Oh.
I see.
He's a guard dog!
That makes sense. I can't help but laugh, like that's helping me from going insane. A huge man just turned into a huge animal. I thought they were calling him beast as an insult or something… not that he was actually some kind of shapeshifting beast.
Neev, now a panther, slashes at our oppressors. His coat shimmers like onyx, and his claws were as large as a head.
Right. This is a totally different world, I remind myself. This is hell—and in hell, a lot of things can happen. Sure. This is how I'm going to make sense of everything because if I question it too much, I might just go utterly insane.
My vision refocuses as I notice one of the slave drivers approaching with a long tube. He loads something into it and places the other end against his lips. I don't need to think hard to know it's some kind of tranquilizer.
"They're going to tranq him!" I shout, as if that'll actually spur any of these sheep into action.
I grunt as my feet launch upward, my muscles screaming—but pain is just an afterthought now.
The dart buries itself into my arm, and I collapse.
"That stings! Aw, crap, that stings!" I hate this—I hate it when my plans don't fall through, and I hate how there's dirt in my mouth, and how I haven't had a decent bath in ages. I used to sink into a hot tub every night under floating petals, now I'm taking the proverbial bullet for a slave.
Everything blurs. My ears ring, a low hum crawling into my skull. Somewhere beyond it, I hear roaring. So much shouting. A storm of voices, echoing through the haze. Rage. Fear. Panic.
This feels like the first time I died.
Everything used to be so easy for me.
Even when I knew people hated me, it was easier to think of them as bugs so their opinions didn't matter. My parents only looked at me if I was their perfect daughter, the thought of what would happen if I wasn't, was always lingering in the back of my mind. It was so easy—since I knew what people wanted, and how to make them like me.
But it all felt so hollow.
What did I win from all of that?
The ground feels soft. Or maybe it's just me fading. My body's numb, my thoughts slipping through my fingers like sand.
Is it too late now to admit… that I just wanted to be special?
"Is she awake?"
Neev? That's Neev's voice.
"No, not yet," Mino answers — I can recognize that stupid voice anywhere.
"Be careful with her," Neev says, and then I hear the flap of the tent rustle.
"I hate you," Mino mutters, thinking I'm unconscious.
No, dumbass, I'm only paralyzed.
"I hate you so much…" His voice trembles. Is he crying now? "You… If you hadn't spoken up so much, Erbos would still be alive."
Why is he blaming me?
"But he wouldn't be free like us," he says, swallowing his tears. I can almost picture him — that round nose dripping snot, those big, wet eyes. He's just a boy, after all. Around twelve.
"I hate you, Usha."
Fine, fine, I hate you too!
"Thank you."
…Huh?
Make up your mind, you brat. Are you grateful or do you hate me?
It seems Mino's the one tending to my wounds. Time drips by slowly. After a while, I feel something cool pressed against my back, like a cold pack you'd use when you've got a fever. Relief seeps in, dull and soft, but my body refuses to move. My eyelids feel like locked windows.
"I'll take over," Neev's voice says.
He smells… like the sun. Warm, dry, and clean — a scent that doesn't belong in a place like this.
Light footsteps shuffle away, replaced by heavier ones. The air shifts, the tent fabric rustling slightly as someone kneels beside me.
"Can you hear me, Strange One?"
If only I could control my face, I'd roll my eyes.
"I know you can," he says quietly. "I've been darted before." A sigh escapes him, deep and weary. "I… Why did you do that?"
Even if I could move, I wouldn't have an answer. My tongue feels heavy, my thoughts even heavier.
I don't know why.
Normally, I'd never risk myself like that. I always wanted to stay beautiful, perfect — above the dirt, above the pain.
…Oh. Right. I'm not in that world anymore.
Maybe it's because this time, there's nothing left to lose.
He takes the cold pack—or whatever it is—away, wiping me gently, slowly. The touch is careful, deliberate. What's going on? What happened to the slave drivers?
"I'm sure you're wondering what's happening right now," he says, as if he's reading my mind. He… can't. Right?
"… We rebelled," Neev says quietly. "The slave masters have been buried, and we're heading opposite of Lacca. They'll send hunters after us soon, but we're making haste to cross the Eldan River."
My eyelids twitch, heavy and unwilling, but the darkness wavers. A dim glow seeps through, and when my eyes finally flutter open, I see him.
Neev.
He's sitting beside me, the faint light of a single oil lamp flickering between us. Shadows dance across his face. For the first time, I really see him.
Strong jaw. High cheekbones. Eyes that seem to drink in the light and give none back. I hadn't noticed before, probably because I was too busy scheming or shouting or… surviving. But… he looks nice. Aesthetically.
He doesn't speak. Just watches, eyes steady on mine, as if waiting for proof that I'm still alive.
My throat feels dry. "Are you hurt?"
"Not much," he says simply. His voice is low — not rough, but grounded, like stone warmed by sun. He tucks his unruly hair behind his ear, tending to my injury.
Something tightens in my chest. I can't tell if it's gratitude or fear. Maybe both.
The lamp flickers again, and his expression softens. "You shouldn't have done what you did," he murmurs. "But… thank you. Once we swim across the border, they'll have no control over us."
Everyone's been treating me differently since then. When I finally got on my feet, the way they looked at me changed. Still, not much in the routine changed — we'd walk all day under the sun, then rest by night.
Neev said I should stay in the tent, and nobody argued or asked why. Apparently, they ransacked the slave drivers' belongings and split the spoils — ten people to a tent, crammed like sardines in a sack.
Not me, though! I get all the space I want, even if my tent is the smallest.
It makes a lot of sense now why they treated Neev the way they did. He was the guard dog, after all. That's why he always sits alone at night, keeping watch at the edge of camp. Though… what kind of threats could there possibly be out here in the middle of the desert?
"Neev, do you enjoy my company so much?" I ask, teasing. Maybe the poor guy's just never had friends before — maybe that's why he sticks around me. Clingy pup.
He stays silent, back turned as always, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the tent.
Meanwhile, I stretch out across the musty old rug, arms behind my head. Compared to what I've been through, this? This is peak luxury. Dreaming of my old life will just be a dream from now on.
"What do you want to do once we're free?" I ask.
"I want to…" He trails off, and for a long moment, says nothing. "I don't know," he finally admits.
My hand finds my stomach, grumbling. I'm so thin now that I could be on the cover of Vogue. "Well, I want to eat good food." I miss caviar and foie gras and sushi...
"You need money for food," he says, glancing over his shoulder — like he's checking whether I'm serious.
"Then I'll earn money."
"How?"
"I can sell fabrics, or labor… and work my way up from there."
Silence settles between us, broken only by the whistling wind and the faint song of crickets outside.
"You speak so strangely," he says after a while. "That's why they thought you were dangerous."
My eyes roll. "What is it with these people thinking I talk weird?"
He's quiet again for a moment. Then, softly—
"You speak as if you've known freedom before."
Before I can reply, he talks again.
"Before, you used to tell me 'good night, sweet dreams.'" He pauses, voice low and curious. "But… what are dreams?"
I blink. "You don't know what dreams are?"
He shakes his head. "Are they supposed to be sweet?"
"Dreams are…" I trail off, trying to find the words. "Well, when you go to sleep — do you see anything?"
He raises an eyebrow at me, clearly thinking I'm the dumb one. "How could I see if my eyes are closed?"
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. No, dumb dog. "You don't see them with your eyes — you see them with your thoughts."
He tilts his head slightly, still puzzled.
"Dreams are like… stories your mind tells you while you sleep," I say, smiling. "Some are good, some are bad. And when you have sweet dreams, that means they're the good kind." Maybe he's the type to not dream when he sleeps?
"You have these visions often?" he asks.
My dreams are always about ambition. Sometimes, I dream of the life I had before. Sometimes, I don't dream at all.
"I have them when the moon is full," I joke.
"I see. That must be why you act so strange."
"Stop calling me strange. I hate being labeled."
I get up on my knees and shuffle closer to him. His eyes widen as I close the gap between us. "Usha! Ooh-sha!" I repeat, like I'm teaching a child to pronounce it right.
"What?"
"My name is Usha! Call me that, or we won't be friends."
…Great. Now I sound like a child.
His gaze lingers on me. What he sees is a mystery, but he doesn't look away.
"We are friends?" he tilts his head.
Huh? Of course I am. Who else is going to scrub you down? "What did you think I was?"
"Annoying."
"You answered too fast," I couldn't help but click my tongue. Before he turned away from me, the edge of a smile formed on his typically stone face.
"I didn't know you were a shapeshifter."
"What's a shapeshifter?"
"Where I'm from, it's people who turn into animals," I said. I'm going to withhold any other information that would make me seem more of an outsider to this world.
"Here, people like me are called Faunus. How come nobody has taught you this, yet?" He asked.
"How come you're so talkative now?" I arched an eyebrow. He covers his mouth with the side of his fist, judging by how his shoulders rose, he was hiding a chuckle.
Cute.
"I don't know why but... My memories are confusing. It is almost like I was asleep for most of my life and now I am awake," I said.
"Ah," he sighs, thinking about something. "I want to have a home of my own."
"Is that your dream?"
"It can be yours too," He turns to me, dark eyes steady. I could see my reflection in them. When he transformed into a panther, those eyes became golden, pupils like dark daggers. His dark hair had become a glistening coat of fur, and cords of muscle underneath that languid feline body.
"Can you transform again?" I blurted out.
He sighs. "Perhaps during an appropriate time. When there is danger. For now, you must sleep."