The rhythmic sound of metal picks brought a beat to the rustle of tree branches in the verdant forest. The sky was a deep blue with brushes of faint clouds dotting sparsely in various directions, the sun shined with conviction. A breeze swooped upon the caravan that traveled on the beaten dirt road. The click and clack of chains gave a sound of symbols. A man directed a horse. The caravan was full of slaves. The bars cast shadows on their downtrodden faces.

One boy of four with the beginnings of sun beaten skin, unusual for someone so young, sat at the back of the rocking cage. His feet dangled out the back in between the bars, battered and cracked heels, swaying with the tempo of the caged caravan. His hands and knuckles were bruised, a black eye decorating his face. The rags covering him were almost rotting off his body. His hair was shaggy and greasy, strands of dirty blonde hair coiled chaotically. Around his neck, wrists and ankles were thin black bands that looked to be tattoos adorning his body. The eyes of the boy were intense. In them was the look of one who had everything taken away from them, an unnerving intention compressed into his gaze. His eye color was a striking crystal blue that seemed to glow. He stared into the distance that they had already traveled, watching landmarks that passed before disappearing into the distance. As the caravan rolled along the sound of pickaxes grew with a stone wall on the horizon. The slaves all groaned a deep moan of regret and despair as they saw the walls, the slaver in front growing impatient from their pleas. Men, women, children are all chained and penned in the caravan with all different races and species. There were no elves in the caravan, though. Elves are usually exempt from slavery among other elf races.

“Quiet!” barked the driver in anger as he gripped his whip. The slaves dimmed their vocal misery.

A shadow grew on the caravan, casting a cool shade to contrast the dry sun bathed heat that beat against them before. The slaves were manic as the gates approached. They reached to the sky, almost unthinkably tall. At least a hundred and fifty feet. They wept and decried their fate as the guards approached the caravan. One with a clipboard and ten with their hands on their swords.

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Metal elves. All of them had reddish brown skin with piercings embedded into their face and body. Some had metal that seemed to have fused with their shoulders or biceps or torso. The higher social class of metal elf you were the more “Augmentation” you could receive with higher quality materials. These elves had scrap metal scattered on their body, obviously of the lowest social class of metal elves. The guards who wait on the wall are of much higher social standing and therefore have superior augmentation with full iron and steel augments, the guards below are merely bouncers that wait for the caravans and act intimidating.

“What ya got?” asked the elf with a clipboard, a bored expression painted on his face in contrast with the excitement of the elven guards.

“I got me couple a miners and a fighter.” responded the driver.

“Ah, who's the fighter?” asked a guard curiously.

The driver shrugged and pointed to the boy in the back with his thumb.

“Huh?!” the guard who asked reacted with mouth agape.

“He’s a kiddo!” another guard remarked offended, his naivety readily apparent. All eyes were on the back of the child who stared into the far reaching distance.

“Ain’t no kid I see,” began the elf with the clipboard as he checked boxes on a piece of paper, “all I see is something sold to us as a punching bag.”

“How old’s he?” asked the first guard.

“Four, thinkin’ he’s ‘bout t’ be five. Once he hits that’n then we’ll get a real fight.” replied the driver.

The guards merely shook their heads. With their lower standing they could almost relate to the slave, but they stopped those feelings before they manifested. Quash it and move on.

“Alright, open the gates!” the guards began to yell. A great low creak resounded and shuddered as the gates opened, the sound of pickaxes smashing rock grew even louder than before.

“Well it seems Minister Barov is trying to breed better beasts before the Lord returns…” one guard said to another as they watched the caravan travel towards the city inside.

“I feel sorry for that kid,” another guard said as he stared at the child slowly disappearing into the gates, his crystal blue gaze dead to all, “you know what he does with the kids who survive the fights, right?”

The other guard shuddered in disgust.

“Yeah. Youngest I’ve seen so far.” he nodded, unwilling to maintain the conversation. Both guards shook their heads. The gates closed, trapping the caravan inside of the cities maw.