Raphael was shackled to the cold, damp walls of his prison, his body aching from the relentless torture he had endured. The cell he was confined in was no ordinary one; it lacked bars, instead relying on thick, iron chains that bound his wrists, suspending him in a state of perpetual agony. The air was thick with the stench of blood, sweat, and decay, and the dim light cast eerie shadows across the room.

With every ounce of strength he could muster, Raphael strained against the chains, his muscles trembling with the effort. The rough iron links dug into his wrists, tearing at his flesh as he tried to free himself. The pain was unbearable, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to let out a scream. Blood began to trickle down his arms, dripping onto the filthy stone floor, yet he persisted, determined to break free and protect his little sister, Lily.

Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the chamber. Raphael ceased his struggle, his body tensing as he listened intently. The footsteps were slow, deliberate, and soon enough, the figure of the boss emerged from the shadows, a wicked grin stretching across his face.

The boss walked closer, his boots clacking against the stone floor, and he stopped just inches from Raphael. "Hope you weren’t feeling too lonely," the boss sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. Raphael remained silent, his breath heavy and labored, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of a response.

Annoyed by the lack of a reply, the boss’s smirk twisted into a scowl. With a swift motion, he kicked Raphael hard in the ribs, the force of the blow sending waves of pain through his already battered body. The boss laughed, a cruel, maniacal sound that echoed off the walls. "I was talking to you, Raphael! Talk to me! Talk to me!" he demanded, each word punctuated with another vicious kick.

Raphael groaned in pain, his body wracked with tremors as he struggled to remain conscious. The boss, clearly enjoying his suffering, grabbed a fistful of Raphael’s hair, yanking his head back so that their faces were close. The boss stared at Raphael’s eyes, obscured by a dirty blindfold, and a sickening grin spread across his face.

"You will suffer more than you can imagine," the boss hissed. "I’ll toy with you until there’s nothing left. And soon, your sister’s head will be here as well."

At the mention of Lily, Raphael’s rage surged. He lunged forward, teeth bared, attempting to bite the boss’s nose. The boss recoiled just in time, releasing Raphael and laughing as he stepped back. "Feisty, aren’t we?" he taunted.

Raphael, driven by a desperate fury, began to strain against the chains once more, his voice hoarse as he vowed, "I will kill you. I will kill you and every last one of your men!"

The boss’s laughter grew louder, more deranged. His eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as he watched Raphael struggle. "Yes, yes!" he cackled, thoroughly entertained by the sight of Raphael’s futile resistance. With a final, brutal kick, he sent Raphael’s head crashing into the stone wall, the impact leaving him dazed and bleeding.

As Raphael’s consciousness began to fade, the boss prepared to deliver another blow, but his actions were interrupted by the hurried arrival of one of his men. The man, out of breath and visibly shaken, skidded to a stop before the boss.

The man’s appearance was unremarkable, with short, brown hair and a pair of nervous brown eyes. He wore a tattered leather tunic and mud-caked boots, clearly a low-ranking member of the gang. "Boss," the man gasped, trying to catch his breath.

The boss, annoyed at being interrupted, turned to the man with a look of disgust. "What is it?" he snapped, clearly displeased.

"There’s… there’s an intruder," the man stammered, his voice quivering with fear.

The boss’s expression darkened. "Let Angelo take care of it," he ordered dismissively.

The man hesitated, his fear evident in his eyes. "Boss… Angelo’s dead," he said nervously, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" The boss’s voice was a dangerous growl as he stepped closer to the man. "How many are there?"

The man swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "It’s just one… just one person."

Fury flashed in the boss’s eyes, and before the man could react, the boss punched him square in the face, sending him stumbling backward. "You useless fool! You can’t even handle one person!" he roared, his anger boiling over. He then glanced back at Raphael, who was bleeding profusely from his head wound. "I’ll be back for you," the boss snarled before turning on his heel and marching out of the chamber, the terrified underling trailing behind him.

As Raphael watched the boss leave, his vision blurred, and the pain in his head became unbearable. He could feel his strength slipping away, but his thoughts were consumed by one thing—Lily. Tears welled up in his eyes, mingling with the blood that dripped down his face.

"I’m sorry, Lily… I should’ve protected you," he thought, his heart heavy with regret. In his fading consciousness, he saw a fleeting image of Lily’s smiling face, her innocent voice echoing in his mind. "I’m going to protect you, big brother," the illusion of Lily whispered, her words a bittersweet reminder of the promise he had failed to keep.

As darkness claimed him, Raphael could only hope that somehow, against all odds, Lily would be safe.

Shadows of the Past

Then, in a dense forest as the evening light waned, the atmosphere was filled with the sound of rustling chains. A line of weary prisoners, a mix of humans and beastmen, shuffled forward. Their bodies were hunched with exhaustion, their clothes mere rags clinging to their thin, battered frames. The prisoners moved in a row, chained together, their heads bowed in defeat. Alongside them, knights clad in heavy armor marched with a stark contrast to the prisoners' despair.

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The knights were a formidable sight, dressed in polished steel plate armor adorned with intricate designs. The armor bore the insignia of their kingdom—a fierce lion with wings, set against a shield of deep blue. Some knights rode on majestic black horses, while others walked alongside the prisoners, their boots crunching the forest floor beneath them. A few knights casually exchanged words, their voices filled with indifference, while others cruelly lashed out with whips at the slower prisoners, forcing them to quicken their pace.

Among the knights, one seemed to stand out as the leader. He rode a large black horse, its mane flowing like ink in the dim light. His armor was more ornate, with golden accents glinting in the fading sun. He turned to one of his men, his voice firm and commanding.

"We need to make a stop," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It's already getting dark."

"But sir," the knight beside him protested, "we need to reach the kingdom early."

The leader's eyes narrowed as he looked at the exhausted prisoners. "Can't you see those chained bastards are barely standing? We set up camp for tonight and leave before dawn."

The knight hesitated but then nodded. "Yes, sir." He halted his horse and turned back to the others, shouting orders. "Men, we stop here!"

Some of the knights grumbled under their breath, displeased with the delay, while others welcomed the break. The leader dismounted, his gaze lingering on the prisoners, particularly the children whose faces were streaked with dirt and tears. His expression remained stern as he turned away, heading to oversee the setup of his own tent.

As the last light of day gave way to night, the camp was a mix of activity and unease. Ten tents were set up in a rough circle, with a large campfire blazing in the center. Around the fire, knights had shed their armor for more comfortable attire, drinking and laughing loudly as if they hadn’t a care in the world. They were a rowdy bunch, their faces flushed with alcohol, their boots scuffed from the day's march. Their laughter echoed in the forest, a harsh contrast to the suffering of those they guarded.

The largest tent, standing slightly apart from the others, was guarded by two knights in full armor, their expressions stern. Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with despair. The prisoners huddled together, some trying to sleep despite the hunger gnawing at their stomachs, while others sat silently, too weak even to cry. Their bodies were covered in bruises and cuts, a testament to the abuse they had endured.

The flap of the tent rustled as a young knight entered, holding two loaves of bread. He was younger than the others, his face still soft with youth. His hair was a sandy brown, cropped short, and his eyes, a striking shade of green, were filled with guilt as he looked at the starving prisoners. Trying to muster a smile, he spoke softly.

"Here... here’s your food," he said, though his voice lacked conviction. He handed the loaves to the nearest prisoner, his heart heavy with the knowledge that it was nowhere near enough._

A young beast boy, his ears pointed like a fox's, with wild, unruly hair and eyes that glowed amber in the dim light, stood up. He was dressed in tattered clothes, his small body frail but his gaze unwavering as he approached the knight. An older human man nearby, fear evident in his voice, called out to the boy.

"Raphael, come back here!" he whispered urgently, afraid the knight might lash out.

The young knight, seeing the boy approach, couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow. The boy’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a depth that belied his age. The knight smiled weakly and handed over the bread.

"Here, take it. Share it among yourselves," he said softly. "I'm sorry... it’s not enough."

Just then, a shout came from outside the tent. The knight flinched, glancing back over his shoulder.

"I’m coming, sir!" he called out, quickly leaving the tent.

Raphael stood there for a moment, holding the loaves tightly. The older man who had called out to him earlier approached, scolding him gently.

"You shouldn't get yourself into trouble, boy," the man said, worry etched on his face.

Raphael nodded, silently handing over the bread. The man sighed, patting the boy's head.

"Eat a little, then share it with the other children. They need it more than we do."

As Raphael moved to distribute the bread, a chubby man with a scowl on his face stepped forward. His clothes were dirty, hanging awkwardly over his large frame, and his eyes gleamed with greed.

"Hey, brat!" the man snarled, his tone dripping with malice. "Bring the food over here!"

The older man with Raphael tried to reason with the chubby man.

"The children should eat first. They're the ones who need it most."

The chubby man sneered. "What’s that got to do with anything?" he spat, stepping closer. A woman in the tent joined in, her voice sharp with irritation.

"Why should those beastchildren get the food? We're hungry too!"

The tension in the tent rose, murmurs of discontent spreading among the prisoners. The chubby man, ignoring the warnings, stomped over to Raphael, his face twisted with anger.

"You brat, hand it over!" he demanded, reaching for the bread.

The older man tried to intervene, blocking the chubby man's path. "We don't need more trouble. The knights will beat us all if we start a commotion."

But the chubby man, fueled by his own hunger and frustration, shoved the older man aside, sending him sprawling to the ground. He reached out to grab the bread from Raphael, his face a mask of fury.

In a flash, Raphael's expression hardened. As the man’s hand came close, Raphael lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the man’s finger with all his might. The chubby man screamed in pain, trying to yank his hand away, but Raphael held on, his eyes burning with defiance.

The knight guarding the tent burst in, his face twisted with irritation.

"What the hell is going on in here?" he barked, his voice cutting through the noise.

Raphael finally let go of the man's finger, blood dripping from his mouth. The chubby man cradled his hand, glaring at the boy with a mixture of pain and hatred.

The knight surveyed the scene, his face contorting with disgust.

"Keep it down, or I'll make sure someone dies tonight," he growled before storming out, muttering under his breath about being stuck guarding "useless slaves."_

The chubby man, still nursing his wounded finger, advanced on Raphael with a murderous look. But before he could strike, another man—one who had been silently watching the events unfold—spoke up.

"Let it go," the man said, his voice calm but firm. "Let the boy share the bread among the children. As adults, we should be able to go without food for a night."

The chubby man hesitated, his rage flickering in his eyes before he backed down with a grunt. He glared at Raphael one last time before slumping back to his spot, muttering darkly under his breath.

Raphael, his expression unreadable, helped the older man who had been punched back to his feet. The man smiled weakly, wincing from the pain.

"You did well, Raphael. Now, share the bread with the others. They need it more than we do."

Raphael nodded silently and began distributing the bread, carefully tearing off pieces for the children. The mothers in the group, tears of gratitude in their eyes, accepted the bread and fed it to their children. Despite the hunger gnawing at his own stomach, Raphael made sure everyone got a share, his heart heavy but determined.