The rag stuffing his mouth was soaking up all the moisture of his mouth. No matter how he tried to move his tongue, it wouldn't budge. His limbs ached him even when he did nothing, the blood struggling to get through his body. Worst of all, he couldn't see his attendant anywhere. Where was Helena? Where was she?

  The gaunt old man introduced himself as Rolf. He was a farmer in a village, somewhere outside of the city of Aurum. A fair distance away in fact, so they didn't see the forces that landed in and attacked the city. All he knew was after the city was taken, they came for the villages, splitting them by men and women with children, then carting them off to different locations. Of course, this was what he figured out from talking to different people on their way there.

  Rolf was a woodcutter. He knew the path they were going fairly well, his extended family had cut trees here for generations, and could trace the path like his palms. But nothing was here, or should be. It was largely an empty valley, with nothing to show for it. When the forests were cut, the animals left too, and the wind took what remaining topsoil, leaving a desert-like formation that rarely saw any life. Water was no where near enough to sustain anything here.

  "...And as for why you're tied up, son, it's because the guards received you from a bunch of hooligans out in the forest. They got a pretty coin sack from the Faulkner soldiers, those eagle heads. Said something about you being a merchant? I don't know what you're selling. You sure didn't have anything on you, and that ticked the eagle heads off. The bandits that found you were bitter they only got half for you. Guards didn't buy their story you were traveling with merchandise, see?"

  The old Rolf grinned, a few of his teeth missing. His face did eventually returned to his tired expression. He mumbled something under his breath.

  "...Where is the food? The food? I'm starving..."

  Mona felt his hunger hit him as well. He hadn't eaten since last night, and now it was well into Maget's shine. But his mind was still on Helena. He didn't know where she was, and what happened to her? Was she carted off elsewhere? Or...

  For a while, the only sound that could be heard was the rickety wood of the cart squeaking as its wheels went up and down several hills. Occasionally, someone in the group would groan from hunger, but the eagle heads walking aside to the chain of carts didn't give it any mind. This cart caravan seemed to go into the horizon, the moans of hungry captives filling the air as it went.

  Finally, at Heron's arrival, sometime in the middle of the night, the carts came to a stop. I guess they need to take a rest too, Mona thought. Soon, men came and fed the horses first, some gritty substance by the looks of it, before some came along the carts, throwing in a sack and a single water jug. Mona could tell the men from Faulkner couldn't be bothered to give them anything really; the jug only had enough water for one person, which was quickly consumed by a heavyset man in the back of the cart. No one said a thing, after all, he seemed like he could knock everyone else to death.

  As for the food in the sack, Mona couldn't even reach for any. The stout man took the lion's share of the contents, but whatever it was looked terrible. Mostly leftover bread crumbs, some of the stuff the horses were fed, and burnt scraps from plates. The rest in the cart, especially Rolf, ravenously devoured these bits, choking them down however they can. Mona didn't know how much hunger it would take to get to that point.

  Avoiding his hunger, he tried his best to sleep it off. This continued for a few more days, the figures in the cart getting thinner and paler by the day. The lack of showers gave rise to smells of their own, and made it harder to nod off. Mona could feel himself stretched thin. The pain in his legs and arms bothered him less than the hollowness gathering in his body. He had long ran out of Aura, trying to mitigate the soreness and hunger. While it did help, he ran out of his reserves, and without a proper technique he was effectively a normal human now.

  *****

  Out of nowhere, Mona felt his body jerked to the side. He barely had enough energy to open his eyes and take a breath, the mountain air hitting his dry lungs rather hard. He could see himself within a hastily crafted structure, several floors tall. Before him was one of the Faulkners, hand on his shoulder.

  "Wake up, you trash."

  He felt himself pulled down to the earth, surrounded by a few standing from the cart in the distance and a number of soldiers unloading the other carts.

  He could hear them chattering in the distance.

  "Is that the one they thought was a merchant?"

  "That thin guy? He didn't have anything on him I heard."

  "Fucking bandits took everything. Should've gutted them..."

  He felt his ropes get cut, those on his legs. He was pulled up, and made to walk in with the rest. He was still fazed from the journey, and the long hours without a bit of food or drink. At least the steady pace was returning life to his legs, the heavy pain slowly subsiding from within them.

  The group of them, from his cart and the others, were dragged to a large field. Before that, the rest of his ropes were cut some way in, and the gag removed. Why didn't they just do it from the start? It seemed ridiculous until now. He was dragged to stand in line, the people captured forced into a mob before a platform. Standing there was a wizened old man, in the full set of Faulkner's armor. Other than a few embellishments on his armguard, it didn't seem much different from the guards nearby.

  "Greetings, everyone!"

  The man stood at full height, his hands clasped behind his back. He tried to put on a welcoming tone, but given the state of things no one obviously took it seriously.

  "I am General Rigar, serving his majesty of the Faulkner Empire. After years of deliberation, we have decided the Steel Kingdom is no longer needed on Onas, and so we carried out His will. All of you are former servants of that kingdom, and so we have decided you will be given a new purpose. Those among you will have three choices: fighting, servitude, or feed.

  If you have talent, you will join the military and bring glory to Faulkner.

  If you lack talent, you will become a servant of the empire, and serve as we see fit.

  If you offer nothing, you will feed our pets and animals.

  I don't need to tell you what that last part means, do I?"

  Rigar took a survey of the audience. They could only return with hazy eyes filled with hunger from days of malnourishment.

  "Don't worry. On your way here, we have verified your talents, but being as generous as we are, we'd like to give you a chance to prove yourselves. If you can prove you're more valuable than you seem, then we will happily raise your value. You may even regain rights of citizenship under the Piercing Eagle. And if you aren't willing to cooperate..."

  He turned to another man in guard uniform nearby, saying a few words.

  The guard quickly went into the crowd, dragging out a somewhat stout man who kept shrieking and yelling up the platform. The guard threw him in front of the general, anxiety all over his face.

  "Then you can join him."

  With a flash that stunned the audience, they opened their eyes once more, seeing the man's body slump against the ground, his head rolling a fair distance away.

  "Don't cause trouble while you're here. This one didn't accept our generosity and gave my men a great deal of trouble. If you'd like to join him, do let us know."

  "Lieutenant, have someone come and clean this up. And send someone to come to my office. His filth got on my shoes. I need them cleaned."

  The general left back to where he came from, ignoring the eyes of the crowd of detainees. They'd officially become prisoners, and unless something happened he wouldn't have to worry about appearing again. A Master aura artist had little to worry in places like this.

  "What are you all standing there? MOVE!"

  Not after the general left, many of the soldiers turned guards started moving the prisoners about. Threats and curses came from them, their Aura on full display. Those that didn't move on time took a hit, stammered, and did their best to avoid another. Mona wordlessly followed along with the crowd, watching them get sorted into several rows before some kind of desk.

  People would walk into line, hear a few words, get clothing and soap and a book, then guided to the mess hall. It seemed this was reception.

  After standing for quite a while, Mona stood before the desk, a beady eyed pudgy guard looking at him.

  "Oh, how lucky. I got the purple eyes."

  "Huh?"

  "Here's your clothes, soap, aura manual. Go to the mess hall, eat, and don't be a pain for us ok? They've already got a few buyers interested, so don't make us lose much. Next!"

  Mona didn't have time to react back. Clothing, a small book, soap was pushed into his hands, and a guard from the side stepped forwards and took him to the mess hall. Buyers? Weren't they prisoners?

  As Mona stood into the hall, he could see that the building wasn't built hastily at all. Rather, it was given little consideration. The Faulkners didn't intend to have a permanent location here, and had crafted it with the bare minimum. The lighting came from a few burning torches. Nearly everything was made of wood, except for the walls and floor, which were made of flat stone. The tables and chairs looked weathered with age, stained with hopefully the colors of food. His fellow prisoners were shoveling gruel and slop into their mouths as quick as they could. Seeing a few get up, it seems they could get more of that stuff to consume, and many did. Often.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Mona was guided to stand in line, following behind the eating procession. Right before them was another tired guard, except this one was stirring a pot of the stuff being eaten earlier. When a person came in front, a bowl of the stuff was placed atop the prisoner's arms, atop his clothes. If the man was lucky, he'd get chunks in his goop, and none on his clothes. Of course, if he wasn't, all he'd have was a stained dress and a sip of whatever that was. The bowls were shabbily cut, done without much regard for consistency.

  "It's all good for you. Eat lots! Grow strong."

  The man lazily spoke, before his gaze sharpened for a moment.

  "Don't. Break. The. Bowls."

  Then his voice returned to before. He repeated what he said from before, making sure everyone heard it.

  Mona stood before the man, got his bowl of slop, then was ushered away to go find somewhere to sit. It seems he was taking too long to find a spot, because another guard started shouting at him to sit down already. Finally he found somewhere to sit in this packed cafeteria, sitting among many of the other prisoners.

  He looked at his new belongings. A tunic and trousers, barely woven together. Looked like scraps thrown together, and stained a bit by his gruel. A book on Aura channeling. Soap to stay healthy, hard and chalky. And lastly, the dark bowl of gruel, a greyish green mass containing chunks of who knows what and grown from who knows where, and a weird aroma to come with it.

  "Hey, purple eyes, are you gonna eat that?"

  Mona turned around, seeing a tall thin guy to his right, look at him, before eyeing his bowl of slop. He kept licking his lips, wanting to eat Mona's portion.

  Mona was a tad confused. Couldn't he just get up for another bowl? But he didn't say a thing about his bowl.

  "Purple eyes?"

  "Yeah, purple eyes. Your eyes are purple. Word already spread from the guards. They're gonna sell you to some big noble who likes keeping rare pets, and he really likes the color purple. What luck! No one will mess with you now, otherwise they'd get cut into pieces. Anyway, gimme your bowl."

  The man began reaching for Mona's gruel bowl, but Mona instead lifted it away. Gruel was gruel right, why was he getting into his bowl.

  "Come on, gimme your bowl man. If I go up now, all they'll give me is water. I want meat and veggies, and your bowl is full of em. Let me have it! You already look thin already, you won't need much. Where you're going, they'll fatten you up before they eat ya!"

  The man cackled, but that gave Mona a sense of disgust. They weren't prisoners but slaves. War slaves, playthings, and animal feed. The soldiers just wanted to sort them out so they get every coin they could. He was enslaved, those bandits sold him into slavery to the Faulkners.

  Although slavery was generally frowned upon in the Onas continent, thanks to the preceding empire, it came back behind the scenes. Where there were buyers, there were sellers, and now that Steel was a piece of history, its only natural that the remaining citizens, if not well-connected with Faulkner, would have to live with their new fates.

  "Thanks for telling me about... all that. I want this bowl."

  "Fuck man, you're lucky I don't just take it. I'll be back."

  The lanky figure got up, taking his bowl in hand, and got back in line. A few nearby were whispering, just barely could Mona hear them.

  "Can we take his stuff?"

  "Quit it. He's clearly trained in Aura, look how he walks. We can't take him until we practice."

  Seeing Mona looking at them, the leader of the group stared at him.

  "What you want, purple eyes? Look somewhere else!"

  Mona turned back to his bowl of gruel. He watched as the lighter pieces of whatever began to sink to the bottom of the bowl. He sighed, then pinched his nose.

  It tasted just like it looked. Even pinching his nose, he could tell it smell off. His years of eating like a countryside noble was affecting him now. He almost wanted to gag as those chunks and bits went down his throat, but he needed everything he could get. As long as he didn't ask what was in the stew, he thought he would be fine. And sure enough, his stomach didn't complain. Remembering how he had "special consideration," Mona got up, left to get another bowl.

  "Back already purple eyes? You must love this stuff."

  Mona didn't say anything to the cook, waiting for his bowl to get filled.

  "Seeing as how that lord wants you, I'll add a little more to your bowl.

  Don't forget me, Casado, when you get there.

  You know, in between whatever he wants with you."

  He put the bowl of newly poured gruel in his hands. Just as Casado said, a few extra chunks were sitting on top.

  Mona turned around to leave, saying nothing. The cook shouted as he left.

  "It's Casado, okay! Casado! Don't forget!"

  Returning to his seat, Mona saw that all his belongings were still there. I guess being chosen already is useful, he thought. A bitter smile crossed his face for a moment. He didn't know who this lord was, or what he would do there, but for now he tried to focus on what was in front of him.

  He pinched his nose again, and nearly inhaled his second helping of slop.

  "Yup, I can't take anymore."

  The taste of the gruel was coming to his tongue. It meant he wasn't completely starving anymore, but now he could tell just what was going inside him. The vegetables were old and wilted. And those chunks were meat, sometimes overcooked, and sometimes raw. The last bit that went down his throat almost felt alive. He didn't want to think too much on that. He wiped away his lips on his clothing; the cloak and his casual noble robes were gone, probably by the bandits. They left him with their old clothes, and the pieces were starting to smell from days of wear.

  Feeling a bit better, now that the emptiness inside him was taken care of, he took a closer look at his new items. The soap was as hard as a brick, and had a decent heft. The book was worn out, with the title "Foundational Aura Technique" hastily scribbled atop, and as for the new garments? Threadbare naturally. He took a moment to look back and forth between his bandit tunic and the prisoner clothes; the new clothing would definitely leave him freezing overnight. Better wear both then, he thought.

  Mona sensed out his mental space, making sure his ancestral armor was still there. The thing whirred, but barely. He couldn't do a thing anyway, with an empty Aura Heart, but he wanted to make sure he didn't lose it. The thought of Helena came back to him.

  "Hope she's ok."

  Mona didn't think he could believe it himself.

  While lost in thought, Mona was awoken to a shout. He swiveled his head, and saw a situation escalating. The bastards among the captives decided to lay out the hierarchy right now. People were fighting over the gruel, the clothes, the soap, anything they could use as barter later on. The fights were starting to get bigger and rougher, as men from all backgrounds took out their stifled rage on each other. Left without their families, the brutality of humanity showed itself.

  "Marcos, give me that bowl this instant."

  "Keep your hand where it is."

  "You're no longer a manager, Marcos. Give it, or die under it."

  A few bigger prisoners began punching each other over the sickly gruel, long grudges taking a chance to show themselves now. The bowl was already ruined, flying through the air. But the perpetrators couldn't care. Similar fights broke out in other sections of the mess hall, groups collided, fought in larger groups. Mona got up, and tried to back away with his belongings. He couldn't handle a punch without Aura, and he didn't want to find out whether the Faulkners truly cared for the sick here.

  Then there was a scream of anguish and rage. It stopped all the fights at once. Everyone turned to look at the source.

  There, among the building wreckage, was Casado, the portly cook, bent down, holding a broken bowl in his hands.

  "My bowls..."

  "My bowls..."

  "You broke... my bowls..."

  His voice was soft, but everyone stopped breathing longer before he started talking. The aura of an Expert rank in Water filled the aura, bringing a frost to the clothes of everyone present.

  "WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT MY BOWLS!!!"

  His eyes were dark and vicious, as he glared at one group of fighters.

  "I HAD TO CARVE THEM MYSELF!"

  The man launched an attack with his Aura, congealing into a ball of water, erupting from his fist. The people fighting had no Aura, not a speck. It was all used in the arrival, trying to stave off hunger. They flew with the water, hitting the back wall, taking on injuries.

  "NOW LET ME CARVE YOU!"

  Another attack came flying at another group, more cutting. The group wailed in pain from the deep cuts on their backs, and the broken bones in front.

  The cook, Casado, broke out in hysterical laughter, smashing every single group still standing up, leaving the few guards around to pick up these fools and take them who knows where. Once Casado was spent, he heaved a sigh, threw the serving spoon back into the empty pot, and left for his quarters, presumably. The guards began taking people out of the hall. The items of those fighters were long divvied up by the more shrewd who kept their heads down. And that was lunch.

  Mona took a mental note to stay further on the outside next time, so he could worry less of being targeted.

  One by one, the guards had them walk single file towards their assigned cells, whacking the occasional head when the body moved too slowly. Mona wasn't given much a chance to look at the room. The door was swung up, he was shoved in, and it was shut with a metal bang.

  The set of clothes made the tumble easier. The soap landed away with a thud. Sure enough, it was hard as a rock. The book was just fine too.

  Dusting himself off, Mona sat on what would be his bed for the rest of who knows how long. He wasn't smiling.

  All the thoughts that he didn't have a chance to process were coming now.

  The smell of flames. The screams. The blood. The running. The chasing. The forest. Just what happened to Helena? The others?

  Could his father still be alive?

  Mona didn't want to accept the conclusion his mind tried to give him. Losing his mother was hard. Losing his father was his little left. He sat there in a daze, lost in the in between.

  The gated window let in a sliver of Maget's blue light, hitting his face. He didn't blink. He felt tired. So very very tired. He looked at the book in his hands.

  Foundational Aura Technique.

  It was a method for practicing Aura. The Faulkners really did intend to weed out the war slaves from the feed. He knew they planned on selling him to a noble. The thought of it made him spit in disgust. But he really needed to regain Aura. So, much like he did way back when he was still a noble's son sitting in a library of his own, he opened the book, and began to read.

  "Three breaths in, 2 breaths out..."

  "Sync chest with stomach, stomach with head..."

  "Feel the wind fill your wings, and soar..."

  Mona had a rough understanding that this Aura technique was a common one from the Faulkners. He wasn't completely certain what he was doing, but he could feel his Aura gather in his Aura heart. But, he felt something else. Something wrong.

  A dazed look came upon him. His mind was becoming a mess. Sensing something, the ancestral armor glowed, and an invisible wave filled his body, his mind returning clear.

  "Wha... what was that?"

  Mona pupils widened. He was just reading the technique, guiding his Aura. But then he felt like his mind was folding in on itself, and something was being placed in? Thankfully the armor was in his mental space, so it scattered whatever was coming inside.

  Mona's face grew grim. What was hidden into this technique, that the Aurum family's ceremonial armor would react to it? Before he threw the book against the wall completely however, he sensed inside his Aura heart. The empty vessel now had a few wisps of Aura. The gaseous little things seemed to hum to his circadian rhythm, floating up and down. He had returned from a mortal back to an Aura Novice.

  Mona took a hard look at the technique in his hands. This "Foundational Aura Technique" was hiding something dangerous, but it did work. The former noble looked at it deeply, as if trying to discover what lines contained the hidden snake trying to enter his head. But he couldn't argue with results. Thinking it through, the armor in his head space did help defend against whatever it was trying to enter his mind. To make sure he wasn't wrong, Mona repeated the technique a few more times.

  Sure enough, the wisps in his Aura Heart grew more numerous, and his armor quietly got rid of whatever was trying to worm its way in his head. Although the short haze of brain fog was annoying, Mona decided to put his faith in his forefather's armor and practice this technique. It seemed to give him Aura, albeit slowly, and whatever was trying to enter his brain was being blocked at least. He left the soap brick on the floor, his prison clothes beside it. Bringing himself into a sitting position, Mona followed the method and slowly began filling his Aura Heart with Aura wisps.

  The channeling helped clear his mind of the dark thoughts he tried his best to suppress. The only way forward was developing strength of his own, and he had to do whatever it took to avoid what the Faulkners had planned. A younger him may have stayed silent. But he was alone now. Truly alone. And this gave him the bitter resolve he needed to brave the new world before him.

  Only through attaining strength could he find the truth of what happened, and safeguard his life against all threats. And find a way to escape this wretched place.