Submerged in a dream, struggling for something more. Being asleep on this rainy day wasn't very pleasant, because tomorrow he would wake up and have to travel again. He had to get up early. He had to be awake very early.
"..."
Hello, Lior…
"..."
A voice…
"..."
"Hello, Lior…"
"..."
A voice…
"..."
[???: Hello, Lior…]
"..."
She was standing in front of him.
[???: Hey…]
[Lior: …]
[???: Hey, Lior…]
"..."
[???: Lior… hey…]
[Lior: …]
Lior was lying on his bed, trying to open his eyes. The light in the room made his vision sting. He was lying there, in his room, in his bed.
[???: You have to get up…]
[Lior: …]
He tried to open his eyes. He heard something beautiful—a syrupy voice that sweetened his morning. That voice belonged to a woman standing before him. His mind was clearing; he was just waking up, his gaze still unsteady. He tried to look ahead, toward where that sweet voice was coming from. His gaze—his deep blue gaze—was slowly opening. His eyes looked pale, lacking their usual shine. His hair was messy, and his body was unclean.
He felt a hand touch his, in an act of strangeness. That hand was gently rubbed by another—soft and warm. Lior was trying to return to himself, to go back inside himself again and again. His eyes opened with fatigue, opened beneath dark circles. He looked forward, at someone beside him, someone holding him in one way or another. He was there, being pampered somehow, being gently spoiled by something. This feeling—it felt so foreign. Over this past year, he had completely lost it.
Lior opened his eyes, little by little, with great discomfort. They felt heavy, but he saw something reflected before him—a person he recognized.
Lior looked and looked, trying to shape that figure. He looked and looked, until he felt a tingling in his body. He looked and looked, searching for meaning in this. He looked and looked, at the one standing in front of him.
He looked…
He looked…
He looked…
But—
[Lior: Hah…]
His eyes flew wide open.
"..."
[???: What's wrong, Lior?]
[Lior: …]
Lior was stunned. He couldn't form even a single word. His mind, his head, his body—his everything—froze. Lior kept staring, staring and staring, looking and looking. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't. No—there was no way.
[???: Uhm?]
The cat boy's hands tightened, gripping the woman's hand firmly. Lior didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. He can't believe it. His tail stopped and went rigid in the air, and his ears stretched straight up. She was there. She was there. She and he were there.
[Lior: Ah…]
[???: ?]
He stared, trying to give her shape. It can't be. It can't be. It can't be—please, no. Really… really. Are you truly here?
[Lior: A-ah…]
She was there. You're here. She's really here. She's here and here and here. In front of me—right in front of my face—touching my hands, my body. Her, her—it's her. Yes—no—yes, it is, it is. Her—her! She's there.
"..."
[Lior: Mom…]
[Mom: …]
"..."
It can't…
She's here. I can see her with my own eyes, after so, so long. Her—it's her—after so long. My mom. My mother. My mommy. She's here. She's finally in front of me.
She—she—she is here…
"..."
[Lior: Ah… mom…]
Tears began to spill out of nowhere. Lior's face was stricken with shock, his eyes wide open, the dark circles beneath them painfully visible. His mouth hung open and his tail dropped limp. His ears were fully extended. Lior was there, unable to believe what he was seeing—yet naïve enough to believe it. His hands, his legs, his head, his body—all of him was trembling.
In front of him was the woman who gave birth to him, who raised him and cared for him his whole life. The woman he had stopped seeing a year ago, the one he wasn't allowed to see, the one he had no way of seeing. His tears—his tears—began to fall harder, and without moving from his place, he started crying unconsciously.
To be in front of her. To stand before her. To touch her, to feel her—so much. He felt fear. He felt terror. My mother had abandoned me. She came back—now she came back. Face to face.
Nothing—no one—never. He never imagined seeing her like this. That she would see him like this. Like a filthy slave who had been used as a sexual object for a year. He didn't want that to be her first impression. He didn't want her to see him that way. Wait—I don't want this. Not yet. I don't want you to see me yet. I'm unkempt and almost naked—not yet. I don't want this. I don't want this.
But—
[Lylia: LIOR!]
[Lior: Ahg!]
"..."
He received a blow from his own mot—
Wait…
[Lylia: H-Hey… c-calm down…]
[Lior: Lylia…]
Lior looked everywhere, hurriedly searching for his mother—his mother who had been right in front of him. He didn't see her. He didn't feel her. She wasn't there. She wasn't in front of him anymore. What? She's not here. She's nowhere. She's not here—she's not—and she's not—
[Lylia: Lior! C-Calm down, for God's sake…]
[Lior: Hah…]
[Lylia: There's no one here. Your mother isn't here. It's night and it's raining—can't you tell?]
[Lior: Hah… hah…]
Lior scanned his surroundings, his eyes wide open as he examined the space—the room he had fallen asleep in. That cramped cubicle with a poor excuse of a window on one side. There was no trace of his mother, not even anything familiar. Only Lylia stood in front of him. She was gripping one of his arms and steadying him with the other. There was nothing. There was nothing.
[Lior: Hah… hah…]
The cat boy was breathing frantically. His body was drenched in suffocating sweat. He looked at himself and saw his desperation in his own gestures. His hands were spread open, and his tail was tightly wrapped around his leg. His body was arched, his spine bent backward. His eyes didn't blink—he was in a complete state of loss of control.
Lior looked at himself and began to steady his breathing. His body slowly settled, and he became aware of what he was doing. His pupils, once shrunk to tiny dots, dilated fully again. His gaze shifted to the elf in front of him, who looked frightened by something.
[Lylia: Uff… ah… God…]
[Lior: …]
[Lylia: Thank God I woke you up. You were talking in your sleep, so I touched you to wake you. It seems you mistook me for your mom.]
[Lior: Ah…]
Lylia finally let go of the demi-human and lay fully back down on the floor at his side. She stared at the ceiling above her, though she couldn't see much in the darkness. The window cast a faint glow downward.
[Lylia: Oh… God…]
She covered her face with both hands and pressed against it in frustration.
[Lylia: Good thing you didn't make too much noise. It looks like not all of them woke up.]
She was referring to the other girls in the room, who were glancing sideways at what had happened between the elf and the cat boy. The white-haired elf girl pulled her hands away from her face and let them rest at her sides, trying to regain some sense of calm. She hadn't fully recovered her patience or composure yet.
[Lylia: …]
She grabbed her blanket and covered herself again, doing so to fall back asleep.
Lior watched the whole scene while sitting on the floor. His hands also passed over his face, and he held his head with them. His hair fell over his arms, almost covering them completely. His long, straight hair brushed against his limbs. He had lost his reason again. His mind had collapsed. Somehow, he had lost himself once more.
[Lior: Ah…]
Lior dropped back onto the ground again, lowering himself with a slight movement and catching his fall with both arms. He stared at the ceiling, lost within himself, staring at it after feeling that back-and-forth inside his own mind. He didn't really know what he was feeling. He didn't fully understand his emotions. He lost his calmness—but at the same time he didn't. It came as if to stay, and then it left. It was something strange, a little extreme. To see yourself—but not really look at yourself, not recognize yourself. That was the closest he could get to describing what he found within himself.
I don't even know anymore—is it worth it or not? I don't even know what I'm thinking. I'm just something distant from myself.
This white ceiling—I say it's white because it represents my emptiness. In reality, the ceiling is brown wood. I just like seeing it as white because it reminds me of me. Is that true? I don't know anymore. I've given myself to nothing.
"..."
Lior pulled his blanket over himself and turned onto his side.
"..."
No, there's no need to think. Sleep—but I don't want to. But I have to sleep. That's what comes now. This is the moment.
But—
But nothing. There is no "but." Go to sleep. I'll sleep—I'll sleep no matter what. Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep.
Nothing good comes out of this.
Yes.
Nothing good comes from anything.
Nothing…
Nothing.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
[Coachman: WAKE UP, ALL OF YOU!]
"..."
Return, feel, escape.
[Lior: Uhg…]
Lior had woken up.
The coachman's shout echoed throughout the room, making all the slaves jolt awake. Some were startled by the yell, others were simply irritated, and some were still trying to process what was happening.
The same thing was happening to Lior. He looked like someone drunk after a party—except he managed to grasp what was going on. He sat up weakly, his body tilting to one side, almost falling. He quickly straightened himself. He supported his body with his right hand while rubbing his eyes with the left. The dark circles beneath them were enormous; it seemed he hadn't slept well at all that night. His eyes reflected no shine—only a lost gaze that slowly steadied as his mind cleared. He looked around and saw that several slaves were already getting to their feet. Lylia, who was beside him, was covering her face with both forearms.
The cat boy came back to himself and looked down at his limbs. He recognized his hands, opening and closing them, acknowledging his body as a whole. Not eating or sleeping properly was gnawing at his fragile awareness. Last night he had suffered a nightmare he would never forget. Even so, now he was sitting there, staring at himself, half-lost.
[Coachman: Hurry the hell up!]
All the slaves were trying to pull themselves together. It wasn't easy to come back to yourself after sleeping on the floor—though this was still several times better than sleeping in that rattling carriage. Come back to yourself. Breathe. Get lost. Not know where to go. Turn. Turn. Recognize the order.
Lior looked up at where the coachman stood and immediately got to his feet. His legs were weak; he almost collapsed from dizziness as the blood rushed to his head. He steadied himself and opened his eyes wide.
The coachman stared at them with disdain. He was furious, glaring at all the slaves with anger. Then he grabbed the first girl he saw by the arm and threw her out of the room. She crashed against the hard wooden floor. That blow must have woken her completely. She tried to stand but failed the first time, hitting her jaw again. She tried again and fell to the side. Finally, after several desperate attempts, she managed to stand, holding her left arm with her right hand.
Lior watched as the slave kept trying to regain her composure, but he didn't have time for that. First, he needed to compose himself—to wake up completely and act according to the moment. That was when Lior turned to look at the man.
But the man was already standing right in front of him.
"..."
The man grabbed him by the shoulder. Lior looked up in shock—he still hadn't processed anything. Then he was shoved violently, losing his balance and slamming against the floor. Desperately, Lior dragged his feet against the ground, kicking to gain enough momentum to stand. His fingers scraped against the floor for support; his hands pushed him up, and finally he managed to rise—only to run straight into the empty wall ahead.
His face struck the wall. In a half-dazed state, he looked back. His arm dragged along the surface, and blood began to flow from his nose from the impact. He slid roughly against the wall until he reached the doorframe. There he waited for the other slaves to pass.
All of them were distressed, desperately running toward the door. Several fell just like Lior had. Finally, the last one came out—the brown-haired cat girl. Lior glanced to the side and looked in fear at that imposing figure—the man.
He turned his gaze back to the doorway and quickly stepped out of the room. The man was approaching from behind, ready to shove him again. Lior shot forward and collided with the brown-haired girl. They both fell together—him on top, her beneath. Lior became completely disoriented, losing himself for a moment. He looked around without recognizing anything until he felt the urgent need to stand. Climbing off the girl beneath him, he quickly used his hands to push himself up. With a rough movement, he forced his legs to work, swaying to the side but ultimately managing to stand.
The girl did something similar. She waited for the weight above her to lift, then rolled her body aside with a quick motion to get up.
The man behind them merely watched the chaos he had caused, his expression indifferent and lazy. He simply turned around, grabbed the doorknob, and closed the door. He locked it and looked at the now-settled commotion. Some girls stood weakly, hunched over; others clutched specific limbs; and some simply stared at him in fear. Trembling, they looked at him with wide eyes and pronounced dark circles beneath them.
The man snorted through his nose and smiled while stroking his chin. He glanced to the side and closed his eyes briefly, adjusting his posture. Then he cast a sidelong look at the slaves again and made a gesture with his hand.
[Coachman: Follow me. Put your hoods on.]
The man began walking down the hallway ahead, his expression serious. It was the same corridor they had crossed the night before—the same one that had echoed with the disgusting ramblings of the drunks downstairs.
The slaves glanced at one another and pulled up the hoods that hung behind their backs. Each of them looked forward with uncertainty, but sadly, they walked anyway. They followed the man who had thrown them around like trash just moments ago, simply because they could not disobey. They moved behind him through that hallway lined with multiple rooms on both sides—doors and more doors, each connected to other rooms.
They reached the end of it, to those stairs filled with bad memories.
[Coachman: We're leaving through the same place we entered yesterday. Follow me.]
[Slaves: …]
The coachman's face looked somewhat pale, with incredibly pronounced dark circles under his eyes. It seemed he hadn't slept at all—he had been watching over the slaves. That same face looked downward; he swallowed a bit of saliva and glanced back at the girls. He snorted through his nose again.
[Coachman: They don't pay me enough for this…]
He muttered something no one heard and brought a hand to his face to rub his eyes. Then he blinked repeatedly and turned to look at the stairs leading down. Steeling himself, he began descending them.
With simple and careful movements, the slaves followed behind. The blood from Lior's nose was still visible, and he held one arm with the other hand. It seemed his arm had truly been injured from the repeated blows.
"..."
They went down the stairs carefully and quietly, trying not to draw attention. Even though dawn was breaking, there were probably still people inside the establishment.
Finally, they reached the bottom. They scanned the place cautiously and saw people asleep at the tables. Some of the drunks from the previous night were still there, but despite their presence, they were now passed out and hungover enough not to be a problem.
Quickly, the slaves and the coachman moved forward together. They went straight to the kitchen and passed through its doors. A few cooks and a small number of maids were on duty, likely because at this hour hardly anyone would come. The maids looked at the slaves with dry, distant expressions. The cooks did nothing—not even glancing their way.
The entire group of slaves remained uneasy and somewhat fearful; all eyes were directed at them. The coachman glanced back and saw the girls walking in a line. He turned forward again and finished his path at the exit door. Grabbing the handle, he opened it and let them pass.
The red-haired dog girl at the front continued walking. She stepped outside and headed toward the stable from the day before. The route was obvious, so no one mentioned it. The others followed her, each walking with her head lowered. The coachman simply closed the door and then followed behind them.
They arrived at the stable, and all of them lined up side by side to organize themselves. The coachman arrived and looked at each one. Satisfied, he scratched his head and glanced toward the entrance. It seemed Lord Helmet hadn't arrived yet.
They would have to wa—
[Don: Perfect…]
"..."
Huh?
[Slaves: …]
[Coachman: Uhg…]
"..."
Everyone there was startled. They turned around to see where the voice had come from. A man with exceptionally refined tastes appeared from behind the carriage.
[Don: You there.]
[Coachman: U-uh… Yes, sir?]
[Don: Well done.]
[Coachman: …]
The coachman's eyes widened.
[Coachman: Y-yes… Thank you, sir.]
But he averted his gaze to the side.
[Don: …]
Helmet didn't care much about his reaction and turned to look at the slaves. He examined them from head to toe and stepped closer for a better look.
[Lior: …]
[Don: …]
He stopped in front of Lior, who looked weak and battered. His tail hung low, as did his ears, and his gaze was lost as he stared at the man before him.
Don crouched down to be at the demi-human's level and grabbed Lior's cheeks with one hand. He examined him carefully, inspecting parts of his face. He tilted his head to one side and checked the side of his face, then did the same to the other. He lifted Lior's chin to see his eyes and looked directly into them. Those eyes that once seemed like diamonds were now dull, without shine. Then, with his other hand, Don pried open Lior's small mouth, inspecting his teeth and saliva-covered tongue.
He released Lior's mouth, and while still holding his face, glanced sideways at the other slaves. Each of them appeared to be in similar condition—that saved him the trouble of inspecting them one by one. He looked back at the demi-human in front of him. Lior met his gaze with pale but steady eyes. Helmet smiled at that and then stroked the cat boy's head, touching his ears and hair. Lior felt uncomfortable at the gesture. Rather than pleasure from the touch on his head, he felt disgust toward the emotion behind it.
Helmet finally let go of Lior's cheeks and stopped petting him. Don stood up properly and looked toward where the coachman was standing.
[Don: We're leaving. Load them all up.]
[Coachman: Y-yes… Lord Helmet.]
Reacting a bit late to Helmet's order, the coachman approached the carriage with a key he pulled from his left pocket. While he did that, Helmet walked toward his own carriage, where Petra was already waiting with the door open.
With a simple motion, the coachman unlocked the cage door and turned to look at Lior. Since he was last in line—and because the red-haired dog girl who had been at the front had moved to the far side to avoid getting close to the carriage—he had to obey.
With a somewhat hesitant look, Lior approached the man. The coachman grabbed him and lifted him into the carriage. He fell inside like a sack of potatoes—only this time, Lior didn't feel as much pain.
The brown-haired girl went in after Lior, pushed forward into the carriage. The same happened with Lylia, the light-blue-haired cat girl, the gray-haired one, the rabbit girl, and the red-haired dog girl.
Once inside, they positioned themselves much like they had before.
Then the coachman shut the door again.
Lior let his head fall onto Lylia's shoulder, and she was startled by it. The cat boy closed his eyes, and Lylia looked at him with slight concern.
The coachman went to speak with Helmet on the other side and disappeared from the slaves' field of vision.
They waited there, already loaded in and everything done.
They waited.
And waited.
All of them.
They waited.
The carriage began to move…
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Cloudy, but not raining. The wind was cool, and it was cold. Passing through the streets in the early morning, sitting in a corner—the same corner he had been in all these days. Look. Breathe. Watch.
The carriage turned a corner, heading somewhere obvious. After taking that turn, the city center came into view. In the middle of the city stood a large building, surrounded by many signs and with a huge sign on its roof. That construction was surely the Adventurers' Guild, since people were constantly entering and leaving. Even from afar, the place looked curious—different.
Nothing could be done. It was so close, yet so far at the same time.
A wide street connected everything. This must be the main road, since it was the largest one, along with the one they had crossed yesterday. These streets likely connected to the city's exits. Crossing the entire town by carriage was interesting—it was new, it was different. To feel something else, to see a society different from the one you already know—it clashes with you, honestly. But even if everything was different, the cat boy had already been here for a year, living in this place.
For him, all of this was still foreign—but also familiar. In this year, he had learned many things. How society behaves. Certain standards. Ways of speaking. A bit of history. Accents. All of that—simple things. He hadn't been able to learn beyond the basics, because there was no need. Nor did he have the means or methods to learn more. He was simply here, waiting—and that was it. This was as far as he could go. This was as far as he was allowed to go.
Lior watched through the same small opening he had used yesterday. He looked at the stone streets where people walked, at the stalls with hanging signs.
There he was, watching the Adventurers' Guild from afar. People came out wearing extravagant outfits, others in simpler clothes. Some carried weapons, others enormous staffs. Incredible.
The carriage slowed to pay the toll. It stopped—then continued forward.
From here. From now. From never. Maybe he would have another chance to see a guild again. It was incredible—to see that, like a dream fulfilled. But now he had to leave.
He is a slave…
The journey resumes, once more.