"Slave mark complete."
His eyes shifted to the next prisoner.
"You."
Eldrin stepped forward.
The rough wood pressed against his chest as they positioned him against the post. Iron shackles bit into his wrists.
The branding iron drifted toward his bare back.
His family had once sealed treaties with gold and wax.
Now his name was being erased with fire.
Eldrin drew a slow breath.
Would it even work...?
He remembered his father’s voice.
Not the words.
The certainty behind them.
The warmth beneath the mark on his chest stirred.
He lifted his eyes to meet the guard’s.
The man wasn’t looking at the iron.
He was looking at Eldrin.
For a brief moment...
His full attention rested on him.
Now.
Eldrin spoke quietly.
Not as an order.
As though he were reminding the man of something he’d already decided.
"You’re going to pull it away early."
The guard paused.
His brow furrowed ever so slightly.
Then he gave the faintest nod.
"...Right."
The iron touched Eldrin’s back.
Agony exploded through him.
A white-hot pain ripped through every nerve, stealing the air from his lungs. His fingers curled against the post as a strangled gasp escaped his throat.
Then...
The heat vanished.
The guard instinctively pulled the branding iron away.
"...Huh."
Guard frowned at the half-finished mark.
For a moment, he simply stared at it.
As if wondering why he’d moved.
The feeling passed almost immediately.
He dipped the iron back into the brazier.
"Done."
"Next."
Eldrin sagged against the post, his body trembling. Cold air struck the fresh burn, keeping him painfully conscious.
It...
worked.
Not perfectly.
But it worked.
Someone caught him before he collapsed.
"My lord..."
The voice was gentle.
Familiar.
Eldrin forced his eyes open.
Zarian.
His black hair was matted with sweat and dirt. The fresh brand on his own shoulder still smoked beneath the torn fabric of his shirt, yet his concern rested entirely on the boy before him.
"My lord... are you alright?"
Eldrin swallowed against the pain.
"I’m..."
His voice almost failed him.
"...I’m fine."
Zarian studied him for a moment before giving a quiet nod.
The line lurched forward again.
Another prisoner screamed.
The crack of a whip echoed across the dock.
"Move!"
The prisoners obeyed.
Eldrin took one unsteady step.
Then another.
Ahead of them waited a longship unlike any he had seen. Its narrow hull rode low in the water, while a carved sea beast stretched from the prow. Long rows of oars lined its sides, and beneath them, slaves were already being chained to the benches.
A guard shoved Eldrin between the shoulder blades.
"Keep moving."
He climbed the gangplank without looking back.
There was nothing left on the shore worth seeing.
.....
Splash.
Pull.
Splash.
Pull.
Thirty men sat chained along each side of the longship, their ankles locked to iron rings bolted into the benches.
"Pull harder!"
Another man cried out.
The whip struck again.
No one looked.
Looking only earned another lash.
Hours slipped by.
Eldric had long since lost count of the strokes.
Twelve hours.
Maybe more.
Time at sea blurred into muscle and pain.
Eldrin watched one of the slave trader climb to the stern. The man rested a hand against a polished stone set into the ship’s railing. Pale streams of light gathered around his fingers before disappearing into the wood beneath them.
The ship lurched forward.
Just slightly.
He watched again.
Another trader repeated the motion several minutes later.
Mana.
The realization settled quickly.
They can move the ship themselves.
The slaves weren’t rowing because they had to.
They were rowing because it was cheaper than spending mana.
Or perhaps because exhaustion made prisoners easier to control.
Eldrin clenched the handle of his oar.
His voice dropped low enough that only the man beside him could hear.
"Zarian."
The older man didn’t turn.
"Yes, my lord?"
"When we get close to land..." Eldrin kept his eyes forward. "...I’ll use it."
Silence.
"The Voice."
Another pull.
"We make them release our chains."
He inhaled carefully.
"Then we run."
For several strokes, Zarian said nothing.
"My lord..."
He glanced sideways for the briefest moment.
The skin around Eldrin’s hands had already split open from rowing. Blood mixed with seawater on the worn wooden handle.
"You’ve barely eaten."
Another stroke.
"You’ve been awake since yesterday."
Another.
"And you still have a fresh brand on your back."
"If you use your gift now," Zarian continued quietly, "will you still have the strength to run?"
Eldrin didn’t answer immediately.
He hadn’t considered that.
He had been looking for an opening.
Zarian had been measuring whether they could survive it.
"My lord," Zarian said, lowering his voice even further, "don’t mistake the first opportunity for the best one."
Eldrin looked ahead.
The endless sea stretched to the horizon.
His fingers tightened around the oar.
"...Then we wait."
....
The longship scraped against frozen earth.
The impact sent a shudder through the hull.
"Out!"
Chains rattled as the slaves were driven onto the shore one by one.
Snow stretched in every direction, untouched except for the narrow strip of black sand where the waves broke. The wind carried needles of ice that slipped through torn clothes as though the cloth wasn’t there at all.
Several men collapsed the moment their feet touched land.
A whip cracked.
"Up!"
No one stayed down.
A trader dragged two wooden crates from the ship and kicked one open.
Inside lay hard loaves of bread.
He grabbed a handful and tossed them into the snow.
The reaction was immediate.
Men lunged forward.
Shoulders slammed together. One slave threw himself face-first into the snow just to catch a loaf before someone else did. Another ripped bread straight from another man’s hands.
There were no words.
Only desperate breathing.
Only hunger.
The traders laughed.
"Look at them."
"Like dogs."
"No."
One of them grinned as another slave was kicked away from the pile.
"Dogs wait to be fed."
The older man watched the frenzy with tired eyes before quietly saying,
"If hunger can make a man forget his dignity..."
He looked toward the traders.
"...imagine what fear can make him forget."
A loaf landed near Eldrin’s boots.
He bent, picked it up, broke it cleanly in half, and handed the other piece to Zarian.
By nightfall, the camp had gone quiet.
The slaves weren’t given tents.
Only chains long enough to lie down.
Some curled against one another for warmth.
Others stared blankly at the stars until exhaustion claimed them.
The traders gathered around a fire several dozen paces away.
Laughter drifted through the wind.
The smell of roasted meat reached the slaves.
Eldrin closed his eyes.
Sleep refused to come.
The brand on his back burned with a slow, steady heat.
As though something beneath his skin had opened its eyes.
A gust of wind swept across the shore.
The campfire flickered.
One of the traders stood and walked toward the chained prisoners carrying a bucket of water.
He stopped in front of Eldrin.
"You."
The man nudged him with his boot.
"Drink before you die. Dead slaves don’t sell."
Eldrin lifted his head.
The trader had stopped in front of him.
The man’s attention rested entirely on Eldrin.
Only one certainty settled into Eldrin mind
Never sound like you’re giving an order.
People resist commands.
They rarely question their own conclusions.
Eldrin looked directly into the trader’s eyes.
His lips parted.
"...Unlock the chains."