Two years have passed since her death. I'll never forget the day I merely stood by and watched as they decoupled her skin from her muscle. I'll never forget it for one simple reason: she was the most important thing I had in this world, and it took her death for me to recognise that fact. In a world where friendships are a rarity and family is unheard of, she had occupied my heart. For endless miles, we had walked next to each other as the caravan pushed further towards its destination. Sometimes, it felt like it was just her, me, and the vast expanse of the world. No slavers and slaves, no iron cages nor shackles.

We had seldom spoken, yet to me, our silence was enough. I'd catch glimpses of her eyes - they were deep blue - under her messy, blonde hair. In those moments, I felt, well, I'm not quite sure how I'd describe it. Put simply, it was indescribable. It produced in me a feeling that was different, different from anything my ordinary self could comprehend. But now, I'm beginning to understand what it meant. I am beginning to think there's more to this life than what I had initially thought, thanks to her. That's why, two years on, I loathe myself; I hate that I did nothing as they did that to her.

I suspect I am not alone in these thoughts. I've noticed that others in the convoy have recently been behaving... differently, perhaps even secretively. I'm not sure what they're up to and I intend to find out, sooner rather than later. In order to do so, I've identified one figure in particular - an Akros-Rahyan slave, likely no older than thirty - who appears to be key to it all.

Tonight, I'm going to talk to him and see what he's been up to.

---

At night, in a certain location.

Within the slave quarters existed thousands of small makeshift tents, and in one such inconspicuous tent, there sat eight individuals. If it wasn't clear from their malnutrition, then only one look need be made at their shackles to show that these were slaves. One of them, a middle-aged woman with a shaved head, spoke in a hushed voice, "Where is One? He knows the importance of tonight, right?"

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An elderly man with white hair, his wrinkles straining with every word, responded, "Six, don't say foolish things. One understands the importance of this night more than anyone."

The middle-aged woman known as Six nodded in tacit agreement, though the frustration evident on her face failed to subside.

Tension and apprehension were present in the tent, and a silence followed.

Not more than a minute passed when the flap of the lambskin tent opened, breaking the silence. As the flap opened, a swarthy man, neither young nor old, was revealed. He entered the tent and immediately sat down with the other eight.

The entrant said with a smile, "Sorry I'm late, everyone. To make it up to you, I have brought good news." He paused, before continuing. "I know where to find the key. As you know, today I shadowed the slave masters, and as luck would have it, I saw where the slave masters put it. With this, we're one step closer to breaking these shackles."

Next to speak was a young woman, "Good job One. To think we've come this far in only two years. You know, I never thought we'd actually do it."

"Two, with hope, anything is possible." One said. "But this is just the beginning of our journey, the real work is yet to begin. But remember, no matter how much progress we make, we can't reveal ourselves. We must continue to the act of servitude until we're sufficiently prepared."

Another young woman, this one with long, black hair, nodded. "Indeed, our secrecy is both our biggest strength and our biggest weakness. So long as we endure a bit longer, we will be free. The only alternative is death."

"As always, before we continue", One said, "We must give thanks to our savior, She, who broke us from this tranc-- wait!" One suddenly motioned for the others to be quiet. They all froze in place. Next, in lieu of talking, he mouthed, "I t-h-i-n-k s-o-m-e-o-n-e i-s o-u-t-s-i-d-e, t-h-e-y-r-e l-i-s-t-e-n-i-n-g."

The largest of the nine, a burly man, took the initiative and moved towards the front of the tent. But he did not reach the front. Rather, the front was peeled back from the outside. A silhouette of a man was revealed, illuminated by a backdrop of torches. His facial features were not immediately recognisable to the nine, but they need not be. The clothing he wore was more than enough to identify him. He was a slave master.

Before any of the nine could muster a word, the slave master spoke, "Worry not, I am not here to harm. On the contrary, I want in."