Nearly 432 years later

The denizens of the future regard the mercenaries of Kaur as innocent fools inculpable in their demise–for how could they know what a curse the orphan boy with orange hair who lay cramped in their wagon eating of their rations would become?

The boy sat hunched on the wagon's edge, knees to his cheeks gnawing on a piece of dried meat. His orange hair shone a mystical glow in the firelight as it dangled down to his ankles. Food at last. His mind was an empty bed and each thought was a bird stopping by for shelter before quickly flying away into the nothingness. He had barely taken note of the celebration going on around him–The whistling drunkenness of the songs the mercenaries sang, the jovial cheers and bickering of red faced Shindari men, and the claps and rhythmic drumming of hands to logs. It all seemed like static noise to Nekoiya.

Food. I'm so hungry. I haven't had food in- His mind blanked for a moment. Nekoiya noticed it did that more often than he'd liked. Anytime he tried to revisit the past it was like walking through a field of fog. He felt lost in his own mind, only for a time, all before coming back to the same thoughts. Food, I'm so hungry.

As little as he'd taken in his surroundings, the mercenaries hadn't spared him more than a passing glance either. All they saw was a dirty, orphaned child with hollow blue eyes and skin hugging to bone-too young to be a threat and too weak to fend for himself. It was nothing new. No, instead, they laughed, joked, and talked of tomorrow's errands. A routine escort mission through bandit territory. And the ludicrous price they were willing to pay for their safety. Something about a nobleman or another. Nekoiya didn't understand a word these people spoke, but they were happy and they fed him–and like a loyal dog he basked in their happiness, even if it had nothing to do with him.

A young brown haired girl broke through the static. Her hair was braided and back showing off her pointy ears. She cautiously raised her hand and waved at him before speaking.

"Hi." She said,

Nekoiya turned and scanned her over. She smiled as he mimicked her wave. "Hi." He spoke soft and raspily, almost surprised by his own voice.

Her smile widened. "How old are you? I'm Seven."

Nekoiya stumbled around the words, opening his mouth over and over. "I-i'm seven."

"Gasp–wow really! Oh- are you hungry? I'll get you some food from the fire."

At last a word Nekoiya understood, food. The girl's bare feet scurried away, kicking up dust as she disappeared into the crowd. Nekoiya felt a warm light in his stomach as his thoughts of food slowly faded, replaced by the girl. Then the longer she was away the warmth was replaced by a hollow drumming. He buried himself even more into his legs until she came running back through the crowd. Her tunic was lifted and in it held what Nekoiya thought was a mountain of food.

“I didn't know what you like so I grabbed everything.” She cheered. “The elders are being silly so they didn't even noticed.” She snickered then plopped the food on the wagon and sat beside Nekoiya. The sweet, smokey smell of roasted meat and bread conquered his nostrils and pillaged his focus. Before he could reach out she grabbed his hand, and then; “That there Honey Ant Legs, and that's mudcrab, that’s steak, and that's Vineshin.”

“L-legs, mudcrap, stank, V-v-” Nekoiya stammered.

“Vineshin. It comes from deer.” She picked up a round dark piece–the edges charred with a light red coloring. It stuck to her fingers as she held it out to Nekoiya and gestured to his mouth. He leaned forward and sniffed, flinching from the heat before chomping down. His eyes popped. The sweet flavors fighting a never ending battle with the musky, tangy flavors only ending when the meat practically melted in his mouth.

“Vineshin. . .” Nekoiya said, grabbing a handful of meat and shoving it in his mouth. The girl grabbed a piece and did the same.

“So, what's your name?” She spoke. Nekoiyas mind couldn't even hear her much less recall his own name. Once she realized he wouldn't respond she continued. “You must not have a name. That's okay, I think. My name is Sylvara.” She paused, pointing over to a man and woman resting on a log beside the campfire. The man was burly and tall. His skin carried the look of thick rough leather, a bit darker than Sylvara herself. His hairy head made him look square and sturdy. The woman, thick like him, was a soft terracotta, her long black hair folded down the man's chest as she lay on his shoulder. Sylvara waved to them. “Those are my parents. They’re what we call Elders.”

Nekoiya grunted.

“Do you have any parents?” She waited, thought to herself, then looked down at the food. “I guess not huh.” She opened her mouth to speak again but was interrupted by a stoney voice.

“Sylvara!” Her father called. He had left his wife by the fire and was now walking towards them. There was something in his eyes: anger, joy, mischief, disappointment. Sylvara caught it immediately and stood, leaving Nekoiya on the wagon.

“Hello Father,” Sylvara Said.

“I see you've been quite helpful, again.” He said. Both Nekoiya and Sylvara understood The emotion now. Annoyance.

“Oh father, can you please make him family? He doesn't have a name or food or friends.”

“I would love to, my girl,” He knelt down and placed his hands on her shoulders. The width of his palms stretched from her neck and down her arm. “But he has been placed in Tekkons care, Tekkon will give him a name, and a home, and food.”

“Awww, Tekkon?” She pouted.

“Tekkon is young. Capable. His time has come like everyones will, and he must earn for himself like everyone else.” Her father stood and walked to Nekoiya. They locked eyes for a moment before both looking away. Sylvaras father turned to her and sighed. “Your mother and I are glad you have made a friend. Unfortunately what you have given him he has not earned for himself like you” And in one swift action he swept up the remaining food and carried it away.

Nekoiya froze, his mouth still full of Vineshin and steak, he could do nothing but watch as the giant man walked away with the only thing he cared for. The air felt light in one breath then unbearable the next. He felt himself begin to shiver. He couldn't understand the feeling like most things–Fear, sadness, anger, he didn't care. Nekoiya only knew whatever the cost he needed it back. Without thinking he let out a scratchy “Ahhh!” and leaped from the wagon, nearly knocking Sylvara to the ground. His tiny hands grasped at the man's tunic with desperation, pulling with all his strength–but he had barely noticed. To Nekoiya It felt like trying to stop a rolling boulder but he tried regardless.

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The man rolled his eyes before placing a giant finger on Nekoiyas head and flicking him off with a thud. The boy crashed to the ground and sprawled back to his feet. A warmth lit behind his eyes that he quickly wiped away. He knew crying wouldn’t bring his food back. Instead he rushed, grabbing a stick from a nearby fire and breaking it over the giant man's backside. A puff of fire and debris splashed back at Nekoiya and he stumbled back. For a moment the man said nothing, only finally turning to face the boy, his expression unreadable.

Sylvara darted forward and flung herself. Her arms clasped to her fathers waist in desperation. She mustered everything in her power to hold him in place. “Please father! He didn’t mean it!” Her voice shook as she held firm. The man glanced down at his daughter, his gaze softening for a moment before wrapping his fingers around the back of her tunic and lifting her away as if she were no more than a nosy kitten. She plopped down behind him before turning back to Nekoiya.

Around the campfires, the music and drunken fun quickly fell into an uncomfortable silence. Some stumbled around to get a better look while others crowded around creating an inescapable cage of unfamiliar wicked faces. Then, the murmurs began.

“The Kids either real brave or real stupid challenging Dagan like that.” One woman said sloppily.

“Shut up.” Another girl beside her said with a shove.

“Ain't he Tekkon’s kid? Figures.” An obnoxious mocking laugh sounded off from the back of the crowd drawing more attention.

Nekoiyas breathing was sporadic. His fists clenched so tightly he barely felt the sting of the fire anymore. The tips of his nails burrowed into his palms and his stomach stung with hunger and hate. But the pain was drowned away by something darker, hotter. The elders' gaze clashed with Nekoiya and he saw the deep piercing blue that the boy had him trapped in. Then suddenly, to everyone's shock, Dagans lips snaked into a faint smile before casually tossing a small bit of mud crab legs at the boy.

Nekoiya instinctively reeled his arms up to block but soon realized what had happened. The meat flew past his ear and bounced against the ground. Nekoiyas body seemingly moved on its own as he lunged to his knees and shoved the crab into his mouth, dirt and all. In a matter of seconds he had gone from a boy to a feral animal and back again. The crowd erupted with laughter and disgust.

“Look at 'em go!” One mercenary man said,

“Poor thing eats like he's half dead!” Another woman said.

“Show me more.” Dagan said then gestured with both hands for the boy to come close. Nekoiya hadn't understood the man's words but he understood the meaning. It was a challenge. Fueled by the tease of food and the promise of more he ran back in. His frail hands rammed into the wall of a man's stomach with no more than a chuckle from Dagan. Each blow shook Nekoiyas whole body. He swung wide and wildly. Every few seconds he would slow down in pain, Dagan would toss another piece of food into the air, and Nekoiya would continue.

The camp once again erupted into cries and barbaric screams. All were oddly pleased to see the young boy earn his keep, though unconventional they knew he would soon learn.

“Keep going!” Sylvara screamed. Nekoiya locked eyes with her and smiled. The drumming had gone away, replaced again by the fire in his belly. Sylvara among all was the most happy for him.

“That's enough Dagan!” A deep voice cut through the crowd like a barrage of arrows. The crowd quickly died down as the thunderous footsteps of another monstrous man loomed to the front. All heads turned as Tekkon stepped forward–all, of course, except for Nekoiya who was still laying into Dagan with unyielding determination. Tekkons weathered, calculating eyes swept across the scene before resting on Dagan who met his gaze with a mischievously entertained gaze of his own.

“There you are.” Dagan proclaimed as he calmly tossed another piece of meat into the air. “Your boy’s got fire. You should be proud.”

Tekkon didn't answer at first, instead he took a few long strides and appeared on the side of Nekoiya who was still swinging. Once he noticed Tekkon he turned, and without hesitation focused the brunt of his attack on him. Dagan coughed, trying not to laugh at the child.

In one speedy motion Tekkon caught his hands, stopping the boy mid swing. Nekoiya wasn't sure if this was some sort of challenge but he was ready. Instead of striking him, Tekkon lifted him by his arm and carried him away.

“If you're going to test him, at least make sure he's well fed.” Tekkon said.

“Fair enough my boy.”

“I'm not your boy anymore.” Tekkon shot back. His words were as sharp and piercing as the cold steel on his waist. Before Dagan could respond Tekkon was gone with the boy. It took a while but soon after the crowd regained momentum and began chanting about some other thing.

Nekoiya swung in the air confused. It was normal for him at first, his whole day had been a battle of confusion–but soon he realized Sylvara wasn't coming with and the soft drumming returned. At first he scanned the crowd attempting to lock eyes with her. When that didn't work he squirmed, then scratched, then bit at Tekkons arm until he was tossed to the ground. Tekkon had walked them to the back of the camp. A tent, a tree, 3 logs, and a fire were all that lay around them. Nekoiya rolled against the dirt then ran, but was quickly yanked back by Tekkon. He tried again and again, being pushed and grabbed until Tekkon had enough and pushed down on his shoulder until he sat down.

Tekkon knelt down, and he slowly handed Nekoiya a bowl of soup. He hadn't noticed for a moment as the drumming compelled him to go and find her but he caught Tekkons softened eyes and the drumming slowed. The wafting smell of soup hit his nose as Tekkon shoved the bowl into his chest. “Eat.” He said.

Nekoiya hesitated for a moment before digging in. The warm smooth taste of the soup took a trip down his body and into his stomach, he felt himself lean against the log and finally relax. For some reason he felt more safe in front of Tekkon than he did anywhere else in the camp. Though if Sylvara were there he would have felt at peace.

Nonetheless he ate in blissful silence as Tekkon sat beside him poking the fire and watching the people walk past. He let out a sigh and turned to Nekoiya.

“It's a shame putting you to work so early, little. . . Neko-iya.” He said, stumbling over the letters of the name he had made up on the spot. “Remember that feeling that drove you. The hunger, the pain, the fight. It's what will keep you alive.” Nekoiya didn't shoot him a glance. Instead he took his time clearing the bowl of all of its contents before staring Tekkon down. He let out a deep sigh.

“Hungry.” He said, gesturing for the empty bowl.

“H-hungary.” Nekoiya stuttered.

Tekkon continued, touching his hands together then his chest. “Pain, Fight.”

“Pain fight.” Nekoiya Mimicked.

“Survive.” Tekkon Said, lowering his tone to a deep and sturdy command. He tapped the boy's chest with his fingertip then gestured to the rest of the camp.

Nekoiya could see him now as the firelight danced fine shadows across his face. It was strong, a bit thinner than Dagan's but still commanding. His jet Black hair whispered with streaks of brown as it hung in a ponytail. His soft brown skin raged with scars and worry lines.

The boy didn't reply, couldn't reply. Flashes of his mother appeared And vanished like ghosts and his eyes widened. He knew that word all too well. Nekoiya quickly rubbed the burn scars in his back he'd forgotten he had. Survive. At all costs.