RE:volt! Chapter 4: Branding

  Time passed, and the cold bite of winter came. One that was brutal and indiscriminate with its icey carcass, resulting in the deaths of dozens if not hundreds of slaves, a few of whom were wetnurses Ark had grown familiar with.

  Food became scarce, blankets were limited, and the demand for slave services went on the decline as less clients showed up. So much so that Ark's mother was with him nearly every day instead of once every other week.

  Ark didn't initially have much of an opinion on the woman, but from the worry on her face, her tender care, and the way she lit up when seeing him, he couldn't help but feel a bit connected with the woman.

  Every night in the slave quarters that seemed to dwindle in inhabitants, a rickety building made of soil, rotting logs and hay, he and his mother would lay, the woman hugging him gently to transfer her heat to him as she sang a gentle tune in her attempts to put him asleep, often with a crowd.

  Of course Ark played along, closing his eyes and feigning sleep as the woman checked if he was sleeping before she'd stop her lullaby. However on some nights, when the melodic hymns that spoke of a hero would stop, when the crowd would disperse, there would be tears that would replace the gentle tone of her voice.

  It was muffled, soft hiccups that were felt through the thin fabric on her heaving chest and onto Ark's, her tears sometimes even staining his face as he tried desperately not to open his eyes.

  In these times the Dragon was silent. Never saying a word or harassing Ark despite the pieces of himself breaking further inside. In fact, as time went on the dragon's voice seemed to grow distant, silent, leaving Ark alone to stew.

  Winter would eventually leave, taking with it the accursed cold along with his mother as she was recalled back to the big house to attend to carnal needs.

  ***

  Time continued its march, the housing and living conditions of the slaves deteriorating with each passing day. So much so that eventually Ark was the only baby in a room once filled with them.

  He was laid on a bed of hay between a stall, sitting there as the wetnurse in charge of taking care of him was busy stimulating her breasts to prepare for his next breastfeeding session.

  It's the same… Ark said to himself, lamenting over the fact that despite his actions, the sacrifices he made and promises spoken, that slavery in all its horrors still existed.

  I can't just sit here.

  With the woman's back turned, Ark rolled over, putting his underdeveloped arms to use to attempt to push himself up.

  It didn't work. The muscles incapable of supporting his weight. But he didn't quit, no, he dug his feet into the hay, pushing with his legs until he hit the stall wall and began going up, putting his tiny arms up to grapple the wood.

  He struggled, his legs kicking as his undeveloped head scraped against the brittle wood.

  It hurt. A lot. But he could no longer be immobile. He needed to move, he needed to start walking, to begin his journey to the dream he called freedom.

  For freedom. Ark winced, blood dripping into his baby blue eyes as he finally stood up.

  "Free-"

  "Hm?" The wet nurse turned to the unexpected voice, her eyes going wide as she gazed upon the baby standing on its own with its fists balled and its head bleeding.

  "-dom.." Ark groaned, his little baby face contorted with anger as he attempted to take his first step, only to fall face first into the stone floor as the wetnurse's jaw dropped.

  ***

  Under the angry gaze of a yellow sun, dozens of tanned skinned people in rags toiled in the fields filled with various plants lined in rows that seemed to span on forever.

  "Did you hear?" A tanned woman with metal bindings on her wrists and neck whispered as she plucked a white flower that she placed in a basket filled with them.

  "What? About the Lloyd baby?"

  "You heard?"

  "Who hasn't?" The woman shook her head. "Load of rubbish if you ask me. Walking and talking and not even a year old? Ha."

  "No. I swear it happened, heard it from the Caretaker myself I did."

  "Ha! That old crone? She-"

  Suddenly the woman tensed up, eyes going wide before looking down to avoid the gaze of someone approaching behind her companion. "Best be quiet."

  The other slave went silent, throwing herself into her work as the crunch of boots sounded nearby.

  "Is there something funny?" A weathered middle aged man wearing a red leather vest with a hoarse voice demanded, brandishing a black metal rod.

  "N-n-no sir." The woman who had laughed stuttered, burying herself in her work and working faster.

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  "Then why did you laugh? Were you laughing at me?" The man asked, narrowing his eyes as he placed the metal bar beneath the woman's chin.

  "I… p-please sir-" The woman suddenly screamed, the metal shackles on her body heating up, releasing electricity that brought her to her knees.

  "Did I say you could stop working?" The man spat, disgust on his face as he drove his foot into the woman's stomach. "Get up!"

  "Y-y-yes sir!" The woman shouted, immediately scrambling to her feet only to be bashed on the head with the metal rod that controlled the shackles on her body.

  "Did I tell you to speak?" The Overseer hissed, grabbing the woman by her neck who's eyes went wide with fear.

  Despite the blood dripping down her face she shook her head vigorously, trying to appease the man who's red leather glove began to squeeze.

  "Oui! Manfry! Don't break the damn merchandise, we need them to work!" A woman clad in a yellow dyed leather suit yelled, drawing a grunt from Manfry.

  "Tsk. Consider yourself lucky slut. I'll be sure to pay you a visit later." The Overseer said, caressing the frightened woman's chin before walking off.

  She glared at the man's back, clenching her teeth as she recalled the rumor of the boy.

  ***

  Soon, a year turned to two, and then to three, with Ark walking fine on his own. As his teeth came in, the good days of sucking on a woman's teet were replaced by cold bread and salted fish.

  Food he was all but familiar with.

  He munched on his rations, sitting on the cold stone floor of the servants' hovel as he eyed the other slaves. He clutched his hard bread, making sure that the meal he was given by the Caretaker was hidden beneath his long ratty sleeves.

  Stealing food was the norm in the squalor called the dorms, and he was powerless to stop anyone right now when he needed all the nutrients he could muster as he bided his time. Waiting for the day he could begin forming his mana circuits.

  "Loyd? Has anyone seen the Loyd boy?!" A voice called out, searching for him specifically by name.

  Immediately Ark got up, wading through the crowd of slaves preparing to sleep to stand before a blonde man wearing the servant’s royal blue attire with boots and a red sash around his waist that denoted him as a trustee.

  Unlike the other slaves, he wore only one shackle, the one around his neck, with his skin being lighter complexion from his work in the big house.

  The man furrowed his blonde brow, eyeing Ark up and down as the boy gazed down at the man’s boots before looking up at the man.

  "Lloyd?" The man raised a brow at the child glaring up at him. Seeming unsure what to make of the child.

  "Yes." Ark replied, glancing down as the man held his hand out that possessed not a single callus.

  "Alright then, come along."

  So it's time..

  Ark knew this day would come, the day when he'd be fitted with a collar just like the rest. The magical metal devices that kept each of the slaves in check.

  He walked out of the hovel, walking into the darkness that constituted the outside to pause and turn to the man who only starred as Ark refused his hand.

  "Are you coming?" Ark asked, not a single emotion on his face.

  The man broke out into a grin.

  "Guess the rumors were true after all." The trustee said, rubbing the back of his neck as he took Ark to get fitted with a collar.

  ****

  Nearing a small building, Ark paused, his nose twitching as the smell of soot and heated metal touched his tiny nose.

  Damn. Ark frowned, peering through the door to spy an elderly man in chains sweltering over an anvil as a man in a red vest watched.

  "Now, no time to sit in gawk, else it be my garters." The trustee said, placing a hand on Ark's back and coaxing him forward.

  Ark entered the workshop, sweeping his eyes on the archaic tools that hung on the walls. Chains, whips, nails, and bloodied tools that sat on wall hooks beside a table coated with blood.

  He walked forward, drawing an odd look from the man in the red vest who immediately punched Ark in the jaw.

  Ark reeled, hitting the ground and sprawling from the force of the attack, rolling not once but twice as his momentum made him strike the wall.

  "Who told you to approach boy?!" The red vest spat, kicking Ark in his chest to put him on his back.

  "My deepest apologies Overse-" the Trustee yelped, stepping in only to be cut off as the man raised his finger at the slave.

  "My humble apologies sir." The man backed away, lowering his gaze to sit on Ark before they looked away.

  Coward.

  "Shut it, house maid." The man glared angrily before standing over Ark. "Who told you to approach Six-two-six?"

  "No one sir." Ark replied as he laid flat on his back. Unmoving as the brutish man tapped his face with his dirty boot. Realizing that the man was regulating him to a number.

  You'll be the first I kill.

  The Overseer blinked, not expecting the reply Ark gave.

  "There something wrong with you Six-two-six? You mean muggin me?"

  "No. Sir."

  "Something wrong with my face?"

  "No sir."

  "You a bit weird six-two-six. You know that? You shouldn't look at your betters."

  "Yes sir." Ark replied, making the man narrow his eyes.

  "That's right." The man said, pressing his boot on Ark's cheek. "Get up, get on the table."

  Ark did as told, getting off the floor as he licked his lips, the familiar taste of copper on his tongue as he obliged.

  "Fuckin weirdo." The red vest muttered watching Ark comely sit on the bloody table before turning to the smith. "Let's get it labeled. It's late and Master Azar wants it ready for presentation."

  "Yes Overseer." The collared smith obliged, taking the black metal circular object that was on the anvil and slapping it around Ark's neck.

  *Clink*

  Ark inhaled at the sound, his very soul quivering in anger as the device clamped on.

  But it wasn't over. Next came the tattooing and the branding, numbers imprinted on his arm as his shirt was removed and a brand was seared into his chest over his heart.

  It took all of Ark's strength and willpower to not scream and thrash. To hold his tongue as the heated metal touched his body, desecrating his skin, and branding him with a genealogy mark that denoted all the information a buyer could want.

  Date of birth, seller, and race. All inscribed in a circular crest.

  "Fucking boring. And here I was wanting to hear you scream." The red vest complained, frowning as Ark failed to make a sound. "Are you defective six-two-six? Nah, fuck it, not my problem."

  Ark wanted to kill. To slaughter. To hang the Overseer by his entrails.

  But it wasn't just his feelings, but the feelings of Ireliex who had been silent. The Progenitor of Dragons clearly unhappy at being chained, being marked. Something that at least made Ark happy.

  Despite their combined feelings, everything he wanted would have to wait.

  In due time. Ark told himself, accepting the brand, accepting his roots.

  If there was one thing Ark had, it was time. Time to plot. Time to plan. Time to unravel the situation of the world. Once he could begin developing magic circuits he would make sure the Overseer would regret his actions.

  This, Ark promised as he glared at the man who promptly smacked him for looking at him.