard to visualize." She quickly replied, attempting to defend herself. Her brother wasn't convinced,

"Then why attempt to teach something you don't have a good grasp on, let alone how to transfer the knowledge to another?" He asked.

Atla shifted uncomfortably, "Because I'd like to make valuable use of our time." Though she meant valuable use of her time. She knew she most likely didn't have a lot of time, it could be days till she started falling even more ill than she currently was. It could have been weeks, though the uncertainty of this fact made it even more important to the little girl, "Now then, I shall attempt to explain this to you."

Teaching grammar that she didn't quite understand was a daunting task, maybe even a fruitless one. However, she felt as though she needed to provide some support to her brother on the chance he gets to bid farewell to this god-forsaken tent; this half-baked form of support frustrated her, but it was the only form of support she could realistically give. It was in no way plausible that she could just hop to her feet and help her brother in his fights.

Though she doubted that even if she were able to do so Fohl would allow her to assist him. Since they got trapped in this cage, he didn't so much as allow her to talk to another person.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to improve Fohl's linguistic skills, they took a brake. Atla ummed and ahhed to herself, before letting out an exasperated sigh. Her frustration was prodigious, if she had the strength to she may have bundled up one of the scruffy blankets and punched it to relieve herself of some of the irritation she caused herself.

She didn't understand what was so fundamentally difficult to teach her brother, she could just about wrap her own head around her own poor understanding of the grammar but teaching her brother seemed impossible. The girl was determined to make sure her knowledge wasn't something like a white elephant in her mind.

'Think happy thought's Atla.'

That cast her mind back to the previous day, that filolial that aided her brother was simultaneously the happiest she'd been since she'd arrived as well as the most depressing. Happy because it showed her that some creatures in this world still had heart, but also depressing because it was a constant reminder of what her brother does to help her. Her ambivalence about it made her realize how sad of a statement that was.

But that bird's feathers, so soft, so calming.

Though she must have been smiley a bit too widely as it drew the ire of her brother, "What's got you looking like that?"

"I was thinking about filolials." She confessed, her smile widening further.

"Stop smiling like that, it's creepy. Reminds me of the fat man's grin." He huffed.

"I can't help it, just thinking about their velvety feathers makes me grin." She heard her less than impressed brother scoff to himself, he scrunched his face up at the thought of a 'filolial'.

"There's nothing redeemable about those overgrown ostriches." He commented, the topic seemed to irk him deeply. All this reaction seemed to do was fuel his sister's grin, she let out a small giggle.

"They are fantastic, intelligent, and majestic creatures. You only hate them because whenever we rode one or sat in a wagon you'd either be sick or complain to mother and father that they were too rough when they pulled us along in the carts." She teased, her brother's face went red,

"That's not true!" He almost yelled. He crossed his arms and turned away from his sister, "They were going too fast, each of them has an obsession with pulling carts. They always went too speedy which meant whenever they hit an uneven segment of terrain it would cause me to fall on my ass."

"You're digging yourself a deeper and deeper hole." If she could she'd do a hand signal which mimicked a shovel stabbing into the dirt.

"I am not."

"Deeper and deeper... and deeper." She continued to pester her older brother for a little while longer before she decided he had had enough and thought it was a good time to stop.

...

It must have been a few hours into the afternoon by this point, the familiar echo of shoes emanated from the exterior of the tarp-covered cage. It was a rhythm Atla and Fohl recognized well. Accompanying the heavy steps was the sound of an irritating whistle, which continued to rise in loudness as it became an antagonizing din.

Neither sibling needed to see whose voice the whistle belonged to.

"...There that fat bastard is."

The tarpaulin's form warped as a closed fist formed on the other side of the fibers of the blanket. A familiar ghostly white glove slithered its way through the now-raised tarpaulin. Within its loose grasp was an unclean and unwashed bowl; grime clung to its edges as if refusing to part with its rough, warped wooden surface. Inside the bowl sloshed about a grey mixture of unknown substances.

A putrid stench flooded out of the bowl and into the air of the cage, within the vile mixture was a small eating utensil. Though it was small and flimsy, it was at least something to eat with; the slaver considered it a bonus to the Hakuko for fighting for his benefit.

"Where the hell have you been?" Fohl demanded, venom dripping from his voice. Instead of replying the slaver hand simply set the bowl down half hazardously, causing small portions of the inedible 'food' to overflow and spill out into the cage, then the portly hand retracted as fast as it arrived.

It was as if the slaver had no interest in humoring the boy. The footsteps returned soon after, the heavy stomps reverberating against the flakey dilapidated iron bars, a testament to the man's weight.

"Hey, where are you going!? Hey- hey, where do you think you're going, you piece of shit?!" The boy screamed as desperation seeped into his voice, all he got in response to his rabid yellings was a small shock from the slave crest; purple sparks briefly spewed from his chest before ceasing. Fohl hissed as he clutched at his dirties shirt, a thin smoke seeped through his tunic, evidence of seared flesh.

The footsteps remained unimpeded as the slaver continued the steps becoming more and more faded. Until suddenly the stomping concluded.

The clanging of rigid links of metal knocked against one another, the sounds of chains. Heavy ones. Then came the voices, the slaver's own arrogant, self-satisfied voice drowned out the much small and submissive voice that belong to an unseen individual.

"...How does that sound?" Fohl had only managed to catch the last segments of their conversation.

Chains once again tintinnabulated as the links scraped across the calloused iron floor, "...Okay..." A weak voice responded, it was such a robotic broken voice: almost like a husk. Its tone sounded all too youthful to the Hakuko.

"I'm glad we could come to an... arrangement."

The hoarse sounds of rusty iron groaned as its worn hinges elongated. Fohl hobbled to the brink of the enclosure, reaching between the bars he snatched hold of the tarp, levering it upward.

Peering out from under the seams of the shabby rags, Fohl watched intently as the portly figure of the slaver escorted a child. He was around the Hakuko's age, perhaps a bit younger.

Clinging to his skeletal body were worn rags that just barely could be classified as clothes: more like a filthy sack used for farming. Upon his head nestled between his patchy, disheveled hair was two ears. A pair of droopy rabbit ears slouched on his crown.

The ears reflected the despondent expression on his ghostly, pale face. Juxtaposing him was the pure elation demonstrated on the other face.

"Hey- Where are you going?! Stop you, stupid bastard!" Fohl yelled once more, and once again he was set alight ominous violet electricity danced around his body once again, though this time he grits his teeth and clawed at the tarpaulin as he bared with the punishment.

The boy stopped and stared at Foh; only for a brief second before the slaver snapped his fingers garnering the demi-human's attention. "Eye's on me. Don't worry about him... He can be a bit rowdy. Though I'm sure you've heard his raucous rantings."

Name: Fohl Fayon

Class: Slave

Class Lv.32 (EXP: 220/2978)

Health: 15/300

MP: 130/130

Attack: 183 [?] Magic: Wind/Water

Defense: 89 [?] Magic: Wind/Water

Magic defense: 44 [?] Magic: Wind/Water

Agility:75

The tarpaulin drifted lazily back over the cage as the boy's body succumbed to the electric shock. Once more silence nestled itself in the tent, save for the occasional wailing or growling of the other 'merchandise'. One question lay within the mind of Fohl,

Did he cause that?

Was it because of his failure that the boy with the slaver had been dragged away? Could one small mistake really cause that to happen? But it wasn't his fault, that fight was against him from the start.

He couldn't have won. Vicious thoughts gnawed at his mind but what if it was, the event played out again and again in his mind. What if he were wrong, what if he could have won?

"What was that?" He heard the concerned voice of his sibling ask,

"It was the sound of a beastman being purchased." He answered weakly, trying his damnedest to cover up the truth as well as his damndest to not pass out, he didn't want her to think anything less of him. He was uncertain whether his sister believed what he said as an expression of neutrality masked her true emotions.

She grunted in acknowledgment, it was a quiet one. He assumed that all her strength had been drained for the day, without any medicine to aid her meant that her strength wouldn't recover.

His concerns repeated in his mind over and over again. It was a vicious cycle.

"What's that smell?" She asked, her face scrunching up in disgust. A knowing expression passed over her face, bringing her bandaged arm up to her head she began unraveling it with her other hand. If was slow, it was painful and it was strength draining but she knew she was doing the right thing.

Each unwinding of the tattered and disheveled bandages revealed more of the pale, gangly arms that were partially masked by the cocoon fabric. There was something, off about them. More than just the signs of malnutrition, when she was finished in her hand she held a few meters worth of bandages that cut off at the top of her arm where her grubby, shabby dress began.

Taking a deep sigh she called out her brother's name, "Fohl?"

There was no reply, furrowing her eyebrows she scooted her way across the cage.

All of a sudden as she began to move, she felt a peculiar feeling of vague numbness encasing her body. One she hadn't felt before, she could only describe it as having all her limbs fall asleep while simultaneously being awake.

Pushing through the bizarre feeling she pushed on. Looming over her brother, she bit the thick strand of bandage that kept the fabric tethered to her.

Then she stopped; she thought; she stared; she slumped over: she fell.

...

A faded light peered through the dark shabby cloth that was crudely tied to the rustic cage bars. Motes of light danced around together in dim yet calming light. The tarpaulin lay sprawled across the top of the metallic exterior, a part of it was folded in of itself, allowing the dim torches to spew in their warmth as they fought back a pitch-black veil of darkness.

Within this pool of light, Fohl began to stir, his eyelids began to flutter in a monotonous dance as they began to lazily open.

Within a few moments, his gaze met a dull, diminished metallic ceiling. His stare drifted to and fro for a minute as he regained his bearings, he felt well-rested, invigorated even!

It was a feeling he wasn't quite used to: as if he had slept for what felt like a year. In his daze, his vision began adjusting to the illuminated cage. Off the side, lay scattered were a few wooden bowls, crime clung to their uneven wooden rims. Within the bowls lay the remains of some kind of slop, like a stew of dullness.

The next sense to return to him was the sense of touch, around his mouth he felt a slimy substance. Wiping it away from around his mouth he discovered it was the nasty substance that stuck to the wooden bowls.

After his sense of touch came his train of thought, 'This is the sort of stuff the slaver leave for his "products".'

Dismissing this finding he pooled his weight into his arms as he attempted to haul himself onto his knees. Then felt a weight on his back, it wasn't a very heavy weight mind you but it was a large one whatever it was. Reaching around to his back he felt a long string of bandages, within that instant he knew exactly what was on his back.

'Atla!'

Gingerly yet hastily he set her down on the floor. She looked more worse for wear than before, she looked skinnier; her chapped lips implied dehydration. For a moment his heart skipped a beat, was she dead? His thoughts were answered when the hoarse wheezes from his sister interrupted the silence that came before it.

Fohl sighed, relieved of his primary concern.

'How long was I out for?'

While he asked these unnerving questions to himself he neglected to notice the odd appearance of a small metal shield with a radiant emerald gem etched into its center that clung to her lower arm.

...