(The Boy in Chains)
"Trash!" The voice rang out, followed by a loud bang. A skinny, bloodied youth in chains fell limply to the ground. Winded, he struggled to rise but found himself gasping in pain.
Pain. A word he was all too familiar with. No matter how much endurance he had built up against it, his body was a different matter. Unlike his hardened heart, his body had limits. That was why, despite the blank and indifferent expression on his face, his body wouldn't move an inch. The youth despaired—not because of the punishment that would follow, but because his chance at eternal salvation was slipping away.
"What? That's it? Seriously, I should consider getting rid of you soon. You can't even take a few strikes from me anymore," a haughty voice said.
The bloodied youth managed to steal a glimpse of the figure towering over him before he passed out from exhaustion and injuries.
"Rubbish. Useless piece of trash." The haughty youth kicked the unconscious boy again and again.
"I should really kill him now. He's too useless," he said.
"I wouldn't do that, Zeph. You know he's the only one among the slaves who can endure your savage beatings for so long. And trust me, no one else wants their slaves beaten to death by you," a female voice replied. She looked about the same age as the haughty youth.
Zephyr Calistar glared at the girl. "I'll just buy another one, then. In fact, I'll buy a bunch of them," he retorted.
"And then? They would die instantly from your attacks," she said, causing Zephyr to scowl.
"I don't get your point, Livra. Are you trying to protect that rubbish or what?"
Livra shook her head. "You idiot. This isn't about some trash; it's about that fetish of yours. You need to get rid of it, Zeph, or someone might use it against you."
Zeph scoffed. "I don't care what anyone thinks of me. Besides, whatever I do is my business, not anyone else's."
Livra shook her head in disappointment. He just never understood.
The chained youth didn't know how long he had been out, but when he awoke, a fierce pain assaulted him from all over his body—something he easily ignored. He was back at the slaves' camp. Glancing around the tent, he saw his mother, also in chains, the rune on her cheek a constant reminder of what they were. Their purpose in life.
The youth silently took note of his new injuries. Slashes, cuts, and stab wounds covered his body. This was how it had always been for him. He served Zephyr Calistar, a young prodigy of a hidden clan in the Shredded Plains. Assigned to Zephyr at the age of eight, he had endured daily beatings for nearly a decade.
Zephyr took pleasure in others' suffering, and as a slave, the youth had no choice but to endure. Now seventeen, he wondered when it would all end—when he would finally earn his eternal salvation.
He had been trained from a young age to understand his status: a slaveborn, cursed by the heavens themselves. Branded with the Aetherite Slave Rune on his right cheek, like every other slaveborn, he was required to serve the master he had been appointed to. To treat them as gods. To endure insults, beatings, and suffering in their name was considered the greatest honor. To die for them was a privilege—a sacrifice that would lift the curse and grant the slaveborn a place in the next life as gods themselves, free from the rune, free to enjoy the luxuries of the world.
To the slaveborn, anyone without a rune was a god, deserving of reverence and obedience.
The youth calmly stretched his injured body. The healing medicines applied to his wounds were already working. Suddenly, a burning sensation flared from his right cheek. He froze for a moment, glancing at his mother as she suddenly awoke. Her slave rune glowed purple—just like his.
Their masters were calling.
The hidden clans, as they were called, were considered the Aetherite's chosen ones due to their ability to emit pure Aetherite energy. The world was polluted with impure Aetherite, causing mutations and bizarre occurrences. But the hidden clans were special. As for why they remained in hiding, the youth had no idea. He didn't care. He just wanted to be free of his curse. He wanted a better life for his mother.
Arriving at Zephyr's living quarters—a place that reflected his high status within the clan—the youth bowed in silence. Slaves were not permitted to speak without permission.
"Oh? It seems you recovered pretty fast this time, trash," Zephyr sneered.
The youth remained silent.
Zephyr scoffed and stood up. "Since you're already fine, I believe we should continue our sparring session."
He led the youth to the courtyard, where several weapons were neatly arranged on racks.
Casually, Zephyr picked up a weapon—an Aetherite-reinforced saber, a blade of exceptional quality. The youth sighed internally. His master was upping the game again.
It had all started with a slap. Then punches. Then kicks. Then weapons. Zephyr called it sparring, but it was nothing more than a one-sided beating. At first, the youth had tried to fight back—after all, wasn't that the point of a spar? He learned his lesson the hard way. Now, he simply allowed it to happen.
And now, Zephyr had moved on from steel weapons to an Aetherite-reinforced one, determined to make the nearly pain-immune youth feel agony once again.
Aetherite weapons weren't just sharper; they were strengthened by the mystical energy of the Aether. Most importantly, they unleashed waves of destructive energy that wreaked havoc on the victim's body.
Knowing he was in for another world of pain, the youth picked up a wooden sword—purely for appearances—and readied himself.
Zephyr attacked. His strike was fast and unnatural, the saber glowing with a sinister purple hue. The attack looked terrifying, but to the youth, it felt slow. He had seen Zephyr's attack patterns too many times. It was as if his master never improved.
Still, he did not dodge. He had no reason to.
Adjusting his wooden sword slightly, he met the incoming blow. The saber easily tore through the flimsy wood, slashing across the youth's chest, leaving a deep gash.
The youth gasped in pain as another wave of attacks rushed toward him...