"I didn't agree to a child, Archabul."
The enormous man had a voice that was as deep as his footsteps, and marched across the open road with pride. He stood before the nameless boy, who was back atop the wooden platform. Even up here he only about made it to the figure's waist. The man's clothes were, on closer inspection, covered in tears and damage. Accumulated from a journey that the boy couldn't begin to fathom.
"Y-yes, Master Drun. Well, we've been running a little out of stock that fit your... uh... specific requirements."
The suited man rubbed his hands together between adjustments to his tight belt. The silver-embroidered leather strangled his overflowing gut and didn't do a good job of tucking in his white button shirt. Between open-mouthed breaths and a lot of adjusting, he continued:
"It is quite hard now for us to find criminals that are to be executed. This is the closest we could find, tell him, Gaz."
The guard kicked the boy on the back and spoke with a raised tone:
"Little creep was caught a few weeks ago, stealin' a dozen Silvers and even tryin' 'a mount one of the Lord's son's horses! Lord's men got him good for it, right down the back, they did."
The boy coughed and stood himself back up, a scowl painted on his face from Gaz's voice. It was accurate, though. He would've at least had his hands chopped off if it weren't for his being bought by the suited man.
A loud thud came, the clanging of metal and wood, as the looming figure stabbed his great sword into the ground. Even while in its scabbard, it stuck with enough force to leave cracks stretching in the rocky land. He crouched to the boy's eye level and looked at him.
Drun's eyes were a deep blue, like the night sky, with pupils that were solid black, reflecting the boy's visage like a mirror. Even the boy knew he looked terrible. A messily-trimmed black beard formed a strap around Drun's square jaw, bridged by stubble and an untidy moustache. He opened his mouth to speak, messy but fairly clean teeth laid within. Rare to see teeth so clean on someone who isn't rich.
"Name?"
The boy scowled at his inspector, not interested in answering.
He couldn't.
"Doesn't have one, you know. The little creep hardly says anything, too." Gaz spoke, punctuating each phrase with either a glob of spit or click of his tongue.
"Matters not, I suppose. I won't take him."
There was a stunned silence between the workers. Their eyes went wide, and they held their mouths shut as if with sheer will, to avoid them dropping to the floor.
"...Master Drun?"
Archabul, the suited man, spoke with a ginger tone, as if trying to not provoke a beast.
"Fetch another one. Someone older, this is no life for such a small child. I won't have it."
"W-well, sir, I'm afraid we can't just switch the pass's Lantern so quickly. The equipment is bound to his soul, see? Switching would take at least another day and night, and we've been training him up at the back of the last few passes for this very day."
"You picked a child to be next? What kind of reason could you possibly have?"
"W-well, sir, we often have to use the younger stock since we sell the able-bodied for labour. You notice how we have nobody strong of arm, or any women with a curve on them? This is the end of the line for our stock, Master Drun. Oh, as much as I hate it to happen to them."
Lies. It was true that the boy had ended up here because he hadn't been sold in any markets on the road. However, the man didn't feel any sadness, nor shame, at how he put these unwanted goods to use. He scowled and frowned at them all, as if lamenting the money he'd spent on them rather than the fates that awaited them.
The boy was a little happy to see someone stand up for him. Kindness hadn't been extended his way since before he ended up in the company of these slavers. He held the sides of his bag-fashioned shirt, clinging on for the chance that he might walk free of this foggy place, might see the light of day again.
Drun stood a few steps back, his hand to his chin, deep in thought. After a minute of quiet, he spoke up.
"A whole day and night you said?"
The boy let go of his shirt, his arms going limp once again. He let his eyes drift back to the ground, registering nothing in their view. His ears disassociated from the talking - why listen to someone rationalize his death? Hope had left him more suddenly than it had arrived, like slipping off the top of a mountain it had just scaled.
Before he knew it, Drun was before him again.
"I'm sorry, young one. Circumstances dictate that I must travel today."
The boy hardly listened, he didn't care for justifications. Again he was resigned to death, and tried to shut away the fear that was cowling his heart.
"Here."
Drun had extended his palm to the boy. Clasped gently within it was a knife. Sheathed in a simple leather binding, it had a bound handle that the boy could grasp with both hands.
"You will survive in there, boy."
The boy focused his eyes again, looking at the speaker before him. His brow was sunk low, heavy with the weight of determination. A look like fire burned behind his eyes, that seemed to stare right into the boy's mind.
In Drun's pupils, he saw himself again.
The same look of determination was pasted on his own face.
***
Welt trudged through the mist as best he could, unaware of the time or place he was in. He had a vague recollection of his goal:
'Survive'
But until when? Where was he going? His mind was clogged like the air he walked through.
Something about the North? No, I'm headed East. I was headed East. Why? My father...
That's right, my father. He's gone. I need to find him.
WHY?
A voice swam through the mist. Not like the one Welt heard in his head from time to time. This one was singular, high pitched, and had a tone of curiosity.
Why was he trying to find his father?
Because I need to understand my power? I need his protection? No... wait... Because I'm worried about him? This isn't quite right, either...
The mist that carried the voice swirled and spun through a collection of shapes, growing and forming itself from rogue and shallow gusts of wind. It bore the form of a human, androgynous and faceless. It was as if moulded, just a silhouette or outline of a person. No features to it, shifting and struggling to keep its appearance as it approached Welt.
WHY?