In a strange realm,

A cloaked figure sitting before a grand desk pulled at a tome from a shelf filled with dusty, leather-bound tomes. It placed the tome on the desk and upon opening it, a white light burst forth from it.

The figure snapped its fingers and a golden quill and inkwell materialized out of thin air.

Dipping the quill in the inkwell, the figure began to write:

"This is the tale of the boy with horns...."

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Somewhere on the continent of Nova Terra,

A large wagon rattled down the uneven dirt road, its wooden wheels groaning under the weight of the cage that it was carrying. Inside the crude iron-barred cage, several weary souls huddled together with their wrists bound in rusty chains. Some sat with their heads bowed, resigned to their fate as slaves. Others shivered despite the humid air, clinging to the torn clothing that barely covered their naked bodies with their eyes darting to the armored men riding alongside the wagon.

Kaelen sat with his back against the cage, arms resting on his bent knees. His wrists ached from the heavy iron cuffs but he ignored the pain. He had learned to live with it.

A dirty man sitting across from him—thin, his skin stretched tight over his bones—leaned in hesitantly.

"W-Why are you not the only one who's groaning and sighing?", he muttered, his voice hoarse from thirst, "A-Are you... used to this?"

Kaelen didn't answer. He simply stared past the bars, watching the horizon, where the sun dipped into the distance, painting the sky in beautiful hues of red and orange.

The man didn't mind him not answering and kept on speaking, "Sigh... they have such young ones too. Such cruelty."

Kaelen kept on staring at the horizon, not minding a single word of the man.

The man glanced at the guards and then whispered, "I overheard one of the guards saying that they are planning to take us to Ramion. I've heard that it's a big auction city. Have you ever been there?"

Still, Kaelen didn’t answer.

A woman sitting before them, scoffed bitterly, her wrists bruised from struggling, "Save your breath. He won't talk."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Huh?", The man turned his head to the woman and asked, "Is he deaf?"

"No," The woman frowned with disgust and pointed at Kaelen's head while saying, "Look at him. He's not one of us."

The man frowned and turned over to look at Kaelen's head. His thin eyes widened as big as saucers and he immediately shifted away from him.

Kaelen's hood had been pulled back earlier, revealing two dark, curved horns protruding from his skull. A mark of evil.

The man inhaled sharply and asked fearfully, "Y-You're one of them?"

Finally, Kaelen turned to look at him, making him flinch under his gaze.

“I don’t know what I am,” Kaelen replied in an emotionless tone.

A guard walking outside the cage, having overheard, let out a laugh, "Hahaha! A demon spawn, that's what you are."

He spit into the dirt and said disgustingly, "I've seen plenty of your kind. Ain't fit to live among humans. You should be grateful someone's buying you. It's way better than rotting in a ditch somewhere."

Kaelen didn't even look at the guard. He turned his gaze back to the horizon and kept his silence. He had long since stopped justifying his existence to those who had already decided it wasn't worth anything.

One of the younger slaves in the cage—a boy barely in his teens—whispered, "I-Is it true? Y-You eat people?" His voice trembled fearfully as he spoke.

Kaelen closed his eyes and muttered softly, "I don't eat people."

The boy quickly shrank back.

The same guard riding alongside the wagon chuckled and said, "Doesn't matter. Whatever they do with you, it won't be pleasant. Lucky bastards!"

The woman who had scoffed at him earlier shifted uncomfortably and murmured, "They'll make fighters out of the strong ones. Sell the young ones to lords who need servants. And the unlucky ones..."

She trailed off, her face getting worse by the second.

Kaelen already knew what happened to the unlucky ones.

As the wagon hit another rut in the road, Kaelen felt the weight of exhaustion creeping in. He let his head fall back against the bars and closed his eyes. The world around him faded—but he was pulled back by a voice.

"Hey," a different guard sneered and amusingly revealed, "I know you."

Kaelen opened his eyes slowly, his gaze locking onto the sneering guard riding alongside the wagon.

The guard leaned closer. "You grew up in some shitty village in the west, didn't you? I remember now. A widow's brat. Some old friends of mine used to talk about one of them being born there. Said they had one of Khraos living among them."

The guard grinned evilly and asked, “So, how's the widow? Oh sorry! Said she hanged herself. That true?”

The air in the cage grew still. The other slaves, who had mostly kept to themselves, turned to watch the exchange.

Kaelen’s expression remained unreadable, but inside, something cracked.

The guard laughed, his breath heavy with ale, and continued, "Can’t say I blame her. Who’d want to live with a cursed thing like you?”

Kaelen exhaled slowly. He knew better than to react.

The guard tilted his head, waiting for a response. When none came, he scoffed and said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Quiet little bastard.”

He kicked his horse forward, riding up to the front of the caravan.

Kaelen turned his head away from the others, staring once again at the horizon. But this time, he didn’t see the sky, or the trees, or the road stretching ahead.

He saw the past.

A dimly lit house. The sound of rain. The weight of a rope creaking in the dark.

He clenched his fingers tightly, his nails digging into his palm.

The wagon hit another rut, jolting everyone inside.

And just like that, Kaelen’s mind dragged him back, deeper into the memories he had spent years trying to bury.