Chapter 1: Slavery
The rattling of chains clanged and clanked as a line of hungry, ragged and malnourished individuals were led through shifting sands and cracked dirt. The sun hung high above the heads of each individual, sparing no limit to show its passionate, burning, kindness.
And such kindness without discrimination too, unlike the slavers. And the nobles. And the common people. Basically, all who were not slaves.
Zan looked down at the shackles binding his feet, then at the shackles binding his hands, then at the shackle snaking along his neck.
He used to joke that mundane living was the only shackle that kept him from conquering the surrounding factions, city states and nations.
'If I wasn't born from a farmer and a drunk, I would have already united the continent.' He proudly stated.
Afterall, mighty Zan had already conquered the surrounding village youth gangs at the time.
He too was once of the ilk considered the common people. Though that was in his backwater village from another territory, before everything turned to shit, hence his new occupation.
Feeling the hot ground scorching his feet, he reminisced about a time long ago, a time where his parents were still alive. At the time, his village was not yet burned down by the flames of war that ravaged the lands, and his eyes were bright and enthusiastic. Not like now, shifting between a lifeless gaze and a maniacal haze.
Violence flashed through his eyes every few seconds followed shortly by numb indifference. Today was another day of ore mining.
If there was any chance of escape it would be now, the quarry they were brought to was miles away from the slave residences. If one could somehow escape their chains and run north, they would be free, technically speaking.
The slavers and their guards talked of the nuclear radiated wastelands up north, fabricating lies of such magnitude in hopes the slaves would be discouraged from running away, probably as to save them the effort of running after and subsequently beating them.
They spoke of freakishly huge monsters ridden with tumors roaming the land— the aftermath of a battle between two gigantic metal colossi resulting in huge hanging canyons and cliffs— a metal structure piercing the very clouds and continuing on higher— flying swarms of metal orbs shining bright red light wherever they cast their gaze.
Whenever Zan heard the stories, he shot a contemptuous look at all and any who would actually believe such lies.
The real monsters were here. In front of him he saw the inhumane practices that humans brought upon humans. Ironic.
The healthy and the sick, the young and the old, those who were born working and never worked a day in their lives before, no differences mattered. The sadistic tendencies of the slave masters were only overcome by their greed to get that gratifying monthly bonus, should they exceed the ore quota set by the nobles.
The frail old woman who could not even pick up a bread basket, the housewife who normally tended to her children and not the wheelbarrow, the forgetful grandfather who would wake up everyday wondering why he woke next to unfamiliar men with whips, all would have their skin torn and their blood shed if they slowed.
And they did slow. Their skin was torn and their blood was shed and such the same happened to the children old enough to raise a pickaxe. If you looked like you weighed enough(above thirty pounds), and had all your limbs, you were eligible for mining and thus, eligible for the whip.
But no…you would still work if you were missing limbs.
Those who were missing limbs would be found jobs for their own specific condition, though no tales were ever spoken of what they did. Tyr, or one-armed Tyr, could be frequently seen mining frantically with his single left arm. It wobbled and shook, as he was still getting used to his new dominant arm that a guard so happily gave him to experience.
Though, he brought down the pickaxe with such conviction and a sense of urgency...what could make a man do such a thing? The fear shown in his eyes, but no one would ever truly know.
The fate of the female was the same yet different. On top of working, the guards frequently laid their eyes, undisguised and flashing with lust on the women. And unfortunately too, on the girls.
Some used this to their advantage, whatever it took to survive, right?
...Right?
And some...could not choose. Or they had chosen death instead. To live, even if like this, or to die under one's own so-called “free will”? Who could tell which was a better fate?
Zan did not know, and he simply did not have enough of him to care about himself, so of course he could not care about others.
Was he simply so numb to it all? To life? Perhaps he was purposely ignoring it all in an attempt not to overload his already heavy mental and physical burden.
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So Zan changed himself, the confident, mischievous and resolute youth became numb, quiet, and withdrawn. No longer having dreams of running away and becoming a soldier, a mercenary, a bounty hunter, or even one of those lunatics who searched for ancient technology in who knows where.
Zan had nothing. Not anything. Not anymore. So he went about, keeping his head down, going through the motions, trying not to be noticed, until...
...
Hoisting up a pickaxe, Zan brought it down on to the ore mines over and over.
Zan had a small frame, not yet reaching maturity of any kind just yet, after all, he was only 14. He weighed 110 pounds, standing around 5'4. Despite his size and weight, one year of solid mining kept him... athletic to say the least. While not properly nourished by the gruel he was given everyday, his skinny figure was lined with muscle on every inch of his body.
He kept on mining, absentmindedly as he did everyday.
Random thoughts started to appear in his head,
"That fat fuck of a guard couldn't catch me if i run right now. Well. If I could take these goddamn shackles off."
"I will get taller right?"
"I heard there were new recruits coming, I wonder this time if they'll spread disease like the last."
"Will I die a virgin?"
And so on.
Thoughts of such intense intellectual activity clouded Zan's mind, some thoughts passing quickly like the wind and some clutching at him like demons coveting flesh. He tried vehemently to push them away.
"Fuck! Will I really die a virgin!?"
BWOOOOOOOOONNNG!!
The sound of a horn reverberated across the large quarry, it was time for a water break. Even the cruel slavers knew to give oil to a machine.
He took a wooden bowl from the many available thrown on the ground out of the linen sack and scooped some water from a barrel.
"I better see a bowl back from each person or they'll face five lashings!"
Zan looked at the slaver without emotion, and turned away. Turning his head he caught sight of the new members of his work force.
He observed,
A few men and women with dark brown hair, downtrodden and crestfallen. Zan could already guess they must have just experienced some form of tragedy or intense trauma.
A few loners, keeping their misery to themselves, looking at the ground.
A few children around the age of 6-10.
A group of youths sharing black or dark red hair. Seven boys and five girls looking around the ages, 12-16. All of them banded together as if their numbers would help them in their situation.
'How the hell were they not separated when they were made slaves?' Zan questioned curiously.
But most notably he observed two individuals he could not pass over.
First, was an unassuming bald man who he would normally have not even noticed.
…Yet he did. And Zan knew his instincts better than anyone. There was something different about this bald motherfucker...
It sparked an interest in Zan.
"I'll see what secrets you've got you bald fuck, I have nothing else to do."
And the next individual, a girl with beautiful, wavy yet curly, dark red hair and light brown skin. Her hair was tied into a ponytail, swept to the left. There was a graceful black mark just below her left eye, perhaps some kind of character in her language? Sky blue was the color of her eyes and a glimpse at them made you feel as if you were indeed looking at the endless expanse above. Her rags seemed to adorn her as if royal garments rather than being simple worn clothes given to slaves, and her face held a dignified expression that could not be erased despite her situation, perhaps despite any situation.
She was surrounded by the group of youths as if they were shielding her. But Zan caught a glimpse of her face and indeed, it was beautiful beyond words.
Though…for most beauty was a blessing, but Zan knew here, it was only a curse.
"It'll be a hard life for her."
Suddenly, one of the youths came up to Zan.
"What're you looking at you mongrel?"
Zan snapped out of his gaze, it seemed he was staring for some time...In his mind, he panicked.
'Shit, goddamnit I can't believe I was looking at her for so long…she's so pretty damn...they really caught me staring, ahhh fuck.'
‘I shouldn’t make trouble…’
He tried to voice his thoughts but the words he said came different, perhaps from remembering his old days. The words that came out were more…honest.
"I was looking at the scenery. Who the fuck are you to disturb the direction of my gaze, bastard?"
Zan stood closer to the youth, not backing down and meeting him eye to eye. He was taller than Zan and weighed more, but Zan held no doubt he could beat the ever living daylights out of the boy in front of him.
"Hey stop!"
They both looked over but it was not a voice stopping their fight, no— it was a little girl, no more than eleven, clutching her sister's water bowl from the prying hands of two new recruits. Her pale-faced sister, no more than six, kept looking on in worry.
"Cmon girlie we need it more than you. Look how small you girls are, us adults just need more. Just be good, okay?"
"No, stop! I need it please!"
The clamor brought more eyes to them, the slavers and slaves all looked over. Zan saw the dark red haired youth walk away, reluctant to cause trouble.
Zan saw this and started to do the same.
"Just be good and give me the goddamn water you stupid bitch!"
"No! I need it for my sister! She is sick!"
"I said be good girlie! Or I'll visit you tonight after! You and your sister!"
The girl finally let go of her bowl with a blank expression on her face and a trace of deep sadness.
Seeing this, Zan shook his head and kept walking.
'Another fucking day in slavery.'
He sighed.
This would not be the first or last time that something like this happened.
But...those girls looked like the age his sisters would have been now.
'Whatever, it's long passed that and it's not my problem. My only problems are with me.'
He kept walking away, as he supposedly always did when trouble came. No need to bother with shit that wasn't his.
He kept walking...but where was he going?
Suddenly, Zan found himself at the center of the conflict, the center of attention. The crowd only grew larger and larger at his presence, and he could feel the eyes of ten, a hundred, then a thousand. All were curious to see what the boy was standing there for.
The boy in question stood unfazed at the center, facing the two men.
"You got a problem kid?"
Zan looked at them with his lifeless eyes as he dropped his pickaxe on the floor. Taking out his wooden bowl of water, he offered it with both hands like a polite servant.
"AHAHAHAHA, that's it, good boy."
As one of them reached out for the bowl, Zan slowly distanced himself. Unconsciously, the man's arm extended until he reached far enough to take a slight step, before tripping on the pickaxe laying on the floor.
THUD!
The man fell, weak from his first day of slave mining. His knees touched the ground as he looked up at the skinny, oddly muscular boy in front of him.
Zan's lifeless eyes turned maniacal.
He drew back the wooden bowl with both hands, lifting it high above his head. Despite the intense heat, the man looking up froze. The wooden bowl in this boy's hands seemed to blot out the very sun.
Zan brought down the wooden bowl onto the man's already ugly face.
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Zan(Z • ah • n)