Months pass by.
I should be just over a year old by now, and my voice which was once broken and hesitant, now flows with surprising ease. I talk to the other slaves around the area, ask about chores, and even joke when a basket of scraps splashes against my ankle.
But most of the time, they'd either ignore me because they're too busy wallowing in their own despair. Or try to brush me off because they don't want to deal with an annoying brat. That I can understand to some degree.
Each morning I wake up, I feel relief, knowing I can greet the day in full sentences rather than loud cries. Our routine is the same, yet everything feels different. When she bids me carry firewood or fetch water, I do so with a small pride that wasn't there before. She walks beside me, guiding my hands with gentle fingers, and I glance up to catch her warm, bright smile.
"Very good, Albus," she says as I lift a heavy log without stumbling. I greet her now with a genuine smile instead of shyness. She lifts me, and I wrap my arms around her neck, pressing my cheek against her warm collarbone.
At night, we speak quietly during the rare calm moments: I tell her about my small triumphs—balancing a bucket without spilling or finishing my soup when I once spat it out. She listens, her eyes soft, and nudges me gently. "You learn so quickly, Albus." Hearing her praise me so much isn't something I'm used to yet, but it feels nice knowing someone who genuinely listens and cares for me.
I don't know how to describe it, but it feels like she's my mother at this point. Although I don't know if I can call her that yet.
As I ponder on these thoughts, I quietly blurt out this single word. "Mama…" The cage becomes silent for moment, wondering what happened, I look up to her. "What did you call me?" She says with a shocked look on her face.
Shit! Did I really just say my thoughts out loud? My heart thunders in my ears. I stare at my hands, wishing the word back into the shadows.
"Did you just call me, Mama?" she stiffens, her voice quivering. My face burns. "I—I didn't mean… I just—" And then... she cries. She gathers me into her arms, tears soak my shoulder. Her voice shaking. "I'm sorry." She holds me even tighter. I can feel her body trembling.
"I had a son. He looked just like you. Same hair… same quiet eyes. But he… he died. There was a disease that swept through our village. Took the children first. I couldn't do anything. Couldn't save him. I cursed the gods. I cursed myself. I won't lie, at first, I thought maybe the gods had given me a chance to see him again. That maybe… you were him, somehow. I used you as a replacement. A stand-in for the child I lost."
She pauses, brushing her hand over my cheek. "But then I realized… you're not him. You're someone else. And I love you. Not because of who you remind me of—but because of who you are."
I can't say anything. My throat feels too tight. "I don't even know if you can understand the words I'm saying right now. You must think I'm just rambling nonsense right now."
I press my head into her shoulder and hug back, letting her warmth cover me. She's suffered too much. And sacrificed so much for me.
"I'll protect you, Albus. No matter what happens. I swear on my life." She whispers to me, as she presses her forehead into mine.
That should be my line. It's the least I can do for her in return.
The world we live in hasn't changed. We're still slaves. Still under the rule of monsters dressed as men. But in this tiny cage of nothing but filth and iron, her arms make me feel like maybe—not everything has to be all terrible.
. . .
The next evening. We huddle in the corner of our cage, sharing the thin gruel and stale bread they toss us. The nightlight flickers against her gold glistening hair. I nibble at a crust, listening as she hums the same soft tune.
Suddenly, her humming turns to silence. "Tomorrow is collection," she says without looking up. Her voice is calm, but I hear the tremor beneath it. I freeze mid-bite. "Collection?" I ask, voice small.
I remember it being mentioned a few times, but I didn't really understand what that meant at first. She must be referring to the slave auction. She sets her bowl aside and traces a pattern in the dirt.
"A man calling himself 'The Overseer' comes to visit us almost every year. He looks around our settlement and checks which slaves can be sold at auction." She looks up, meeting my eyes.
"He chooses the strongest, the cleverest, the most profitable, and the most... fertile." She stops mid sentence before continuing again. "Those of us not chosen stay behind."
My chest tightens so hard I can barely breathe. Auction. I choke on a gulp of my gruel. If only one of us gets chosen, we'll be torn apart forever.
I glance at her. Her bright orange eyes are steady, but her silence and downward gaze tells me she's scared too. I push back against the wall, rise to my feet, and shove myself toward her. "No! No, you can't, I don't want you to go—" She reaches out her hand and pulls me close. I cling to her like a life raft, as my arms lock tightly around her waist.
"I won't let them take you," she says softly close to my ear. "I promised you didn't I?—that whatever happens, even if we're separated, I'll find a way to get you back. Even if I have to buy your freedom with my life."
The words she gives feel reassuring, but the thought of her dying for me just feels wrong. The fear returns like ice shoved down my back.
"But if I'm taken..."
"Then I'll come for you," she insists. Her hand drifts to my cheek. " I'll bargain. Fight my way out of here if I have to—"
"T-they'd kill you!" Imagining her limp form returning, bruised and broken. I press my forehead against her chest. "Please... don't leave me."
She presses her forehead into mine. "We'll be together. I swear it." She smooths the hair from my eyes and notices my hand.
"What happened here?" she asks. I hold out my palm. A thin red line crescents across my skin—fresh, oozing a bead of blood.
"Tripped." That's a lie. Truth is, I slipped in the mine tunnel today, and the rock shard cut me when I reached for my basket.
"You should have told me," she scolds gently, but her fingers already glow with pale light.
"Next time, speak up." Suddenly, the text window from before appears before me.
[Acquire Skills]
- Minor Healing
- Soul Vision
Another objective? Seriously, what exactly is this? It's giving me goals to achieve like it's some video game. Not like I've ever played one myself, since I was poor in my previous world. But I've at least seen other people play.
Regardless, it seems it wants me to learn these skills. Healing I get—it's a useful skill no matter where I'll be. But what the hell is Soul Vision? Well, I guess if it's asking me to learn it, then it must be useful.
"I—can I learn?" I ask quietly. She takes a moment to think before nodding. "Of course—oh but you're still too young to learn Aura. But Minor Healing—yes. However…"
A condition huh? Alright then, spill it.
"You must promise me never to reveal it to anyone. Healing magic is a very rare and valuable skill to have, and not many people can use it. Understood?
"Promise," I nodded in agreement. "Good. Let's get started then." She then lifts and sits me into her lap. "Now first, close your eyes."
I do as she says, heart hammering. I settle into her lap, palm exposed. She places both hands lightly on my forearm. "Look inside yourself. Can you see a small little flame peeking out?
Everything is dark, but I see a tiny light slowly pop out before me. It feels like a humming ember, vibrating in time with my heartbeat. "Yes." I reply.
"That is your soul. As you grow older, that little flame will get bigger. And the bigger it is, the brighter it shines. And the brighter it shines, the more magic you can do."
My soul huh? It's so small. I guess I won't be able to do much with this. "Now picture that light wrapping around your hand, like a bandage. Now see your wound as a tear in fabric—tiny, but painful. Imagine it stitching itself together, thread by thread." I focus on the cut: the red line, the sting, the way it throbs when I move my fingers.
I breathe out slowly, and the ember in my chest surges upward, spilling over my arm. I see—or more like feel—the threads of light weaving the skin back.
My eyes flutter open, and I blink at my palm. The cut is gone. No scab, no mark—it's all smooth again. I did it. I actually did it. I used actual magic for the very first time.
All of a sudden, my vision begins to blur. A wave of exhaustion crashes through my limbs. I try to speak, but my voice fails.
I sag forward. She catches me, cradling me as I slip into darkness. Her arms tighten around me. "Sleep now," she whispers, as I feel her pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek.
"You did so well my sweet boy." I drift into sleep, safe in her embrace. Knowing that tomorrow we face Collection Day—but tonight, I have magic, but most importantly—I have my mother.
. . .
As the quiet night continues. Out in the distance, a vast, looming silhouette swiftly drifts over the forest's dark canopy—its unknowable shape gliding inexorably toward Ferrosum, unseen and unfettered by moonlight.
Far below, the trees whisper among themselves, their branches trembling as though sensing an ancient, wordless threat. The towering shadow presses onward, a living portent whose purpose remains as veiled as the starless sky.
[Current Status]
Name: Albus
Age: 1
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Class: Slave
Occupation: None
Location: Ferrosum
Strength: 2/ Toughness: 2/ Stamina: 2/ Dexterity: 2/ Perception: 3/ Charisma: 2
Titles: Soul Migrator/Blood Moon Curse
Skills/Traits: Minor Healing(Lvl. 0)