As Nathan slept with his magic fueling his familiar's recovery, he dreamed he was elsewhere, another person. A man around nineteen or twenty, with pitch-black hair and crimson eyes. He wore nothing at all, his thin, pale frame marked with cuts, scrapes, and bruises from where he had been beaten. A crimson tattoo collared his neck, his hair long and tangled.

He was a slave. It wasn't something that Nathan knew, as Nathan had forgotten himself, existing as this other person. The person he was, however, knew that he was a slave, just like the other seven slaves gathered with him, each similar to him, each with long black hair and crimson eyes. That was simply how everyone was.

Their bodies broken and beaten, the eight slaves were forced to their knees as their overseer walked by. A man who looked to be in his forties, he wore nothing but tattoos. There, clothing was nonexistent, not even a concept. His tattoos consisted of rings around his upper arms and ankles, swirls on his chest, shoulders, and upper back. The patterns of green, blue, and yellow tattoos denoted him as a lesser noble, one who normally wouldn't be able to afford to own a dozen slaves.

Which was brought him to the current moment. The eight slaves before him were the worst of his slaves, the most disobedient. He fed them, as he did all slaves, and that was the minimum care required. But they were insubordinate, defiant, and a drain on his money, money that was needed for other things.

"You eight," he spoke, and though it was a language Nathan could never have heard before, it understood it perfectly. "Will be sold into the pits tonight. Your last act of service for me will be earning me money, paying back some of what you've drained away. Had you behaved like the others, you would have continued to have a gentle life."

Their overseer sneered at them, then left the room, leaving the slaves kneeling. The pit was a combat arena that forced slaves into battle day after day until their lives gave out. None of them wanted to be in the pits, but as slaves, they could do nothing but obey. The marks around their necks told everyone who and what they were. They could not be concealed, so any who saw them would know they were slaves and turn them in, should they escape.

Nathan's dream shifted, advanced to the slaves being led out of the mansion by guards with orange marks on their arms and legs, lines and swirls that denoted excellence in battle. The marks and swirls on their upper arms and torsos and on their lower legs denoted the Grand House they served, their lives sworn to it. Were they to ever change loyalties, their flexible morals would be portrayed to all who saw them. The coloration of the brands marked them as of common blood.

The slave that Nathan was shuffled along with the others, watching and waiting. Just as they were about to be loaded into the back of a caged wagon, he took off, slipping between two guards before they could catch him.

Despite being weak from hunger and the beating he had taken earlier that day, the slave ran quickly across the field, evading the spells and lances of shimmering orange energy that tried to stop his escape. All he needed was to take a step or two to either side to avoid being struck.

They didn't want to kill him, as a dead slave was a useless slave. Instead, they were trying to throw him off-balance by destroying the ground, but not enough so that his legs would be damaged. He wouldn't earn money in the pits if he couldn't fight, so the chances of him being accepted were slim if damaged.

Which gave him all the leeway he needed to escape.

The slave reached the woods. If he could disappear into the woods, he would be free. The guards were preoccupied at the moment, so they couldn't spare anyone to chase after him. Two of the slaves they were selling knew magic, which meant that upon seeing someone else escape, they would take the opportunity to do so if another appeared.

In the woods, the slave continued running, up until a net of deep purple magic snared his feet and lifted him into the air. Twisting his torso, he attempted to wriggle free before catching the color of the spell. Only a higher magician could cast violet magic, and none of his overseer's people could do so.

"What do we have here?" A gentle, feminine voice asked, and the slave twisted to face the speaker.

A woman who looked in her early twenties, though he knew that could be false. Their people's aging slowed, eventually halting. Some, like his overseer, looked older, while some looked younger, though the slave looked his age.

"A runaway slave, are we?" She asked as he eyed the violet swirls on her shoulders, upper arms, and sides that denoted her as a member of a High Noble House. The Len House, if he remembered the pattern correctly. Without any other coloration, she was a pure-blooded High Noble. "I wasn't expecting that when I chose to pass through. Based on the location, I take it you're running from the local lord? Come with me."

The slave found himself dropping onto the ground as the High Noble turned and walked away. He could run, he knew, but she would catch him. Even if she were the age she appeared, a High Noble's power was too grand for him to escape. She would catch him within moments.

So he followed, hoping for an opportunity to escape again. Bad luck was the only reason he was caught that time. Another opportunity would present itself. They always did, even if his bad luck forced him back to his master.

The High Noble led him to a carriage drawn by two stallions with silver streaks through their crimson fur, their three blue eyes watching him intently. A group of soldiers with green markings stood around the carriage, ready to cast spells at the slightest sign of danger to their lady.

The slave eyed the soldiers with envy. Green markings indicated they had cultivated their magic to a higher level than the common blood the orange markings showed. As a slave, it was unlikely he would ever advance his magic beyond red, should he ever unlock it.

Were he to, his overseer, his master of the time, would torture him until death. Orange was the color of commoners, and a weaker magic. Most commoners were born with it available to them without training and cultivation. One's magic at birth was often dictated by parentage.

Green was the point at which someone could attempt to become a noble. The lady's guards were no doubt among those who wished to try their hand at becoming one. Gaining the favor of a High Noble could ascend one to greater heights.

"Enter," the High Noble drew the slave out of his thoughts of envy at her guards, and he realized that she had already entered her carriage and was looking at him from outside. "Now, slave."

The slave hurried to obey, even if confused. Why would she allow filth like him inside her fancy, clean carriage? He expected to be lashed to the back and dragged behind until they reached his overseer's mansion.

As soon as the slave had seated across from the lady, a guard closed the carriage door and the carriage began rolling, the clop-clop of the horses on the road and the wheels turning against it the only sound filling the air.

While they rode, the lady stared at the slave.

"That wasn't your first escape attempt," she said after a few minutes. "I could tell by the look in your eyes when I caught you, slave. You've attempted escape before, and will attempt it again, should you be given another chance. I heard the local noble was selling several to the pits. If you're among them, then I can promise you, escape won't occur again. No one escapes the pits, even in death."

The slave gave no response. It was not his place to speak to a noble, only obey and await orders and punishment.

When they arrived at his overseer's mansion, the slave was forced out of the carriage by one of the guards, flung unceremoniously onto the ground as the High Noble stepped out.

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"Lady Eralen," the slave's overseer bowed to her, sparing his slave only a glance. "I apologize for the trouble my slave has given you. I assure you, milady, that it will be punished accordingly before I send it off to the pits."

"You will allow me to punish the slave instead," she commanded. "Lift your head, Bairul. He has troubled me, and so it will be I and mine who deliver punishment. I will pay you five hundred thousand zultar for the slave."

The slave's breath caught in his throat. Five hundred thousand for a defiant slave was quite a lot. The pits would have only bought him for around twenty thousand. To make an offer for him that high, he knew that the pain he would suffer would be unimaginable.

Nathan's dream shifted again, this time, he was in a stone cell, his hands chained to the high ceiling, his feet chained to the floor, barely able to touch it with his arms stretched up as they were. Several of Lady Eralen's guards watched from the walls, two by the solid metal door. Lady Eralen herself stood in front of the slave, a rectangular object with three metal prongs protruding out of one end in her right hand.

The slave was covered in even more bruises, cuts, and burns than before.

"Remarkable," Lady Eralen commented, before pushing the triple-pronged object into his stomach.

The slave's back arched as he grit his teeth against the pain, despite the force of lightning running through his body. Lady Eralen saw to his breaking at least twice a day, and she did not hold back. Even the power of four of her guards at once did not hurt as much as her personal touch.

"How interesting," she pulled the object away, leaving him breathing hard, forcing himself to not gasp for air through clenched teeth as he glared at the High Noble. "Your regeneration rate is quite high for a slave, but we've already checked your mana, it's red. You have a high pain tolerance as well, and a defiant spark that won't leave. Three months, you've been in here now. Three months of pain and agony."

She handed the object to one of the guards, who returned to the wall, then the lady summoned a baton of violet energy, before striking it against the slave's thigh. He grunted, then spat at her.

"Three months of torture that stops for not more than a few minutes at a time," she smiled. "And yet you still manage to show defiance. You are quite the remarkable slave. I enjoy seeing the pain you do your best to conceal, slave. I do enjoy attempting to break you. You have lasted the longest of them all, but everyone has their limits."

She struck him again, and again, and again, and the slave took it, not giving her the satisfaction of crying out in pain, not even when she altered the magic to amplify pain, or when she used it to burn him. She switched to using a whip that felt like acid against his skin, boiling and bubbling his flesh.

After an hour of additional torture, Lady Eralen left, and the guards resumed taking turns working the slave's body. The defiance in his gaze never left, even as his body healed. The guards enjoyed that aspect of the slave – normally, only people who reached blue mana or higher could heal injuries as severe and numerous as the slave's in a day, yet he managed to do so within half of one consistently, even with little food and drink.

It meant they could hold back even less.

The dream continued, everything becoming a blur to Nathan as the tortures blended together, until the day things changed. Lady Eralen entered the cell in the evening, as usual, and approached him.

"Three years," she touched his chin, looking the slave in the eyes that began to close, exhaustion seeming to claim him quickly in the break of pain. "Even the most hardened of soldiers would find it hard to remain defiant and unbroken. Yet you are breaking. The lack of proper sleep and food has caused hallucinations, has it not? I know it has, with how long has passed since you came into my care."

She held out her hand, and a guard handed her the object used to shock him. She rammed it into his side, frowning as it elicited no reaction from the slave. He continued to sleep. The device was designed to disrupt sleep patterns, to ensure that anyone it touched woke, even if they developed a resistance to the pain or shock. It was nearing the maximum shock levels as well, to ensure the slave couldn't develop a resistance to it.

"It's working," she pulled it away and inspected it. "Yet he didn't wake."

She rammed it into his right breast, the prongs surrounding his nipple. A sensitive spot, yet even there received no response. Nor for his left nipple, nor his neck, nor his member down low. The slave slept through it all.

"How interesting," she handed the device to the guard, but kept her hand out. A four-pronged object was placed into it, and she inspected it. "He still breathes, so he lives. It should be impossible for him to sleep through this."

She rammed the four-pronged item into his balls, and a sensation like fire was spread through his body, yet the slave still gave no response.

"He's sleeping through torture?" She asked. "How absurd. Did someone cast a spell on him?"

Lady Eralen placed a hand on his chest and pushed with her magic to release any spells placed on the slave, then she rammed the prongs into the same spot as before. No reaction from the slave. The lady tossed the device to a guard as she manifested a short whip, which she began to use on him. Despite his skin bubbling, burning from its acid touch, the slave made no reaction.

For two hours, the High Noble did everything she could to wake him, including casting dream spells to grant him nightmares, yet the slave continued to sleep peacefully, unaffected by the torment.

"What in the name of the elders," she looked at a guard. "How is he sleeping through this?"

The guard shrugged, and the lady turned back to the slave, who was sleepily opening his eyes. It didn't take Lady Eralen more than a few seconds to realize that he was sassing them, even if silently. His eyes were filled with exhaustion and pain, though it was hard to discern through the pure defiance within them.

He hadn't been asleep at all, only pretended to be. That was even worse than sleeping through the torture, because it meant he actively ignored the pain and forced his body to remain relaxed, despite how difficult it must have been.

"Well, then," she smiled. "I have to say, slave, I'm impressed. I can think of perhaps none of my guards who would manage to remain unbroken through what you've been through these last three years. Even the toughest of them would have broken no later than six months ago. No slave I have ever tortured lasted more than two months total."

The slave continued to stare at her with defiance, challenging her to continue attempting to break him. She knew that it was impossible. The slave had nothing, no one. He was, after all, a slave. Born to slaves, taken from his parents at birth, branded a slave, and treated as one. He had no friends, no family. No loved ones, no belongings. Nothing that could be used against him.

Torture, sleep deprivation, starvation, thirst. Those were what worked on slaves, what broke them. And they had failed. Many times the length, yet not the slightest sign of breaking. In fact, he'd begun to silently sass them over their torture, despite them constantly spiking the level of it to prevent him from adapting. He'd still managed to adjust.

Finding someone who could remain unbroken after all that was not an easy task, nor was it something she ever expected, and so had never searched. She had uses for someone with that much willpower, however, and his absolute loyalty immediately became something she desired more than anything.

"I find that intriguing," she told the slave. "I always knew there were slaves out there made of something tougher than normal, and here one is. You were meant to learn a lesson and break so that you'd never escape again, yet it is I who learned a lesson. You cannot be broken."

"Milady!" Several of the guards exclaimed as the others gasped.

"And so," she said. "I would like to make a deal with you, slave. You feel the pain, yet you ignore it. You can remain here, eternally undergoing torture after torture, allowing us to come up with new and more creative methods for it, until we find a way to break the unbreakable. It would yield more methods for breaking others, if we could try them out on you first.

"I am quite fond of that option," she smiled. "You are, after all, a slave, and slaves must be broken so that they lose their defiance. But at the same time, I want you near me. So, slave, I will give you an option. This will be the one and only time you may accept it. If you refuse the option, you will remain right here for the rest of your unbroken life.

"Be my personal slave," she told him. "And never attempt to escape again. You will serve me to the best of your abilities. You will carry when I want you to, stand where I want you to, do what I want you to. Obey me and be a faithful little slave, and I will ensure you are fed well. Not as a slave, but as a commoner. You will have a gentle place to sleep for obedience, and you will not be harmed unless disobedient."

"Milady!" One of the guards stepped forward. "As your Captain, I must advise you against this. Having an unbroken slave, one that has proven defiant, as one of your slaves, much less a personal one, is a bad idea!"

Lady Eralen had expected her Captain's rejection, and knew her other guards were in agreement, despite their lack of vocal rejection. The slave could not be broken through torture, but what if was broken through goodwill? She knew of another High Noble who had a slave that was absolutely loyal to him without torture breaking him, so she knew it was possible that might work for this particular slave as well.

"Perhaps," Lady Eralen said. "Or perhaps it's a good idea. Slave, if you accept this, I expect the best of behaviors from you. You will be treated as a person so long as you are obedient. Perform well for me long enough, and I will even allow you to unlock your magic."

If she promised treatment as a person and commoner, even with him as a slave, it would help to bring loyalty to him. One thing all slaves wanted was to earn their freedom so that they could be considered people, and she knew the moment she said he would be treated as one that she hooked him. His eyes said it all.

"But be forewarned," she said. "That if you attempt to flee even one time, slave, you will be right back in this cell. Do you accept the offer?"