Pain, it was coursing through his body. It was a sensation he knew well. Such familiarity overwhelmed his dazed mind, bestowing him a dream that felt all too vivid. The memory was both dreadful and bittersweet. As he laid cold and beaten, he mistook aching for famine. He felt small, powerless. And that was what he had been once, a mere child.

Again, like if time had not passed at all, he roamed through the dark streets. An urchin like him never got the chance to see the lush plains and marshes that once distinguished the island, now swarmed by settlers. 

His steps were weak. He had lost so much weight that he made no noise while walking over the creaky wooden boards, which loomed over the rivers that cut through the city. All around him were deep alleys and labyrinthic nooks, yet he did not seek shelter in them, knowing others lurked in them already.

For two days he had attempted to manage some nourishment, without result. As always, he tried to get some gold by working for the loaders in the port. Sadly, other vagrants were willing to accept those insignificant wages and could lift more heavy crates than him. No one would give him a coin to load up a ship if another would do it twice for less.

A local baker had been offering him some bread lately, but it did not last. He was shooed away after a week, for the man tired of other rascals asking as well. People as unlucky as him would never let any chance pass by.

Chances… There were some to reach for, but not that many. It did not help that he had always refused to consider the most prominent ones available. A few beggars always rounded up the local children, to direct them into the market. Kids had smaller hands and could reach into pockets with ease. As well, they could run faster.

He was offered such tasks many times, yet he always refused. Until now, he managed with the occasional job, delivering parcels, or fetching letters. Now he had too much competition. More pilgrims arrived from the mainland, hoping to escape the overcrowded cities of the kingdom, unknowing that they were just led into a small island to drain it from all resources as well.

Greed sometimes was inescapable, born out of desperation. And that was what he felt at that moment. Somehow, he found himself in the market. No one regarded his presence much; he was like a rat, dust at best.

His eyes kept looking over the crowd, dazed yet committed. The poor were well aware of pickpockets or did not have enough to lose to care. Merchants kept a zealous watch over their goods. But the common folk and the wealthy… their minds had other concerns, distracted by their routines and assumptions.

He truly was not thinking clearly at that moment. After lurking for hours, he spotted a man dressed in a big coat. His steps were strong, although slow. If he had not been burdened by hunger, he would have paid closer attention to the emblem engraved on his clothes and black boots. Instead, he just focused on the purse hanging from his belt.

All ever slowly, he got closer. His hand moved all by itself, drawn like a magnet. He had never reached to steal like this, but he did it with a confidence he had not known to be possible. Perhaps it was not real or willing, only brought by instinct.

His fingers slid easily into the purse, which dangled from the right side of that belt, behind the man. When he felt the coins inside, his heartbeat fastened, for they were not made of silver but gold. Heavier… able to keep him going for much longer.

As soon as he ventured, he tried to retrieve his hand, clutching a couple of coins. Sadly, he did not manage to move away and slide back into the crowd. A choked yelp escaped him when a bigger hand slammed itself around his wrist, locking him in place strongly.

“You filthy thief!”

It was not the man who caught him, but another one, who dashed onto him from his flank. The coins fell to the ground as he was shoved off; meanwhile, his target turned slowly, not seeming all that alarmed by the yell.

His blue eyes widened, recognizing the mess in which he got himself into. The man who grabbed him was a soldier, and the one he was stealing from… a captain. Now he paid mind to the emblems and the badge that hanged from his coat.

The soldier snarled and yanked at him forcefully, glaring down as he shouted. The resentful words were accompanied by a wave of sword, which was unsheathed angrily.

“You are going to lose your hands for this!”

He paled and struggled, yet the grip did not loosen at all. That was why he begged, finally out of his daze, struck by clarity and horror.

“N-no, please! I’m sorry! I was-!”

“Drop him.”

Both he and the soldier blinked, one much more surprised than the other. The captain was now staring at them with his arms crossed, displaying a calmness that was slightly eerie.

“Sir?” The guard did not seem to care at all about his young age, looking back at him with the same anger he would display towards an adult. “We can’t allow this kind of defiance to run rampant in the island. An example must be-“

“It’s not defiance, you dolt.” The captain laid a hand on the soldier and forced him to let go. However, he also grabbed his other arm himself to keep him from bolting off. “Kids don’t plot insurgence, and some thievery won’t force our troops away.”

The soldier backed off, lowering his sword as he did so. That did not mean he did not try to make a point.

“Still, it is… troublesome.”

“It must not be tolerated, I agree.” He shivered when those words were spoken, because the man then looked down at him, with a gaze he was not able to read. “I will deal with it.”

He truly hated how that sounded… Yet he did not dare struggle when the official pulled at him, not all that harshly, to drag him away through the uncaring and apathetic crowd.

Back then, he did not know, but the captain knew that his fingers were in his purse. It was only when the soldier noticed and intervened that he reacted, not having wanted to put him in trouble for two measly gold coins.

As an official, he was expected to deal with any kind of aggression towards authority in the colonies. With him apprehended, he could have simply walked away and let him be disciplined by his subordinates, in ways that were well known and feared. Instead, he took matters into his own hands, out of pity.

Punishment was given, indeed. But he was grateful for it. He had to work until exhaustion in their fort, yet he was fed, given shelter. Although some soldiers did beat him when they heard of his actions, no one dared lay a hand on him while the captain was nearby. The reason, he would not know until later.

After two arduous weeks, the captain led him to the courtyard at sunrise. Instead of taking him to the gallows that stood there, he opened the gates and let him get out onto the path that overlooked the city below. Upon his meek silence, he stared at him firmly, to then say some blunt words.

“You can go back and look for easier targets…” He gave him his back, but he still looked at him over his shoulder, his knowing eyes peeking under the shade of his feathered hat. “Or you can stick around and keep working, as a means to acknowledge my lenience.”

The captain was blunt, harsh. Yet under his sternness, there was care. Somehow, he knew that he had only tried to rob him due to necessity and that the apprehension he displayed was not due to fear but real shame.

Those old eyes saw the pride in his blue ones, and that was why a path was opened to him. The captain’s stay on the island was temporary; he and his troops were there to deliver missives and provide support to the local authorities, to suppress the rise in crime and insurrection.

He spent some time serving the man in that fort, but it wouldn’t last. When the captain began his march towards the docks, he followed like a lost dog, not only because he had been well fed until then. In his short life, none had looked out for him… Now that one person did, even if only slightly, they would leave. The vessel in which his benefactor would depart was grand, worthy of a royal. Judging by how meticulous the crew was, the prince had probably sailed a few times in it.

He was sure he was going to be left behind without much thought, for the captain did not say a word to him… until they were right by the ship. He turned to him, gave him one of those piercing glances, and then spoke firmly. It was not a question or offer, but a demand, for he already knew what he would have answered if he had proposed it.

“Don’t you just stand there.” He flinched, yes, but his eyes soon opened with surprised joy. “Help the men load up. Fast, boy.”

He had never moved faster in his whole life. Many sailors gave him judging stares as he did as told, because no civilians ever stood on deck, much less one of his kind. However, none dared contradict orders.

For a few years, he spent his days locked away in the kitchens. It was only when he hit his adolescence that the captain bothered to make another offer, worded as a command again. By that point, the crew was not surprised that he was given training to become a soldier.

Without much word or question, he always stood under his wing. Orders were direct, expected. With time, the captain would confide in him. He gained his trust with honest subservience, something that soon became an unspoken bond.

Another boy like him would have never had the chance to enroll in the royal army, because an expensive training was needed to even be granted an assessment. He was raised to it by an official, and so, accepted without much scrutiny. By the time he was of age, he had shot many pistols, lighted cannons, and dueled with sea scoundrels. And all through it, there were words that would always be voiced with zealous devotion.

“Remember to be loyal to the ones you owe.”

There was pain; multiple times he got pierced by bullets or blades. Still, he would remember those words, and brush it all off. He fought against insurgents, sunk pirate ships, and ensured the banners of their forces stood tall… all for a cause. It was costly, yet he never hesitated.

There was one instance that struck him deeply, an important operation in which many perished. The inhabitants of an isle had revolted, forcing away the troops settled there. Any ship that attempted to dock was sunk in an attempt to keep independence.

They put an end to it… and once the dust settled and no one stood to confront the kingdom, he finally saw to whom his captain granted such loyalty. All kneeled as the prince left his vessel, to march through the land they claimed. There was no acknowledgment in his eyes, which never glanced at the troops with gratitude, not even at the officials. The resources of the land were now free to be taken… by the ones who adhered to the whims of nobility.

He clutched his side while bowing, glancing sideways to see the admiration in those old eyes. Many died, yet there was satisfaction. The shedding of blood was a means to an end. His gratitude towards his captain was such, that he refused to ponder how their objectives contrasted the ones of their enemies.

Need brought desperation… and such despair could cause violence, ignored due to zeal. He rarely debated how the insurgents fought to keep their land or gain supplies, feeling solace in the fact that they provided to their kingdom by suppressing them. 

His objectives and hopes were honorable, yes. But the methods were as questionable as the ones of the fiends that lurked the seas. He did not ponder much… until he conversed with one much more critical than him. Never before he debated himself, not once commanded or taunted to do so.

Her words kept assaulting his mind, twisting his perception. It only intensified his discomfort, slowly making him aware of the fact… that he was not awake. The memories faded slowly, as he struggled to clear his thoughts.

The soreness did not fade as he stirred on the cold hard ground. His blue eyes opened, but he kept himself still for some seconds. There was darkness around him, no light, and he remembered what he saw before being struck down.

Although the ground was made of black stone, he soon recognized that he was not in those ruins anymore. After a few minutes in which he held his breath, he realized that no savages lurked, at least not nearby.

He sat up slowly, to then reach for something in the pitch blackness. Right by him stood something that looked like a spear made of bone. It took him a moment to understand that there were multiple ones, makeshift prison bars.

Still alive…

He was sure that not for much longer. As he stood, he surveyed his surroundings, determining he was in a cell of some sort. The confinement was made of all kinds of animal remains, inside a stone chamber like the ones of the ruins.

His finger was pricked by a thorn when he brushed one of the poles made of sharp scales. The natives truly used all that nature provided, not only to dress themselves. He took a deep breath, thinking to himself.

I’m alone here. So that means…

He reached reluctantly into his pocket. His heart skipped a beat, for he did not feel the weight of the golden chain, nor the softness of the ruby. The necklace was not with him. He closed his eyes with a deep grimace, mourning the fact. It did not matter who took it, for there was no way for him to retrieve it now. Part of him hoped the natives had melted it, because then those pirates would never lay their hands on it. He did not wish them to bring shame onto the kingdom, for his loyalty towards it was all he had left.

When his eyes opened, they did so furiously. His chest puffed out as he exhaled, his burly body tensing in frustration. He was caged, surely to be killed soon. It was a fate that felt void, no matter how much he told himself that it was honorable and fulfilling.

Under such contrasting thoughts and feelings, he lashed out. He could not see well in the darkness, yet he made a choice. All his life, he had moved fast to act, and now it would not be any different.

His next kick was strong, direct. Like his captain had taught him, he focused his mind into one single purpose. His foot slammed against the bar in front of him, in hopes of breaking it apart. It was made of rough bone and metal, yet it shook when he struck it. Any other would have not made it shift at all, but he was desperate. Quite so, with reason, for there were voices in the distance.

He cringed when he heard the way in which the natives conversed, letting out multiple soft clicks with their tongues while they whispered. Steps did not echo, but he knew that they had noticed his awakening and that they were coming.

Once more, he threw a kick forward, letting all his weight strike the pole. It cracked a little then, but it did not break apart. At the same time, he heard the creaking of bones, surely the ones the natives donned all over their bodies. He remembered the moments before he fainted, and he knew that if he was hearing that sound it meant that they were very close.

With a deep huff, he bared his whole frame, to then charge forward. Instead of kicking, he slammed himself against the pole, not making any attempts to keep himself quiet. As his body made collision, there was a disturbing crack. It luckily did not come from his bones, but the ones of the bar.

It was not easy to stop his rush once he broke his way out of the cage. In fact, he did not manage to slow down his drive. When he pushed through and out, he stumbled forward. Before he could stop himself, his shoulder made collision again.

He panted and groaned, looking at what he had failed to see while entrapped. His hand brushed the wall while he looked for a second at the mural on it. Again, it depicted the ways of these people, a ritual in which they ripped the scales of an animal, piece by piece. If he had not been in a hurry, he would have noted the reverence that they displayed towards their kill. Instead, he ran out of the chamber, not bothering to look back.

His body hurt. He had not recovered from the pain of the sinking or the fall in the jungle, much less the strangling of that lizard or the hit in that trove. Still, he ran very fast through the dark tunnels, knowing he had to move. The question was where, though.

Just keep running. There’s no choice.

Indeed, if there was a chance of surviving, it would only present itself if he acted. Waiting in that cell would only bring him to death, sooner or later. Everything wanted to kill him; wishing otherwise would be of no help.

While he ran through the endless corridors, he kept hearing it… The clicking and creaking were a constant, each second closer. The sound was there, but he could not see a thing when he would look back over his shoulder.

The natives did not need to chase him fervently, and they did not. He could not see well in the darkness, and that would be deterrence enough. It did not take long for him to find a dead-end, which he left quickly. After, in his rush, he failed to notice something at his feet.

He gasped as he tripped, the bundle he kicked scattering all over the floor. When he hit the ground, he did not only cringe due to the pain, but because the pile was composed of trinkets made of bones and animal parts.

The lurkers did not see either in the darkness… yet they did not need to. A shiver ran down his back when three figures leaned closer from the shadows behind him. They twitched repeatedly as they stepped forth, hunched like animals. Their eyes were closed, something that he could not see while their whole bodies were covered.

They clicked their tongues again, leaning their heads in seemingly curious glances. At last, as he tried to stand again, they spoke more human words, which he failed to understand. Two twirled their staffs and pointed them at him, making sure to let him see the boney thorns around their ends. He disregarded that warning and turned around sharply, intending to keep running. Sadly, he came face to face with a scaley halberd, which cut him a little due to his motion.

He recoiled instantly, only to feel the points of those staffs on his back. His blue eyes narrowed, to a point in which he managed to distinguish his fourth attacker in the darkness. That one wore a mask that did not cover his entire face… enough to reveal how pale his skin was.

There was no doubt now that he was underground, again. This civilization lived away from the sun. They worshiped the animals that pierced the earth with raw strength, and it was obvious that they wished to mimic them by dressing themselves with their remains.

He had no choice, so he raised his hands up. Luckily, they understood and saw it as a symbol of surrender. That, or they really did not want to kill him yet. Whatever the case, they nudged him forward, letting out more words he failed to understand.

How they could move so surely through the dark tunnels, he did not know. He could only grimace while they led him away, observing their uncanny way of moving. They looked all too insect like, and he would swear they were if he had not seen the face of one of them.

It took a while for him to know where they were leading him now. They were not taking him back to the broken cage, and that made him dread. That paranoia only grew, much worse when some light began to shine over him.

Lava flowed everywhere, pulsing out of multiple cavities that adorned a huge chamber. It was an immense underground pavilion, the size of a fortress, which made him feel insignificant. The worse part was that it was not empty.

If he had been afraid of the statues in those ruins, now he was terrified. Far too many adorned the looming edges above, set there to observe the room for eternity. In the circular edges below, sat many more figures, living ones.

The natives were eerily still, seated on the steps that surrounded the center of the chamber.  Not a single one of them looked up when he and the other four entered it from an arc, displaying instead a haunting focus on what they looked at.

There was a huge mechanism in there, slightly more complex than the one he saw in the ruins. On its top, there was a conduit made of stone, connected to the ceiling. The heat was almost unbearable, for all the rivers of flowing magma interconnected there, from inside the walls.

There were two figures at the center. One was standing, while the other was kneeling. He hated how everything looked, much more when he noted something else. The kneeling man was dressed in ceremonial garments, much more revealing than the ones of the rest.

His blue eyes narrowed dreadfully, for a priest was preaching strange words and painting the kneeling man with clay. It did not take him long to see the murals on the walls. One of them resembled the exchange between those two, far too much.

The next moments would forever be engraved into his mind, like if he was branded with a hot iron. The priest shouted something and waved a huge staff made of stone, proceeding to make the other stand with its point. Promptly, although with seeming reverence, there was a soft push.

He could do nothing but freeze, watch as the man dressed in ceremonial garments was forced into the furnace. However, forced was not the correct word. That native showed no fear, no reluctance. In fact, there seemed to be great gratification… even as the walls seemed to hiss, ready to release fire into the stony mechanisms.

What he was seeing was nothing more than a sacrifice, ritualistic and vile. And yet… everyone around him began to chant joyfully, while the one to die right out smiled pridefully. Many began to move, at last, bowing repeatedly in an uncanny beautiful motion.

As the priest laid hands on the pressure plates that would unleash hellfire onto that fool, his blue eyes fixated on the murals again. The first depicted a void world, filled only with an endless sea. The second displayed a huge figure emerging from the waters, seemingly made of beautiful black stone. The third… it showed how that figure tore itself apart with its own hands, to release from within an endless flow of lava.

The message was clear. The final mural illustrated the shattered remains of that generous deity, who had created a lush land as its flaming blood dried over the sea. The small figures drawn on the walls bowed and wept upon the remains of their creator… while the natives in the chamber sung in hopes of granting it a new worthy body. The gratitude he was seeing was blind, deadly.

There was a scream, inevitable. The hissing of the fire silenced it, yet such death was no doubt tormenting. As the smoke settled, silence did too. His blue eyes did not hold the same expectation as all others, for he knew what would happen much better than them.

When the furnace opened again, he shuddered, while the natives lamented greatly. The statue inside was lifeless, immobile. No life had been granted with death, no matter how much they tried in their devotion.