After walking over to the mysterious crimson orb hovering above the pile of bodies, Asher studied it intently. Unlike the other orbs he'd encountered, this one pulsed with a rhythm that almost seemed... alive. Despite its unusual appearance, he sensed no malice from it—only a strange, compelling energy.
"What are you?" he whispered, extending his hand toward the translucent crimson light.
The moment his fingertips brushed against the ethereal surface, a jolt of energy ran through him. Not painful, but intense—like plunging into icy water. A soft, playful voice suddenly whispered in his mind, the words indistinct and foreign, like a language he'd never heard yet somehow recognized.
Before he could pull away, a beam of crimson energy shot from the orb through his hand, racing up his arm and directly into the energy core he'd just discovered in his chest. Asher gasped, instinctively trying to sever the connection forming between them.
But there was something about it—something warm and comforting that made him pause. The energy didn't feel invasive or threatening. Instead, it felt... right. Like finding a missing piece he hadn't known was gone.
Relaxing his resistance, Asher allowed the connection to form fully. For five long minutes, he stood perfectly still, the crimson light gradually dimming as the energy transfer completed. When it finally faded entirely, he was left staring at empty air, confused and slightly dazed.
"What just—"
A sudden burning sensation in his arm interrupted his thoughts. Glancing down, Asher watched in astonishment as the slave mark on the back of his hand began to dissolve, the intricate pattern breaking apart like ash in the wind.
"What is happening?" he breathed, unable to believe what he was seeing.
Oh, I just got rid of that nasty Tether Weaving connected to you,
Said the same girlish voice from before, now clear and distinct inside his head.
Asher jumped back, instinctively dropping into a defensive stance. His eyes darted around the pit, searching for the source of the voice.
Soft giggling echoed in his mind. You are so funny.
"Who are you?" Asher demanded in a hushed voice, mindful of the guard sleeping at the entrance to the pit. "And how are you talking to me in my head?"
I am the one who got rid of the nasty Tether on you, the voice replied with playful indignation. You should be thanking me instead of asking me questions, you know.
Asher forced himself to relax slightly, his eyes drawn again to where the slave mark had been. The skin was now smooth and unmarked as if the brand had never existed at all. Freedom—the word he'd barely dared to think—was suddenly a reality.
"I don't know who you are or where you are," he said softly, "but thank you for freeing me."
More giggles rippled through his mind, light and musical.
Asher took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "Can you please tell me who you are and what's going on?" he asked, his tone more respectful now.
I am the Sprin you just formed a contract with, silly. The voice answered. You don't even know what you just did?
"I formed a contract?" Asher's brow furrowed in confusion.
Do you mean to tell me you don't know what you just did and formed a contract without realizing? The voice seemed both amused and incredulous.
"I apologize," Asher said, glancing around to ensure the guard hadn't stirred. "I just came into my powers. I have no idea what's going on."
Well, isn't that funny, the voice mused. I guess we're both new to this. Anyway, I'm too exhausted after removing your mark, so this conversation will have to wait. I'm going to sleep, so don't wake me up.
"Sleep? But where are you?" Asher asked, scanning the pit again as if expecting to find the owner of the voice hiding behind one of the corpse piles.
I am inside you, silly, the voice replied, already fading. Now goodnight...
And then silence.
Asher stood alone in the Dead Man's Pit, the moonlight casting long shadows across his unmarked hand. The slave mark was gone. He was free—truly free—for the first time.
He flexed his fingers, marveling at the absence of the binding that had held him captive. With the mark gone, he could sneak out of the camp.
Asher looked up at the sky, assessing how much time remained until dawn. The stars were still bright, the moon hanging low on the horizon—he had perhaps two hours before the first light would break. This would be his best opportunity to escape, while most soldiers were still asleep and only minimal night patrols wandered the grounds.
He quickly considered his options. The northern edge of the camp was closest to the pit, offering the most direct escape route. But it opened onto a vast plain with no cover—he would be easily spotted once daylight came. Too risky.
The southern perimeter bordered a dense forest that could provide concealment. Since no slave had ever attempted escape—their marks ensuring compliance—the southern edge would likely have fewer guards. The forest beyond, though dangerous in its own way, offered his best chance at true freedom.
The challenge would be crossing half the camp undetected to reach the southern wall.
Asher glanced down at his body, noticing for the first time the physical changes the potion had wrought. His frame had filled out, muscles more defined beneath the ragged slave clothing that now seemed too short at his wrists and ankles. The power that hummed through him wasn't just magical—his entire body felt stronger, more capable.
'I feel much stronger now. I think I can do this,' he thought, his decision made.
Moving with practiced stealth, Asher slipped past the sleeping guard at the pit's entrance. He kept to the shadows between tents, freezing whenever torchlight swept nearby. The military camp was a maze of canvas structures—some small and clustered for common soldiers, others larger and more isolated for officers.
Asher noticed several patrols of armed soldiers walking the dirt roads that crisscrossed between encampments. He carefully tracked their movements, timing his progress to avoid their predictable routes. He gave the larger command tents a wide berth, knowing they would be better guarded and might house wakeful officers. The detour cost him precious time, but the risk of detection near those tents was too great.
His heart pounded with each near miss—once having to press himself flat against a supply wagon as two guards passed within arm's reach, their voices low as they complained about the night shift. Another time, he was forced to wait several agonizing minutes as a drunk soldier relieved himself against a tent pole before staggering back to his quarters.
Finally, after what felt like hours but could only have been thirty minutes, Asher reached the southern perimeter. A crude wooden wall stood before him, roughly six feet tall—a simple barrier meant more to mark the boundary than to truly contain. With his enhanced physique, he estimated he could clear it with a jump.
Crouching in the shadows of the final tent row, Asher watched the patrol patterns, waiting for his moment. When the torchlight receded and the footsteps faded, he sprinted the final distance to the wall and leaped upward with all his strength.
He barely cleared the top, his stomach scraping painfully against the rough wood as he pulled himself over. He dropped to the ground on the other side with a soft thud, immediately pressing himself flat as he listened for any signs of alarm.
Nothing. Just the night sounds and distant murmur of the sleeping camp.
Rising to his feet, Asher faced the dark, looming forest ahead. Its twisted shapes and dense undergrowth promised both danger and sanctuary. He glanced back at the camp wall, thoughts turning to Rin still sleeping in the barracks, his own slave mark binding him to this hell. And the others—dozens of men trapped in the same cruel system.
For a moment, guilt threatened to overwhelm him. Should he go back? Try to help them somehow?
He looked forward at the forest again, then back at the wall. The decision was his to make—truly his—for the first time in years.
Though he felt a pang of remorse about leaving them behind, he hardened his heart. 'My own freedom comes above anything else,' he told himself firmly. Their fate was not his responsibility.
With that thought, Asher turned and began running at full speed toward the forest, intent on putting as much distance as possible between himself and the camp before dawn broke.
'I need to make distance between me and the camp so that even if the soldiers realize I've escaped, it would take them a long time to come after me,' he reasoned as branches whipped past his face and undergrowth crunched beneath his feet. 'Though I doubt they'll care much about one escaped slave.'
As the camp disappeared behind him and the forest swallowed him whole, Asher ran toward an uncertain future—but one that, at last, belonged only to him.