Zarekh's caravan lurched into motion, heading for Arenjun, a city with alleys even more twisted and dark than those of Shadizar, if such a thing were possible. The journey was meant to take three days.
From the first step, the harsh reality of his new condition descended upon Brannok. Chained by a heavy iron link to the back of a wagon laden with cages and equipment, he was treated worse than a beast. The guards, on Zarekh's orders, completely ignored him. It was a deliberate test, a way to break his spirit and measure his tenacity. No food was thrown to him, no waterskin was offered. To them, he was just a dusty, miserable shadow dragged in their wake.
The Hyborian sun was merciless, scorching the earth and parching men's throats. The dust churned up by wheels and hooves dried his throat and stung his eyes. His wrists bled from the chafing of the rough irons.
But Brannok was no ordinary child.
As thirst began to burn in his gut, he forced his mind to ignore the pain and focus on what his heightened senses could offer him. His keen sight scanned not the endless road, but its edges. He no longer saw just stones, but the microcosms of life hidden there.
He noticed the morning dew, minute, clinging to the shade of a rock. Dragging himself to the very limit of his chain, he managed to lap up the precious moisture with his tongue, momentarily relieving the aridity in his mouth.
Later, his sense of smell guided him. A faint scent of moisture and chlorophyll reached him. He spotted a plant with thick, fleshy leaves growing boldly in a crack. He recognized one that Shani, his Kushite aunt, had shown him. A houseleek. Without hesitation, he ripped it up and chewed it, extracting a bitter but revitalizing juice.
The guards, seeing him bend down, sneered. "Look at the little one, he's grazing like a sheep!"
They didn't understand. They didn't see what Brannok saw.
His sharp senses transformed the apparent desert into a potential pantry. He spotted slow-moving insects crossing the road, fleshy beetles he caught with lightning speed and swallowed raw, their protein easing the cramps in his stomach. He identified edible roots beneath the soil, which he dug up with fingers already hard as stone.
Hunger, thirst, and exhaustion were his new masters, but he faced them with the calm and intelligence of a survivor. He didn't strain against his chain; he conserved his energy. He didn't beg; he observed and adapted.
On the evening of the first day, as the caravan halted and the guards lit a fire, laughing and drinking, Zarekh himself looked back at the chained child. Brannok was sitting in the dust, motionless, his eyes open. He didn't seem on the verge of collapse. On the contrary, in the twilight glow, his grey eyes seemed to absorb the last light, gleaming with a cold lucidity.
A small smile played on Zarekh's thick lips. It wasn't a smile of pity, but of greedy satisfaction. The child was even more resilient than he had hoped. This savage endurance, this ability to draw life from where there was only death, had immeasurable value in the arena.
Brannok, for his part, didn't even look at the men's fires. He watched the first stars piercing the Hyborian night. He listened to the sounds of nature, the cries of nocturnal predators. This was a lesson harder than any blow. A lesson in solitude, survival, and the deep nature of the world into which he had been born. And he was learning it, minute by minute, painful step by step. Every insect eaten, every drop of dew drunk, was a secret victory, a silent affirmation of his will to live.