The boy's eyes snapped open.

He was greeted by a deep darkness that swallowed him whole. A shiver of fear coursed through his body, and his heart pounded in his chest like a frantic drumbeat.

Panic welled up inside him as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

His mind raced erratically as all he could see was just black.

He closed his eyes and reopened them, but there was no difference.

It was just black.

'Where?'

He slowly traced his memory.

Eager to jog his memories, his head ached and throbbed.

But it was a fruitless attempt like using a flask of water to put out a cartload of firewood.

The boy's initial shock began to fade. And all that was left was to find out what was happening, and where he was.

He tried to move his limbs to feel his surroundings, but they were bound to something.

Not only were they bound, but as the shock and confusion passed, pain welled up. He was hurt. He didn't know how severe was his wounds, but it hurt.

He forcefully swallowed a knot in his throat. It was painful and tears began to flow.

His senses slowly returned aswell, and he took it all in.

The absence of light.

The cold bindings against his limbs and neck.

The quiet rattles of these chains as he writhed in place.

The metallic taste and smell that coated his mouth and nose.

'No... am I underground? This smell!' an impressionable foreboding arrived as he slowly unraveled where he was.

Suddenly a deep red light enveloped his surroundings for just a moment.

The light was projected off the walls of this... chamber. Shape in wild and feral contours engraved upon the walls, they pulsed just once.

As if in reciprocation, the boy's skin scored with similar imagery and returned another pulse of light.

The boy with his limited mobility could turn his head slightly to see his arm glow with a deep crimson light. The pain surged again as he cried out.

And in the midst of his cries, he laid his eyes upon his lit surroundings.

The boy understood. How couldn't he?

It was an unmistakably recognizable chamber the boy knew well.

Upon his realization, no regard for his well-being remained as his legs kicked and violently thrashed. His arms viciously flailed in and heavy heaves of breath escaped his mouth as fast as they entered.

'It hurts. I have to go!'

'Why am I here?'

'I thought it was all over!'

'No!'

'When—when is he going to come again?'

'I'm sorry. Please, please, please!'

Why? Why was he here again?

The boy begged to himself and whoever could be listening. Unknown to the boy, the only company in this room was the air, the ground, the workbench, and the numerous assortments of needles that adorned the walls.

The tenebrous and obscured walls, however, were hardened and etched with a plethora of unfamiliar symbols and depictions for the boy.

This cycle of the between pulsing walls and his own skin returning another continued endlessly.

"Osias." an old voice suddenly cackled out as the entrance to the room was opened, light flooding in.

The boy, Osias stammered, his voice made inaudible sounds, a cross between groans of pain and slurred speech.

The man walked in and sealed the hatch behind him. With him, the pulsing of light upon the walls halted.

Osias turned his neck — as much as the chained brace around it allowed him to, and glared dreadfully at the man.

Long wispy grey hair that fell to his shoulders coupled with a loose black robe that dragged along the floor behind his slow steps towards the center of the chamber.

The man was old — frayed and frail. But he knew that image was but an illusion.

Wrinkled skin and his thin fingers outlined the man’s bones. But they held delicate precision as if his shriveled fingers were made into meticulous knives to perform delicate tasks

'Band Leader!' Osias thought, as both his body and mind were plagued with dread.

"Now, just your feet remain. Let us begin." Garm coldly rasped out, his voice hoarse and sharp.

Thats right. This was where Osias found himself. This familiar feeling — his last session with the Band Leader. The last of the inking. The last of the tattoos.

He didn’t say anything in response to Garm, only the rattling of his binds answered the old leader. But Garm was never concerned himself with his reservedness, it didn’t matter to him.

It only mattered that he survived, long enough to reap the fruits of his arrangements.

Garm’s leathery hands scoured atop his selection of scattered needles, old and new. Yet all were laced with the impossibly dark red, almost black ink that was etched onto his body.

Each time Osias saw Garm take up his needle, he was sick with fright. Beads of sweat rolled off his head. An unceasing tremble of his toes and fingers, something that time alone couldn’t stop even after years of repetition.

The needles.

The needles made Osias feel like he was to die.

It felt like each hit of the needle pierced something beyond his skin, something that shouldn’t be pierced as it left behind the dark ink.

His mind screams at him to leave, to run, to hide, but it's useless. He couldn’t do a thing as Garm made his way to the workbench at his leisure.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

A familiar scene, yet it was one of many. As Osias drifted through his subconscious, memories flowed and repeated themselves.

The dark and cold room. Hidden away as the world outside moved without him…

Just how much of his short life has been spent inside this chamber?

After living through what had taken place in the darkness once again, the world seemed to collapse as Osias blinked just before the dark crimson-tipped needle punctured him.

And then he awakened.

Truly so this time… as the enamored embrace of sunlight blinds him. Cool, fresh winds, unlike the cold drafts that made his barren and bounded body shiver alone in the dark. A pleasant natural air tinged with vigor touched his senses.

The natural scents of the outside seemed so calming, that he simply welcomed them as he took it all in.

As his eyes adjusted to the sudden change in environment, Osias attempted to move his limbs only to find himself tightly fastened against a… chair?

"Osias! You're awake." Said a slightly familiar voice, tinged with indifference and inexpressiveness.

'Who?’

The wind drastically slowed, as his carrier stopped moving. And then he stopped seeing the world so high up as he was let down, though he couldn’t see the face of the voice’s source.

But then as he turned his neck as much as he could, he found familiar wisps of long grey hair, though not as pale and light as he expected.

His eyes peered past and into the face…

‘Ah, it’s… elder brother.’

Though the surroundings still confused him, his thoughts were still slow and muddled. But he quickly responded, "Yes, I am.”

And with a moment of hesitation to shake off the haze, he continued, “Brother, where are we? Did we… move again?"

His brother didn’t respond immediately, eventually just reaching for the bindings that fixed him against his chair.

“It’s been a little more than four days since we arrived at the outpost. We couldn’t stay there anymore though.”

‘Four… four days,’ Osias thought, trying to recall what happened.

"Your wounds. Ordinary care wouldn't suffice. We need a healer, just one from the First Ordeal is enough." Kiran said as he finally set Osias free.

"I bandaged what I could and used Ordinary medicine. But your legs..." Kiran's words drifted as they both looked downwards.

His legs…. they were covered in his dried blood. Many splotches of missing flesh, visible even past the dirtied bandages, ran down to his feet more than anywhere else on his body. Osias was like a bundle of fragile porcelain, swathed in protective cloth.

But it was a little confusing and he responded, "It doesn't hurt though, broth-."

"It's because I used herb that deadened feeling after I washed you." Kiran cut him off before adding:

"Osias, we are in a bad area right now. But we are headed to the outskirts of the Tailed Brother's domain, near their border. We'll rest for a moment now that you've come to." explained Kiran.

Silence hung in the air as neither one continued. He was still trying to make sense of everything as Kiran began to make camp.

It was a small clearing, surrounded by tall trees.

Peering above, he found it was about mid-day. Piercing blades of sunlight beamed through the thickened canopy above.

But it felt as though he had been ruthlessly dragged across time.

Osias sighed and began to try something.

Loosening his grip against the bleak and plain wooden chair... carrier, he threw himself over the seat. Feeling true freedom — albeit this freedom was bootless as he was almost too weak to move.

Weak, groggy, hungry and thirsty.

But nevertheless, he tried.

Unbounded and determined, Osias tried to assess his limitations.

Pushing himself up with his hands, he hoists his legs off the wet forest floor.

Osias cautiously attempted to move his wounded legs, testing if he could bear his own weight as he stumbled to his feet. But he was too hard as he nearly fell, clutching the thick coarse trunk of a nearby tree. This time, he supported himself, leaning against the trunk.

Wearily bringing himself atop his feet, he tried to walk, to circle around the tree.

But each step turned into a disappointment as he understood the boundaries of his wounds. His ruptured leg began to scream in agony, even more so than the moment he brought himself to a stand — the numbing herb had its limits he thought.

But he reluctantly tried to push through, even if it was foolish.

He pushed his right leg forward, feeling the skin stretch painfully around the mangled wounds, the raw flesh beneath protesting fiercely.

A sharp intake of breath was his only concession to the pain.

The ground beneath him was uneven, and he stumbled slightly atop a thick root, barely catching himself as a fresh wave of pain surged through him. He forced himself to take another step, then another, each one a perilous exploration of his limits.

The tendons in his legs felt like taut rope, ready to snap at any moment, yet he continued, driven by a need to understand just how restricted his movements were.

Osias knew that testing his leg was foolish and that pushing too hard would cause further pain, but he had no choice, he needed to find out. The brief moments since opening his eyes were almost enough to put together his situation

The unforgiving landscape around them offered no respite, and he had to be sure of his state of body. As he made the final steps, a grim realization settled over him as he slumped to his side. It was just one circle around the tree…

He would be a burden to Kiran.

He was sure of it.

—

Kiran watched, appearing impassive as his mind worked. It was foolish, but he wasn’t going to stop his brother from being foolhardy. He too wanted to know how Osias would fare if need be.

'Troublesome' Kiran thought tersely, his neutral lips pulled into a frown.

"Osias, enough. The first step was enough to see the extent of your wounds. Rest." He berated lowly before returning to his thoughts.

'The forces of the Three Factions must still be looking for remnants of the Red Sky. Although I came upon just one stray unit on the frontier, there's bound to be more.' He thought silently.

'And that's not even including the dire need to heal Osias...'

Glancing at Osias, Kiran contemplated his actions. The child was battered with wounds. Worst of all was his lower half, but the surge of essence from the inheritance ruptured all across his body. Open gashes stretched and loomed all over. Wounds that even a grizzled soldier would sway from.

A morbid sight, to see a child with such wounds.

Kiran sighed lowly.

'The elders warned me never to trust one of the Crested, so finding a stray Path Finder with healing capabilities in their lands isn't plausible. The same goes for the many vassals under the Tailed Brother, much less than their main clan.’

‘It'll be impossible to find a healer among them that won't question our origins. There are many other ways to make them heal regardless, but it'll only draw suspicion.’ He thought sparingly.

He continued to watch as Osias began to struggle back to his chair. He took occasional glances at the crawling boy, suddenly noticing something off with his brother’s demeanor.

He slightly raised his eyebrows but continued to perform maintenance on his great spear before he faced the ingenious boy who finally settled atop the creaking wooden chair.

"Osias, what do we do?" He said quietly before adding:

"A pair of stray vagrants. Enemies simply surround us. We know nothing. Where they are, how many of them, if they know of us, all the while we are walking atop the fingertips of the clan that caused the fall of our people. Osias, how would you proceed?" his voice was low and somber.

He continued to serve his spear, his hands moving slowly as he awaited a response.

—

“Osias, what do we do?" his brother’s voice sounded, seemingly to care for the long silence that hung thick in his wait for a response.

Osias paused, the ever-growing pain that stemmed all around his body increasingly numbed his mind from thinking of anything else. The herb’s effects are running thin, and the searing torment replaces the absence of feeling.

But his brother’s question irked him, rightfully so. He understood his brother’s meaning as he reared his head a little, right against the back of his chair.

Why did he almost forget?

How can he forget?

His memories recurred, as the days past began to flow within his head. And then something inside stirred…

Osias was ripped from their parents’ last embrace as Kiran practically tore their mother’s fingers from tightly clutching him.

It was too fast. He knew nothing of the looming end. Right up until his father pried his hands open to entrust him with something.

How could he forget?

How can Osias almost forget?

They were gone.

Slowly anger welled up from within, scorching and deep, just like the pain that resounded from his wounds.

It all washed down on his mind the moment Kiran opened his mouth to ask the question.

It was just Osias and his elder brother now.

No one was coming to save them, they were alone.

They were only a pair of two in an entire world of enemies.

This is their life now.

Home is just a word, nothing more.

His feelings were erratic. Too sudden, everything was. Then it all just boiled into disarray.

All Osias could think was 'Why?'

At this point, what has Osias done with his life?

The first years of his life were a distant time, a blurry haze that lacked memories as with any toddler.

The subsequent years were deprived. So much time was spent within the room.

The dark room...

Every waking moment felt impossibly long, each thought inside his mind was his only company. It was as though he grew up bounded by chains in that room. The only thing he could recall was the chamber itself like his life started in that place.

How old was he back then? It was as if his mind was forced to learn — perceive his surroundings, to make sense of why his body was tortured.

Osias didn't know.

Yet all the time spent inside the room made the time he was let outside just that much more meaningful. For it all to be stripped away from him, along with the band itself so quickly after he finally could be free of the dark chamber…

Osias's head began to ache.

Trying to think deeply in his weakened state consumed a great deal of strength

And to have all of this happen suddenly, and once again be tormented by the Band Leader's actions with a final inheritance…

Osias sealed his eyes tightly with a grimace.

His chest ached and shuddered. A deep well sprouted in his throat.

'Why?'

With his mind in turmoil, Kiran's question remained unanswered for a long while as silence eclipsed their surroundings.

All of Osias's feelings, thoughts, and questions all blended into one word.

'Why?'