Rain fell like the sky wanted to drown the world. The boy knelt in mud, face swollen, blood leaking from his lip. His ribs ached—maybe cracked—but he didn't make a sound. He'd learned not to.
"Stubborn little rat," said the overseer, wiping his fist. "Maybe next time you'll hand over your rations instead of playing hero."
Another blow landed—this one with a boot. Elias tasted earth and copper. From the corner of his eye, he saw her. His sister. Barely eight. Clutching a blanket, shaking, her small face pale with fear.
"She'll fetch a decent price," the overseer muttered to the merchant beside him. "Pretty one. Strong lungs. You'll get years out of her."
Elias tried to move. His body didn't listen.
"No," he croaked. The chains pulled tight as he lunged, weakly. The guards laughed.
"No!" he screamed, throat tearing, eyes burning with something worse than pain.
They dragged her away anyway. The girl's scream echoed in his skull long after the gate closed.
Elias was consumed by a potent combination of weakness and fear. Yet, beneath those emotions, a burning hatred blazed with an intensity that seemed to consume him.
Flashback:
Elias was lost in thought, observing his little sister play in the corner of their small, cramped apartment. She was laughing, her cheeks pink with joy. He felt a pang in his chest, knowing that this moment of peace and happiness was stolen from them, just like everything else had been.
Elias remembered their life before the raids, their home, their parents. It was a world of comfort and security, one that he had taken for granted. But as the sound of explosions echoed in the distance, it was clear that their world had been torn apart.
Elias's father was a strong and hardworking farmer, his muscular frame honed from years of labor in the fields. His mother, a gentle and nurturing presence, was a homemaker who ran the household with a warm smile and a steady hand. The little sister, just eight years old, had an insatiable desire to be a tailor.
Current situation:
However, that all changed in the blink of an eye. The safety and stability they had once enjoyed vanished in an instant, their lives thrust into chaos and uncertainty. The memories of their peaceful and happy life now seemed like distant dreams, shattered and unreachable by the harsh reality that surrounded them. His father and mother were murdered brutally. His sister was abducted. His whole village was destroyed.
There was nothing left except destruction. Elias was injured. He managed to survive the chaos.
On walking more steps, he saw a woman holding a dead kid while crying. Her house was burned. There were bloods and bodies.
Elias sat on the ground, leaning against a burnt-out wall. He winced as he shifted his weight, his injured body protesting. Suddenly, a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You look like you could use some help, kid."
Elias looked up to see a man standing before him, holding a canteen. The man's face was obscured by a hood, but his voice was kind.
"Who are you?" Elias asked. "Why are you helping me?"
Elias looked up at the man, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief. The man's face was concealed by his hooded mantle, the flickering fires from the burning buildings barely illuminating his features. His voice was kind and gentle, but his eyes held a sly glint, like that of a fox. "Who are you?" he croaked.
"A friend." The man replied, his tone smooth and reassuring.
The man leaned against a wall, crossing his arms as he looked down at Elias. "Is it so hard to believe that a stranger would want to help you?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Elias could feel frustration welling up within him, the man's blasé attitude only adding to his already high levels of irritation. "Yes, it is hard to believe," he snapped. "No one in this world helps anyone out of the goodness of their heart, not without asking something in return."
The man chuckled, clearly amused by his skepticism. "You're a smart one, aren't you?" he remarked, his face concealed beneath the hood. "No one ever does anything for free, that's true enough. But sometimes, the price of help is not always what you expect."
The man pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer to Elias. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice now taking on a more serious tone.
The man crouched down in front of him, his hood casting long shadows across his face. "I mean," he said, his voice low, "that accepting my help will come with a price. Can you afford it?"
The man's gaze was piercing even through the darkness of his hood, his eyes fixed mercilessly on Elias. "Answer me, boy," he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
The man's gaze was like a dagger in a pitch black tunnel. Elias could sense his anger, see it in those unseen eyes. He felt something crackle in the tension laced air. "I want to help you, but I don't think you understand the cost. You're a kid," the man said again, his voice cool and unyielding, "And no-one of your age will ever understand what is at play here."
"And what is at play here?" Elias shot back, his voice betraying the pain and anger that was growing within. "You have hardly said a thing! All you have done is come here, offer to help me, and spout some nonsense about price and age. I want answers!"
The man's lip curled into a derisive sneer, his shoulders rigid with irritation. "You think you're important, kid?" he muttered, his words dripping with contempt. "You're nothing but a speck in a vast world, nothing compared to the things I've seen. Who do you think you are, to demand answers from me, with that cocky attitude and that wounded body?"
As the man's words echoed in the air, a thick tension hung over them. The crackle of the nearby fires, the sound of the wind howling through the ruined buildings, all seemed to fade away, leaving only a stifling silence in its wake. Elias felt a shiver run down his spine, as if the very air was charged with the weight of the man's words. He knew that the man was a stranger to be feared and respected, but he did not know the reason why.