Eight years ago, on the island of Blackport Ridge, there was a small butchery that operated just outside the Minearu Oasis.
"DAMMIT! GET YOUR LAZY ASS UP!"
The tip of a pointed shoe slammed into Ezra's chest, startling him awake, his eyes darting around in a panic.
He tried to curl up into a tiny ball; however, another swift and brutal hit to his temples knocked him onto his back.
"YOU DAMN SLAVE RUINED THE PIG! WHAT THE HELL DO I EVEN KEEP YOU AROUND FOR?"
The middle-aged man grabbed the small boy's collar, lifting him up with ease, and yelled straight into his face, tiny droplets of saliva shooting all around.
"I TOLD YOU TO CURE THE PORK, AND YOU LET IT ROT! NOW I GOT TEN DAMN CUSTOMERS WHO ARE ASKING ME FOR A REFUND! TELL ME ONE GOOD REASON NOT TO SMASH YOUR SKULL IN RIGHT NOW!"
In the butcher's right hand, he held a meat cleaver, drenched in fresh blood after just slaughtering a few unlucky specimens from his herd.
One swift blow over the skull and they were gone, their bodies carted away by the little seven-year-old Ezra who had been sold to this man as a slave.
The black-haired child knew of this and flinched backwards at the sight of the weapon, his eyes shutting tight and tears streaming down his face.
Yet, he did not cry out, nor did he plead.
Two years ago, in the auction house, he had let out a single sob—one tiny scrape on his knee had caused him to shriek out, but that forever left him traumatized.
The second, he had let out a yelp; he had been beaten.
Again and again, for days at a time.
All the auctioneers who beat him said that the only good slave was a quiet slave, a phrase that had stuck in the child's mind until even his teenage years.
And at the tender age of seven, he was once again faced with pain and agony, yet now he resisted the urge to cry out.
There was nobody who could help him.
"C'MON EZRA SPEAK UP! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
Holding the massive hammer next to the boy's head, he felt the child flinch back, not a single word spilling from his trembling mouth.
"What a pathetic kid… Let him go already. I need him."
Behind the butcher, another figure appeared, someone who looked to be in his early twenties, the son of the very same man holding the child.
"MARCO! WHO THE HELL SAID YOU COULD COME IN HERE!?"
Lashing out at his own family, the man threw the little boy against the wall, where he promptly curled up into a ball, silent.
"I told you that I need him. Now you either give him to me or I pry him out of your cold, dead hands after I beat you over the head with that damn hammer you're always showing off."
The father flinched, seemingly afraid of his own frail son; however, in the presence of his slave, he couldn't back down so easily.
"And why the hell should I do that? This brat RUINED A DAMN PIG! You know how much that costs? DO YOU KNOW MARCO!?"
Stomping over towards the younger man, he slapped his pale white face without regret, knocking him to the ground.
"KNOW YOUR PLACE, BOY! I DON'T GIVE A DAMN WHO YOU ARE OR WHAT YOU DO WITH THAT BRAT, BUT I BETTER NOT SEE HIS ASS AROUND HERE AGAIN, OR IT'S BOTH YOUR HEADS!"
With those words, the butcher stormed out of the room, his body fuming with rage, leaving his son alone with the child in the slave quarters.
"Old geezer…"
Mumbling under his breath, the young man picked himself up and walked towards where Ezra curled up on the floor, shaking profusely.
"Hey Ez…"
The boy poked at him with hesitant eyes before lifting his face slightly and scanning the room to make sure the butcher was gone.
"M-m-m-m-marco…"
His frightened voice came out in a stutter, his eyes full with tears, yet no other sounds came from his throat.
"C'mere bud… It's alright…"
Pulling the boy into a hug, he patted his head, hearing him wheeze into his chest like a wounded puppy.
After a few minutes, the pair stood up, departing the small bedroom and slowly venturing out into the oasis.
"The sun's pretty warm today, eh, Ez?"
He looked down at the short figure at his side, just in time to see him nod his head lightly, his mouth full of popcorn from a bag he had given him on their way out.
"Hey! Don't eat all of that!"
Pretending to scold the child, he tried to grab the bag away from him, which drew a small smile from Ezra as he dodged and attempted to hide the food from the only friend he had.
Ever since he came to the butchery, Marco, the butcher's son, was the only one he could trust, and the sole person who helped him get away from the violence and terrible conditions he had to live in, even if only for a few brief moments.
While he might've been the one to purchase Ezra away from his previous master, he had done so with the intent of helping him.
Yet before his goodwill could reach the boy, Marco's father stepped in and took Ezra for his own use.
He was a harsh, violent man, and the apprenticeship under him proved little kinder than slavery.
Day after day, he beat and tortured Ezra until he was half dead.
However, the boy endured it all, secretly looking forward to the days when Marco took him away to have fun.
"W-what are we doing today, M-m-marco?"
His speech hadn't fully developed due to the constant abuse and negligence he had suffered through; therefore, while he knew the words, he couldn't fully pronounce or process them.
Marco had done his best to help him speak properly, yet his effort yielded little.
The boy's tongue kept tripping over itself, clunky and stuttering, ultimately making him resort to slang and other peculiar expressions that people often frowned upon.
"Today I'm gonna teach you how to pick-pocket!"
Smiling and grabbing the boy's arm, Marco pulled him through alley after alley of the pre-industrialized city, only the foundation of its modern splendor built.
Rushing from the very center of Minearu Oasis all the way to the outskirts of Chrone Castle, the two friends finally reached their target.
"There it is, Ez. The Guild Office."
Pointing ahead of him at the large building that dwarfed the surrounding cityscape, he directed the boy's attention towards a specific group of people sitting and talking at the exterior.
"Those are the rookie guild members who're here for the exam. I've been hired by the Guild to steal their badges as part of their tests. If we get 'em, we get paid. If we don't and they manage to enter their assigned rooms in the office, we fail and get nothin'."
He observed the boy's reaction, watching quietly as the child thought for a moment before nodding along.
"The plan is that I'll distract 'em and you'll steal from 'em. Ain't no rookie that expects a little seven-year-old to steal from 'em."
Listening to his directions, Ezra frowned as though something about it bothered him.
"A-a-ain't it w-w-wrong to steal, M-m-marco?"
His innocent, multi-colored eyes looked up at the man, unsure, a streak of concern clouding his expression.
"Ez…"
Marco took a heavy breath.
"We were hired by the Guild for this. We ain't doing nothing wrong. Now, I gotta teach you how to pickpocket, so listen close."
Patting the boy on the shoulder in reassurance, he began to explain the art of pickpocketing to the child, the midday sun coming up high over the horizon.
…
"We ain't open."
The butcher yelled at the door from behind the counter.
The sight of two men clad in black suits entering made him furrow his brow.
"Who the hell are you? If you're cops then—"
Before he could finish his sentence, there was a gun pressed against his forehead, the taller of the two figures speaking in a whisper.
"Give us all your damn money, and nobody gets hurt."
The middle-aged butcher's eyes went wide, fear filling his heart as he stumbled backwards, raising his hands in an attempt to seem as harmless as possible.
"W-w-w-wait! W-w-w-we can talk about this! H-h-h-how about I get you a f-fresh pig t-tomorrow and we—"
The man flicked the safety off the weapon, pressing the barrel into the man's glabella even harder than before.
"Money or death. You choose."
The second of the two robbers also pulled out a small revolver, aiming it at the door in case of any uninvited guests.
The older man was trembling hard, tears flowing from his eyes like a child.
"P-please… I-I have a family…"
He trailed off and froze, an idea coming to mind.
"M-my slave! T-take him! H-he's worth it! He is—H-he is a descendant of a Sea King!"
Both criminals stilled, their eyes glazing over at the words.
"Whacha mean descendant of a King?"
The man by the door flicked his gun over at the butcher as if daring him to lie.
"H-he is Javier Flocks' grandson! H-he even got the mana intolerance!"
Trying to make the boy sound as appealing as possible, he placed his hands together in a silent prayer.
The two intruders looked at each other for a moment, and a wordless conversation waged between the two as they considered their next move.
"Bring us that slave, and you can live."
Removing the gun from the butcher's head, the taller man holstered it at his side, but the second gunman did not follow his example, still aiming at the butcher from a distance.
The terrified man stuttered out another sentence before he could even think.
"H-he's with my son right now! T-they out near the Guild Office stealing from rookies! It's a rite of passage for the kids around here; they gotta steal some badges. Guild hates it! Go report my son and pick the kid up! Easy task!"
Wishing for his proposal to work, miraculously, both men nodded their heads, the second of them finally lowering his gun as well.
"I think this partnership will work out just fine between us."
At those words, the butcher nodded his head rapidly, a happy smile coming over his face.
"Y-Yes it—"
Before he could finish the thought, he was shot straight through the skull, his body falling flat on the ground without another sound.
Everything the two criminals needed, they already acquired—there was no need for a witness.