Wynd had lost track of how long he had been in the isolated cage, although in truth it was closer to an isolation room or prison cell that people would be put into while their punishments were being decided. He even remembered being in one for about half a day before he was sentenced to slavery.

Where he was kept, he barely had any light peeking through a tiny slit on the top of the wall and had been given many days of food and water all at once making it harder for him to keep track of the days passing.

When he had returned from his outing with the rising flame, Wynd knew that he would be questioned and most likely locked up. He knew that would be the situation and hoped that his obedience and honesty during his first six years of slavery would be enough for them to trust his words. Returning on his own was something he had also hoped would give those who could make the choice that he was waiting on a reason to be lenient or trust what he was saying.

It wasn’t unheard of for a slave to kill someone who rented them or owned them, although it was pretty rare. This was mostly because people knew that it often resulted in their death if they attempted it. That and those who were seen as a risk often wouldn't become slaves people could interact with, leading either to a job that was barely a step away from execution or slavery in a place where they couldn't see many people beyond other dangerous slaves.

Most, like him, didn’t want to risk the freedom they could eventually get. Even those who were slaves for life without being deemed a risk, often either had no literal owner to attack or didn’t hate the one who owned them enough to do consider it.

Wynd had only heard of one story of it happening that he knew was true, or at least was as certain as he could be without seeing it personally. The story was about a short term slave who had killed her owner because the owner was trying to flay the skin off of a different young slave girl who, from what he had heard, was still years away from her first natural bleed.

Apparently many people thought that the man who was killed didn’t deserve sympathy, but that the law must be applied or others might kill their owners and claim false reasons for doing so that sounded reasonable.

It was for that reason the woman, a rare dwarven beast kin mix breed had been sentenced to death and her head stuck on a pike outside of her former owner's home until the birds had pecked away enough flesh that there was barely more than bone.

Trying not to think about that possibility too hard, Wynd shuddered.

He had told the soldiers, or maybe some were politicians or nobles or something else, everything that he could remember except the knife. The only thing he didn’t talk about was the dagger the man had. He mentioned throwing knives and the man's speed and skill, but never the odd knife that wouldn’t cut bare flesh or what he suspected it did to his magic.

Touching his left ear, Wynd began to wonder if he would have been better off taking one of the blades and removing his ear.

He hated pain enough that he never really thought about it, but seeing the possible punishment waiting for him he couldn’t help but curse his past self. Even if people with missing left ears were often talked to by guards to check if they were runaways and treated worse than other people, it would be better than death.

After five days, or maybe ten, or twenty, or more as he had long since lost track, the door to his cell opened up completely for the first time since he had been put in it. The only other time it was opened was when the flap was moved and food and drink were slid in.

The sudden appearance of abundant light blinded Wynd as he looked at the blurry figure.

“Get up. One of the soldiers bought you.”

While he couldn’t make out the figure, the voice told him it was Narretu, the woman who owned and rented out all the slaves in the building.

As he stood up, Wynd was slowly able to see the woman's features again. A middle-aged woman whose body was managing well, but not as well as others he had seen. She was a bit overweight, but in this community that was something to be admired. Her smile, chilling as it was, told him that she was happy, which meant that he was indeed sold and not just rented out.

His experience with her had taught him that bought could mean rented or sold, but the size of her smile was always larger when she had made money from a complete sale. He knew those were rarer because most people didn’t want to buy a short term slave unless they weren’t expected to survive.

All at once, he thought of the rumors he had heard about how some slaves were executed. How many of them would be punished worse than if it was done by a non-slave as a message to current and future slaves? He imagined his face, lifeless and dead staring at the people who he hoped could be his community once his ten years were over.

“Understood," he said with a hint of trepidation, "Did they buy some clothing for me to wear out or should I keep on my current clothing?”

Narretu looked Wynd up and down, reaching between his legs before she gave him a slight squeeze with her entire hand, “Sadly they didn’t seem to care about this part of you or they might have bought something to show it off. You will be given some normal clothing to wear. Basic servant's attire. Now follow me.”

Having been released from his former owners' grip, Wynd followed her and changed into the simple linen clothing that had been purchased either with or for him.

As he covered up, a part of him thought about how, if nothing else, his death at the soldiers' hands would at least cut his suffering short. He almost felt grateful that he would no longer have to visit Narretu’s room to help comfort her or put on a show with some of the other slaves for her or her guests' amusement.

Waiting in the front room, Wynd stood as he had been taught. He went over the mantra in his head as he waited for his new owner or owners to arrive.

Feet together, stomach in, chest out, shoulders back, chin up, eyes alive.

He didn’t really care what the people around him or coming to get him thought of him, but the process was keeping his mind occupied as he tried to keep the panic at bay.

The man with the dagger had said that Tarin was likely to survive, but had also gone after him.

Realizing that the beastkin might have died was something that Wynd had thought about. Realizing, however, that worrying would do nothing he had pushed it out of his mind quickly, wishing he had a way to know if the beastkin had survived.

The guild where most of the general workers, or as most above the red rank prefer to be called adventurers, got their jobs had a way to verify if someone was alive or dead. He imagined that this was so they knew for sure if certain missions were no longer being worked on, even if they couldn't verify the success or lack of success right away.

While the sun had been touching the horizon when he was made to stand in wait, Wynd only realized the time because the sun seemed to be setting instead of rising. It had nearly set completely when the door opened and in came a soldier he didn’t recognize.

It was a beastkin with scales and enough of his animal features to let Wynd know that he was fully grown and likely not just a recruit.

“I assume you are the slave known as Wynd. Is that right?”

Wynd stood frozen for a moment as he kept in his expected pose. Staring at the man's form he couldn’t help but see how his hands were large enough to wrap around his neck and his entire form dwarfed him greatly. He found himself thinking about those hands choking the life out of his body slowly with a dark smile on his face.

Only when the man cleared his throat did he snap back into the world, instead of looking at the visible fangs and piercing eyes.

“Sorry. Yes, I am the slave known as Wynd. Punishment ten years with just under four remaining. Are you the one who bought me, sir?”

While his words were a little bit rushed, they were able to be understood completely without any need for repetition.

This was little comfort to Wynd as the man leaned in close and flicked his forked tongue at him.

“We will clean you before we go to Elya. She is the one who bought you.”

It took a moment for Wynd to remember where he knew the name. It was the name of one of the people who had interrogated him when he had returned. He could only assume it was either really good or really bad that the person who had bought him was also someone who had interviewed him.

“I see,” Wynds words were soft at first but grew back to a typical volume after his pause, “Does she had a title or name I should call her by?”

The beastkin, rather than answering, jerked a finger to the door, “Ask her when you see her. I believe that she is waiting to use you to carry things on the way to the capital.”

Multiple thoughts went through Wynd's mind all at once.

He was expected to carry things towards the capital. That, unless he was mistaken, meant that they had no plans to end his life. There was a part of him that thought they would just march him without food and water until his death while using him like a beast of burden, but he pushed that thought aside.

His other thought was how he would have been in worse trouble if his magic hadn’t returned.

It wasn’t like he was unable to use magic at all, but after the interactions with the flames killer, as he called him, he wasn’t able to use the one magic he thought of as the magic that he felt was truly his.

Every other magic he had picked up he could use, but not HIS magic. Without it, he felt as if he had his very essence stripped away to nothing. Even now he wasn't sure if the man's dagger had taken his magic away, as he suspected, or if it was a trap of false information that would hurt if it was revealed.

The use of his magic had returned to him within the next day, but he wasn’t sure when exactly it happened. It seemed to be back without any fanfare as he went on his travels back to his owner.

Thinking back on that day, Wynd wondered if what had stripped his magic away was able to strip away magic that easily from everyone. If so he realized why that man was so confident in his ability to beat someone regardless of what magic they might have.

“I understand,” Wynd confirmed as his mind focused again, “I’ll be a beast of burden for my new owner.”

When Wynd was brought to his new owner, he did a slight bow to her as he was presented to her. She looked like he remembered. Slightly tall with hair cut short and a strong figure that, while he felt like he might be stronger than her thanks to his magic, she had the look of being the stronger of the pair. Although the eyes that used to seem piercing now seemed to be slightly softer while still being just as intense.

“Hello. I’m not sure what you want me to call you or how you want me to act, but if you tell me I will do my best to accommodate while you hold ownership.”

Elya didn’t even look at him as she whistled, “The carrier is here. Treat him like any day one recruit except his only job is to carry and follow unless I say otherwise.”

Even though Wynd didn’t know what he might expect from his new owner, being ignored in such a way wasn’t even on his mental list.

Before he could speak up again a lot of the people who had been milling around to an extent seemed to draw a focus to him. It wasn’t long before more and more items were being given to him to be carried. His few words as it was being forced on him were ignored until everyone there had given him something to carry, amounting to multiple packs connected together into a large one with various tools attached to the side.

“Soljak,” Elya said with a strong authoritative voice, “Make sure he has a proper place to sleep tonight, and put him in formation for the speech, because if he gets lost I’ll personally blame you.”

Soljak was an elven woman who looked like a strong wind might blow her over, but she still had all of the proper travel armor and other essential items needed for the long trek. She approached Wynd and grabbed his arm, pulling him into a spot next to her that was also surrounded by others on all sides.

“Since you don’t look especially strong I suspect you have magic to make up for what you lack. That isn’t uncommon. That said this won’t be easy and your magic is probably why you got picked up. We need everyone, including slaves, to put in the effort to get better."

Even though Wynd thought the elves' words were harsh, the tone didn’t have the bite that he would have expected from Elya or the man who had first taken him from his former owner. Although he did admit, his take on the beastkin's tone could have been in his mind.

“Understood.”

Wynd didn’t know how long this trip would take, having never gone too far from home until his enslavement. He had heard that some people will take an entire season to get there, but he also heard that with fast enough people and minimal weight that some people could make it there in as little as six days. The dramatic difference in what he had heard made him even less sure of what to expect.

When everyone was in formation, Elya went to the front of the group and took out something that could only be seen by those closest to her, meaning Wynd was unable to since he was in the second to last row with Soljak

“Troops.”

The voice boomed louder than it had any natural right to. If they hadn’t already been set up well beyond where any homes were, Wynd thought that there would be a lot of complaints about the noise.

“We are about to begin our long trek. While some of you have done this sort of work, others have done it rarely and some not at all.”

Elya's eyes rested on a few people as she said the last part, but she seemed to be avoiding Wynd’s direction. That was if he was reading her line of sight right.

“Those of you who fall will not be stopped for. You will be expected to catch up on your own. If you are not good enough to stay with us at least prove you are good enough to find us again.”

Wynd wasn’t sure what to think of this speech. He expected something a bit different than this. Something closer to camaraderie like all the adventurers he worked with seemed to have, or at least those who were together for more than a season or two.

Suddenly all eyes were on Wynd, and he needed a few seconds to realize why. Elya was pointing at him.

“That is my slave. I bought him to carry my stuff. If any of you fail to keep up while he is still managing to, despite having not had any training, I would suggest thinking if this really is the job for you.”

While he wasn’t sure if it was a motivational tactic, a fear tactic, or something else entirely, Wynd felt a bit proud that she bought him for a reason. It also melted away the last of the fear that he was to be executed any time soon. Although he still hoped that instead of just any time soon, it would become never.

“For tonight you will all set up camp. Those of you who lack confidence in that skill will be able to request aid from others but know that over time you will all have to do this on your own. While teamwork is great sometimes you have to work alone. If the person you rely on has something of more importance to deal with for example.”

“If you lack something work hard to gain it. Even a weak swordsman can surprise an expert who thinks they have no skill if the situation is right. Remember that luck favors people who are bold and people who prepare. It can be more useful than skill many times. I have seen a random arrow take out someone with amazing skills just because of bad luck. A gust of wind, light blocking their sight, and many other things can make your minor insignificant skill be all you need, but that should never be relied on. So improve everything."

Elya stood in place for a while and then, removed whatever she had that helped her speak louder to everyone, placing it into a pouch.

Those who had been on this trip in previous years started to move, but the first-timers, Wynd included seemed to wait for just a bit. Elya started to walk around those who weren’t quite moving yet and grabbed ahold of the last one to leave formation with a smile on her face.

Without the tool to amplify her voice, Wynd couldn’t make out much as he followed Soljak to an area where he would set up camp.

“___________ soldier. ______________ set up my tent ______________ expect ______________. ______________ up your ______________.”

Soljak and Wynd set up a pair of tents for the night. Having had many trips out with adventurers he found himself able to set his up faster than many of the people around him, although when he looked beyond his area there were a few that had beaten his speed.

Wynd couldn’t help but imagine that those who were new didn’t have the practice and those who had experience had it with this specific setup. On his trips, it was always whatever tent shelter system the people who had rented him had chosen. He imagined it made him more versatile if they had to camp out with more improvising than expected.

He had been taught that the best way to be hired is to be adaptable to the different people who hired you. Even if everyone who hired you used you for one reason, the next one might have completely different expectations.

In the morning the only one who seemed to be struggling was the soldier who was forced to set up the tent for Elya. He seemed to have gotten less than half a night sleeps, based on Wynd's observations. He made a mental note to not let himself be the last one to move at any time.

Breakfast was quite basic. Instead of cooking anything, they took out some hard bread, dry meat, and a piece of fruit and ate it with some water before getting into a formation. This time, however, instead of Elya being in the front it was the beastkin who had gotten him the night before.

Now Elya was in the back, and she indicated that she wanted Wynd to come to her.

“You didn’t run away.”

Wynd stopped for a second at the words, unsure if he had just been praised or insulted.

“I wasn’t told to run away and I don’t want to give you a reason to dispose of me.”

His words were soft and honest as he adjusted the pack on his back, not because he needed to but because he felt awkward as Elya stared at him silently.

“I suppose that is commendable,” Elya stated bluntly, “I plan to keep you for the rest of your enslavement but only because of some concerns I have about what you told us. That group you were with…. Risen Blaze or something like that is gone save one. That man's survival is why you are alive. Before interviewing him I planned to hand over execution orders.”

Leaning in just a bit she tapped his cheek with one finger and a shock of pain flowed through his upper body. Tears were forming just under his eyes and he barely stood up.

“That is a light touch with my magic. You will stick with us and do as you are told. I promise not to kill you, but pain…. Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind practicing my magic on someone who has no right to complain.”

Once everyone was in position both Elya and the beastkin, that Wynd had learned was named Serpyo, in the front blew a whistle and the group as a whole started to march. Wynd was in the back with his owner.

Even though his pack was beyond that of anyone else's, Wynd had been told that anyone who dropped something would be punished for it, although its severity would depend on what’s lost. However to ensure it wasn’t truly lost he would be forced to carry anything that was dropped, despite the fact it could be placed in the wagons following behind them periodically.

The next several days reminded Wynd of his time with some of the adventurers in some ways. Sure he had an owner instead of a renter now, but it seems that it wasn’t anything that was causing a dramatic difference in his experience.

There was a lot of marching, yelling, and ignoring him unless there was something that needed to be done.

During this part, two of the newer members had fallen due to exhaustion. One had managed to catch up during the next break they had taken for a meal, he was a slightly young human who looked more like an entertainer if Wynd was being honest about appearances. The other one had yet to come back. That man looked to be human, but claimed to have some dwarven blood.

From what Wynd had seen the man probably just wanted to stand out, which he did, but only after he fell behind and hadn’t been seen for a day. The attention, however, was only mocking him while he was no longer there. Many saying someone with dwarven blood likely wouldn't have fallen so soon. He couldn’t help but wonder if the soldier would catch up while they took a day off in the town, or village, or whatever the proper term was for the size of the community.

Regardless of size, however, Wynd had found himself with his owner and everyone else in a place called Haviltus. It was a place that was small but had some places built for travelers and soldiers enjoy themselves. It even had a not quite prison where people could turn in bounties since soldiers would often come to pick them up and verify the identity against the wanted information.

During the three days of rest, the soldiers unwound. He had gotten to know a few of them and one even said he might ask to buy the slave when he got his next bonus. A statement that Wynd wasn't quite sure how to take.

Several had told stories about others they had worked with and, for the first time since his enslavement, Wynd felt like a person, not just a slave.

By the time that they had all gotten ready to go again, Wynd noticed that, in addition to the fake dwarf, someone was missing from the ranks.

Thinking it best to point this out, Wynd decided to approach his owner while everyone was preparing. Suddenly as he was about to open his mouth he realized he never got an answer on what to call her during all this time. Mostly because he barely spoke with her and had enjoyed three days of relaxation.

“Mistress El…”

Wynds words were cut off as if by a blade as Elya spoke, “Just Elya. Or Lady Elya if you need to but I am no Mistress.”

“Sorry. Lady Elya. I just thought I should mention that one of the people who should be getting ready seems to be missing. Should we be worried at all?”

Without even looking at him she smirked, “Ah, you seem to be able to notice things. Good to know.”

Handing Wynd a few items more to put into his pack she pointed to the road ahead.

“That is where Cylla is. She wanted to do a discharge since she built up a good bit of mana. The girl is always trying to improve her scores. Probably the most active spell user of anyone here in both practice and number of non-basic spells as well as her mana score improvement.”

Wynd nodded a bit as Elya kept talking, mostly because he was used to making sure the one who had control of him didn’t think they were being ignored.

“She went ahead and will wait for us after she does her practice. I just hope nothing happens too badly this time.”

Elya looked off into the distance and sighed, “At least she only seems to use destructive magic for discharges. If she was someone who used something like summoning or body enhancement for discharges that would be a reason to forbid her from practicing alone.”

Hearing how his owner spoke about magic he mustered up a bit of courage.

“Would you approve of your slave learning magic Lady Elya?”

As the last of the people got into formation she looked at him. She seemed to be considering him more than he would have liked. He was about to say that it was alright and he didn’t expect to be allowed it when she smirked.

“I’ll think about it, but I will choose what you study if I say yes. It might be a little fun to have someone else to punish the slackers and to hurt prisoners.”

Suddenly, Wynd thought about the soft touch he had felt against his cheek. He couldn’t help but shiver as he recalled the pain that he had been given.

While he couldn’t quite verbalize it in the way he felt, he knew that it was something he didn’t want to have done to him ever again. Would he really be able to do it to others?

Looking at Lady Elya, he remembered that he wouldn’t have a choice. The life of a slave was like that. You became the person that your owner wanted you to be, not the one who you desired to be.

“Understood Lady Elya. If that is what you teach me I will do everything in my power to learn as you desire.”

Placing her middle and pointer finger under Wynd's chin, Elya drew his gaze to hers, “I suppose I could look at your documents, but those are packed away. Tell me, what are your mana scores.”

Unable to draw his attention away from his owner, who somehow seemed to be glowing as her eyes seemed aflame with intensity, he told her the answer to the question.

Once she had her answer she let him go, “That certainly explains a fair amount.”

Shortly after the march started again, less two people from when had first started. Although one was further ahead than the rest, waiting to join her place in formation

Jelianorte was surprised when the artifact had drawn his attention. He hadn't expected to even be part of the choosing, but he felt a strong pull. Even with the risk of a failure he couldn't help but want to try it and, with how much time had passed without his body drying into a husk of meat, it was obvious that the bow was now his.

They called it a bow, but there was no string to it and no ammunition that could be bought or made for it as a result.

He had not done any of the fighting before. He had never joined them for any of the training and was always back at one of the bases doing translations, deciphering, and other academic work. He even would like to read stories as a way of entertaining himself as well as learning about, to a degree, the mindsets of the one who wrote it. Even if it was subtle he had noticed a few things as a result of reading stories popular in different areas.

Now, however, he was out on the field. He was to test the bow that he had gotten.

It was one of the artifacts from the people who were brought here. He couldn't help but hope that the artifact could accommodate the fact that he had never used a bow once in his life.

Getting the artifacts had cost the lives of many people, before and during the ritual. Even now lives were lost as they sacrificed people to connect them with the artifacts and die just to keep them from fading until someone they could connect with was found. Only the dagger had found someone the day it was obtained.

Jelianorte had with him a capable magic-user who specialized in communication magic, three bodyguards, and one slightly capable fighter with quick feet whose job was to get him out of there if something went wrong.

It was a small group, but they were only there to protect the inexperienced artifact user and observe how well it worked.

After four days of traveling off the main roads, they finally saw something, or more correctly someone, that they could test it on. Luckily during those four days, Jelianorte had figured the ammunition for the bow.

In a line were three thin cylinders that were only about the size of his finger, all lined up on the side of the bow. While none of them were actually solid Jelianorte was able to feel them as he touched them, while the other who tried brought back just the bone of his finger.

Noting that the man was in a soldier's uniform he felt more at ease using him as a target, not even caring that the man seemed to be relieving his body against a tree as he took the one piece of ammunition off of its place on the bow.

Pulling the ammunition back it seemed to stretch into a full-length arrow that glowed into a semi-transparent red, the string forming into a thin silver line where it would be expected on any bow as it accommodated the arrow.

Releasing the arrow it flew at the man and hit the ground at his feet without a sound, but the moment it hit a target flames erupted in a sphere from where it had hit, engulfing the man, gound, and tree all at once.

The man had barely managed to get out of the blaze, his armor gone and flesh melting from the bone. Jelianorte knew that the man was already dead as he drew a second piece of ammunition, this time one of soft blue as he ignored the one that seemed to be completely transparent.

Unlike the first arrow, this one seemed to hit nothing. Not in the sense that it missed, but in the sense that it stopped in mid-air and it created its sphere from the place that the arrow stopped.

This time the sphere created a small section of winter that filled the air, coating the entire man's body save his feet and ankles, freezing him before he could move, the melting flesh getting solid so quickly it shattered when his body fell forward and landed on the ground.

Looking down at the spheres, he took note of their size. It wasn't large, only about the size of a door. Just enough to engulf a person whole as long as they weren't too large.

Thinking about how this compared to the dagger, he wasn't sure if one could truly be said to be better.

The dagger would seal and store a person's essential magic, as in the magic they thought of as theirs more than any other, when they were cut but not cut by its blade. Then when the dagger stabbed the gem he could use that magic just as its previous user could.

There were a few flaws to this, such as it required the use of other people's magic and most people didn't have anything they truly thought of as their magic. Even he only had one he considered his magic, which would allow him to look in all directions at once that would likely be what was stolen from him.

Jelianorte looked at his bow and noted when the spheres vanished. They only lasted for a bit of time and took over ten times longer to create the ammunition. Ammunition that could only have three pieces stored at a time for use, but ammunition that could create a small zone of, he assumed, anything he could imagine. He kept the last piece in case he needed to use it to escape from his guard, while mentally creating the next arrow that would take its place on his bow.