Pov Aria
As the flames consumed what remained of our village, the bodies of the dead littered the ground silent witnesses to the tragedy that had unfolded. We, the survivors, were gathered and locked inside cages, treated not as living beings but as mere beasts or monsters. The nearest city was about a year's journey away, an ordeal that promised to be long and grueling.
I could see the broken faces of women who had lost their husbands, of children now fatherless, all marked by humiliation and the looming pain of a life of slavery where we would be reduced to mere objects used and replaced at will.
As we were herded like cattle, I couldn't help but wonder how they had managed to discover our hidden refuge. Had they truly embarked on such a long journey just to capture us? These unanswered questions kept circling in my mind. Téilo, along with other children and a few adults, was missing; they had managed to escape. Despite the misery of my own situation, I felt a bitter sense of relief that at least some of us had gotten away.
Two weeks passed since our forced departure, and hunger began to gnaw mercilessly at us. Our empty stomachs screamed for food, while our cages our filthy prison cells reeked of stench. Trapped inside these cramped enclosures, we had no choice but to relieve ourselves where we sat. The air was saturated with the smell of our own waste, while we were given just enough food to keep us alive but never enough to quiet our hunger.
After two months of this torment, the brutal conditions began claiming lives. The bodies of those who didn't survive piled up, silent proof of the inhumanity of our captivity.
The stench of decomposition grew stronger by the day, becoming almost unbearable. Flies, drawn by the rot, laid their eggs, beginning a macabre cycle. Days later, the corpses began crawling with maggots, squirming out of ears, eyes, and mouths a nightmarish sight that deepened our despair.
As decomposition advanced, the smell became so overpowering the air itself felt heavy and toxic. We could see worms devouring entrails, leaving behind remains even more unrecognizable. Disease and malnutrition soon followed, claiming the weakest among us children and women. Hunger gnawed mercilessly at my empty stomach; each day became a battle against pain and weakness.
When someone died, even crying became a luxury our dehydrated bodies could no longer afford. Yet, in the midst of this unimaginable suffering, a flame still burned within me: the will to live, and an even fiercer desire for revenge for all we had endured. That strength was what kept me alive a burning wish to one day see justice prevail.
Your hatred and will to live have been heard.
Skills acquired:
When I gained these skills, my mind cleared. I regained a sliver of lucidity.
"My hatred and my will to live… heard by who? By that wretched goddess?" I muttered through clenched teeth.
After eight long months of torment, the convoy finally came to a halt. Through the bars of my cage, I watched the men bustling around a camp where a massive portal stood. My heart skipped a beat when I realized how they had managed to cover such a great distance: a teleportation gate, newly installed, served as their relay.
Yet, it still didn't answer the burning question of how they had discovered our hidden village.
We eventually passed through that teleportation gate, which transported us directly to Attal, the capital of the Sigma Kingdom. Upon arrival, we were treated exactly as the merchandise we had become, sold like livestock on a market that saw no value in our lives. During this transaction, the pain of separation was added to the horror of our situation: I was torn away from my mother. The last time our eyes met, they were filled with despair.
The toll of this journey was grim; many of our people hadn't survived the ten months of horror. Each lost life carved another scar into my heart; each absence was a bitter reminder of the cruelty of our fate. And yet, despite the pain and loss, the flame of resistance and thirst for justice continued to burn inside me. I no longer fought just to survive; I fought to avenge every soul unjustly taken.
We were lined up myself and the other girls from my village — displayed in the middle of the crowded street like mere merchandise. Each of us wore a slave collar that prevented us from rebelling or escaping. As passersby stopped to stare, evaluating us with cold, critical eyes as if selecting items at a market stall, the humiliation of this public display became almost unbearable.
As each of my friends was sold one after another, my turn finally came. A man approached, his assessing gaze running up and down my body.
"How much for this girl?" he asked with a chilling coldness that sent shivers down my spine.
"She's a rare beast-girl with white fur 10 gold coins."
"That's a bit expensive, isn't it?"
"Perhaps. But all these young girls are virgins," the seller replied with a sly smirk.
Upon hearing this, the man licked his lips with a vile grin.
"Very well. I'll take her," he said, handing over the gold.
My torment only deepened after the sale. The man who had bought me had me washed quickly, a cold, perfunctory gesture meant only to make me "presentable" for his sick purposes. Once "clean," I was taken to his home. Upon arrival, I was brought to a small, bare room. My wrists were bound to prevent any resistance. Every movement was a struggle; every breath a reminder of my loss of freedom. I was treated not as a living being, but as property — a worthless object.
"Ah, don't worry. I'll take good care of you. Who knows, maybe you'll even grow to like it," the man said with a vile smile.
As I struggled desperately, he ripped my clothes off, nearly tearing them to shreds. I kicked with all the strength I had left. That only sparked a furious rage in my aggressor. His face twisted with wrath as he began to beat me savagely, his blows precise and merciless.
"You filthy bitch! You dared to hit your master!" he roared, enraged.
Each blow landed with terrifying force, splattering blood that slowly stained the once-immaculate white sheets around us. The dull thud of each impact merged with the searing pain coursing through my body. The sight of my own bright red blood forming sinister patterns against the pristine sheets created a shocking, almost surreal contrast. My ragged breathing and the ringing in my ears amplified the horror of the scene, making each moment even more suffocating.
"S-stop… please…"
As I begged him, my voice broken by pain and tears, he seemed to take a perverse pleasure in my desperate pleas. His response was to hit me even harder, each strike fueled by even greater brutality, as if my suffering gave him strength. The bed, already splattered with my blood, became the stage for an increasingly horrific scene, each stain bearing witness to the violence I endured.
"That's right! Learn your place!" he sneered with a sadistic grin.
In a final act of brutal violence, he shattered the last barrier of my intimacy, tearing away what was most personal to me. He ripped apart the last fragile remnants of my childhood innocence as a searing pain tore through me, marking indelibly the loss of my virginity under the merciless weight of his actions. The man was violating me with an indifference that only amplified the horror of the act.
"Ahhhh… It hurts… it hurts… please…"
None of my heart-rending screams, none of my desperate pleas for help found an echo; the walls seemed to swallow every sound. And who, after all, could have heard? Who would have come to my aid? When it was finally over, the bed on which I had been forced to lie bore the irremovable marks of the assault: sheets once pristine now stained a vivid red, silent witnesses to the inhuman act I had suffered.
For four long years, I endured unimaginable violence, subjected to assaults against my will, often by multiple attackers at once. He reveled in torturing me, savoring every flicker of pain that crossed my face. The blows, the burns, the deep cuts, the attempts to choke me became the rhythm of a daily life turned into hell. I fought desperately for every gasp of air, while my mind tried to shield itself behind a veil of dissociation. This unending torment, stretched over four years, slowly dehumanized me, reducing me to an object of suffering, hollowed out of any sense of self the very state I had so fiercely resisted becoming.
One day, while I was out in the street, something unexpected happened. A handsome young man with intense crimson eyes approached me to offer his help. But his public intervention risked putting him in even greater danger. With a trembling yet firm voice, I pretended that everything was fine, persuading him to leave before he got hurt. Barely had he walked away when I once again found myself under the blows, beaten with renewed brutality by my captor in retaliation for that brief moment of hope.
Eventually, I was purchased by another man and, by a twist of fate, I found myself once again beside that same young man with the red eyes. That night, under a sky scattered with stars, he promised me he would devote all his strength to improving the lives of the other races. As he held me in his arms, I felt the reassuring warmth of his body a poignant contrast to the cold of my painful memories. Lost in the moment, I couldn't tear my gaze away from his glowing crimson eyes, shining with a mysterious and breathtaking light beneath the starry night.