"On it!" Verhedyn shot a quick nod back at Jinn, his eyes flashing with urgency before he pivoted on his heel and dashed toward Orin without hesitation.
*Thud! *Thud! *Thud!
Dust scattered beneath his boots as he sprinted, cutting through the crowd of weary, shuffling slaves like a man with a mission.
Reaching her side, he didn't waste a second.
His arms locked tightly around her torso in a solid grip, one that screamed both protection and desperation.
He hauled her backward with a strained grunt, dragging her away from the edge of chaos.
"Let me go—you idiot!" Orin shrieked, thrashing like a wild creature caught in a trap.
Her body twisted violently, her arms flailed with all the force her small frame could muster. Her voice cracked in anguish, eyes wide and furious.
"That man has my necklace! It's hers! It's Nevi's!"
"Urgh!" Verhedyn groaned, his teeth clenched as the muscles in his arms and shoulders strained to hold her back.
Every kick, every elbow, every twist she made pushed him closer to his limits.
"Calm down, you absolute lunatic!" he barked, voice rising with effort and frustration.
"Now's not the time to act like this! Just—damn it—just hold on! I'm sure Jinn has something in mind! He always does!"
Orin finally stopped resisting, her limbs growing still as her breathing remained ragged.
She huffed and jerked away from his grasp with an angry shrug, as if offended by the very idea that someone had dared to stop her.
"Fine…" she muttered bitterly under her breath, the fire in her eyes not extinguished, only banked.
Their chests rose and fell with heavy breaths, both of them rattled in different ways.
But with a degree of control regained, Orin and Verhedyn returned to the slave line, stepping into position with the rest of the group.
From the side, Vox raised an eyebrow, confusion etched into every inch of his expression.
"What the hell was that just now?" he asked, tilting his head slightly as he tried to piece together the scene.
Verhedyn released a massive sigh, his shoulders slumping as he wiped sweat from his brow.
"It's her necklace," he replied plainly. "She found it."
"What!?" Vox gasped, his eyes flying open in stunned realization.
The shock rippled through their group, each of their friends turning toward Orin in silent disbelief.
Verhedyn turned his gaze to her again, lowering his voice.
"Thing is... it's in the hands of someone we don't know. An adult male. One we haven't interacted with."
Kain leaned in, concern etching itself across his features.
"T-Then what are we supposed to do?" His voice trembled slightly, a clear reflection of the anxiety that now hung in the air between them.
Orin's glare landed like a hammer on Vox, making him recoil instinctively.
"What do you think, genius? We bash that guy's skull in and get it back!"
Before she could say more, she felt a gentle but firm hand settle on her shoulder.
It was Jinn's.
"You need to calm down, Orin," Jinn said softly, his voice steady and firm, offering a kind of quiet strength.
"We've got time. We'll get it back. I promise you."
Orin's lips quivered as she fought back both anger and emotion.
Her posture relaxed just slightly.
She inhaled deeply, her chest rising with restraint.
"You're right... You're right, Jinn..." she finally breathed, her voice softer now, though her eyes still burned with smoldering fury.
She fell silent after that, turning her gaze away from the man who held her sister's necklace.
But the storm inside her mind had not calmed.
Biyo, who stood just a few steps behind them, had caught fragments of their tense exchange.
Stroking his thick beard, he narrowed his eyes and studied the adult man across the opposite line of slaves.
He squinted in thought, his instincts piqued.
"That man…" Biyo muttered under his breath.
His gaze lingered a moment longer, searching for something—some sign or recognition.
Then he shook his head slowly and turned away. "No. I'm certain that wasn't him," he said, almost convincing himself, before letting the matter drop—for now.
Within minutes, the slaves were forced into formation, lined up two by two under the stern guidance of soldiers.
Each group was herded through narrow corridors, their feet dragging, shoulders sagging.
Tension hung heavy in the air, a shared fatigue that touched every step.
Jinn's group joined the formation, falling in alongside other ragged survivors.
It was clear now—many had not made it through the first ritual.
*thud! *thud! *clack!
As the long hallway echoed with the shuffle of sandals and boots, Jinn looked around, taking in the glaring reduction in numbers.
His jaw tightened.
"Looks like plenty didn't make it," he muttered darkly to himself.
And many more won't, he thought grimly.
At the front of the procession, the distinct silhouette of the warden—Evakhell—loomed large.
'His' commanding presence led the march like a shepherd guiding cattle to market, cold and detached.
Jinn's eyes flicked sideways.
Across from him, in the line directly parallel, walked Vox.
Jinn leaned slightly toward him and asked in a low tone, "Vox, what exactly is this public viewing?"
Vox darted his eyes left and right before raising a hand to his mouth, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"It's exactly what it sounds like. A display. The public gets to observe and evaluate each of us… like livestock."
He leaned closer.
"The nobles will be there too," he added in a whisper laced with something cold and sharp.
Orin, who had been listening in from a few steps away, gave a mocking scoff.
"Oh wonderful," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
She flailed her hands in exaggerated excitement, before her face hardened into a grim snarl.
"They're probably out here shopping for their next favorite toys. The Bastards."
She clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles went white. "I'll never forgive the Zerafhon. Not after what they did to Nevi."
===
As the march continued, the scenery around them began to shift.
Gone were the worn-down walls and prisoner corridors of the slave quarters.
They now passed through an area brimming with military infrastructure—sharp angles, towering barracks, and grim watchtowers stood sentry at every intersection.
*Clang! *Bang! *Ding!
The sounds of metallic bangs, training grunts, and clashing blades filled the air, echoing off steel walls.
*Vrrrrrrrrrrr!!!
Fighter ships screamed overhead, their engines leaving trails in the sky, while heavy cargo transports rumbled along reinforced roads.
Everywhere Jinn looked, there were soldiers—hundreds of them—marching in organized formations, some being barked at by officers, others preparing for deployment.
Zerafhon's militarism was on full display.
Jinn scoffed inwardly.
So this is their true face—a world addicted to war and power.
Eventually, the slaves were led into a massive open-field encampment, sprawling and surrounded by towering transparent walls that loomed over them.
The walls offered no privacy, no safety—
just exposure.
They weren't meant to protect the slaves, they were meant to showcase them like specimens behind glass.
As if they were filthy dogs, being showcased, to find their potential owners.
Inside the compound were dozens of nobles and upper-class citizens dressed in garments of silk and steel.
Some fanned themselves with gold-inlaid fans, others gripped swords or ornate rifles.
Their expressions were mixed—curiosity, disdain, hunger.
Their eyes fell on the slaves like wolves eyeing meat.
"There they are…" Orin growled under her breath, her voice shaking with suppressed rage.
"Those fucking monsters."
*CLANG!
The heavy gate clanged open with a sharp metallic groan,
*Grrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!
its teeth grinding like something from a beast.
The soldiers wasted no time.
"Enter!"
one of them barked, prompting a wave of shoves and orders as the slaves were forced through the threshold.
One by one, they stumbled into the encampment.
Some limped, others dragged their feet, many with heads down—defeated.
Most of them had already given up, without souls upon their eyes.
Save for Jinn and his friends—
and of course, those who walked like wolves among sheep,
The Strong.
Evakhell—guised as the warden, stepped forward to a raised podium.
With a loud stomp of his boots, he claimed everyone's attention as his voice boomed through hidden speakers.
"For today and the next four days, all slaves will remain here—for the purposes of public viewing," he declared, his voice cold and mechanical.
His gaze then turned toward the outer fence where crowds of civilians watched eagerly.
"Civilians are permitted to observe the slaves at their leisure. However, any interference with the activities of the nobles will not be tolerated."
Turning back toward the slaves, his glare tightened.
"Every one of you will obey any noble's request without hesitation. If chosen to accompany them outside the encampment, you are to comply. No refusals. No excuses."
He tapped a glowing pad on his wrist, triggering a soft beep.
"All slaves will return to this encampment by the end of the fourth day. That is—before the second slave ritual begins."
Silence followed.
.
.
.
The air turned thick, colder somehow.
The pause lingered long enough to feel like a threat.
Then, with a dismissive wave of his gloved hand, the warden gave the final order:
"Let the public viewing commence!"