Thin rays of light slipped through the cracks in the wooden carriage, brushing against my face.
With the low creak of old planks, I rubbed my eyes and pushed myself up from the floor—thankfully, it wasn't as cold as before. The air still bit into my skin, but not with the same cruelty as the day prior.
I wrapped the thin sheet around myself—the only minimal form of protection we were granted during sleep—and jumped out of the now-empty wagon.
A group of slaves, no longer bound by chains, had gathered around an improvised campfire. The flames crackled softly, casting uneven shadows across exhausted faces. Some sat directly on the frozen ground; others stood close, warming their calloused hands.
The mountain range—painted white by the sudden change in climate—rose in the distance like unreachable walls. The snowfall had eased, but it hadn't vanished. The cold morning wind stung my eyes, and my feet sank into the thin layer of ice mixed with dirt. Before I realized it, I was drawn toward the fire.
That was when I saw a familiar face.
Eren was there. As soon as he noticed me, he raised his hand in a brief wave, calling my attention. I walked toward the group, feeling solid ground beneath my feet—an oddly comforting contrast after hours of being thrown around inside the carriage.
Eren stood up.
"Strange that you didn't want to sleep with us in the tents," he said. "Slaves don't get that kind of luxury every day."
The others nodded as I approached.
What I said wasn't an explanation.
Nor a justification.
Just—
"Hey."
***
After hours trapped inside the slave caravan—something closer to an ice cave than a means of transport—we had finally reached the outskirts of the capital.
Or so we should have.
Due to certain decisions made by the major in charge of the escort, we were ordered to set camp in the middle of the Kael'Var mountain range—too far from the walls to call it an arrival… and too close to pretend we were still safe from the mountain itself.
Kael'Var—named after the one who first discovered this route—was the main and most well-known passage leading to the capital. So, at the very least, it wasn't wrong to say we were on the right path.
That alone was something.
To my surprise, the officers provided tents and sheets so the slaves could shelter for the night. Even the more experienced among us seemed taken aback by that.
For me, it only bred suspicion.
When Eren spoke of his view of the world the day before, there had been no exaggeration in his eyes. No lies.
They needed as many slaves alive as possible.
Why?
That, I didn't know.
The feeling seemed mutual among those used to this kind of life. Eren was certainly one of them. The fire crackled, sending sparks into the air.
"...Hot." I murmured.
A few laughed at my reaction.
"Haha! It's a fire, man. What did you expect—cold?"
"A man of few words!"
"How does he manage to have presence with zero charisma?"
"Alright, alright." Eren raised a hand. "Leave him alone."
The conversation carried on as if nothing was wrong. As if everyone there had momentarily forgotten the state we were in.
"I just found it weird you didn't want to sleep in the tents with us," Eren said, jerking his thumb toward the caravan. "Seriously… how did you even manage to sleep in that freezer?"
"Yeah!" another laughed. "We don't mess with newcomers, relax. Nobody here's after your butt."
"That's disgusting." The only woman in the group rolled her eyes. "Maybe he just has social anxiety. Or common sense."
I kept my eyes on the fire, watching the flames dance before answering.
"I can't sleep while others are watching me. The chance of someone trying to assassinate me in my sleep is too high."
Silence fell.
Thick. Heavy.
Some looked away. Others cleared their throats.
"Ahem… we wouldn't do that."
"Yeah. Of course not."
The discomfort lingered until someone forced a change of subject.
"So… are you a sentenced one?"
Eren moved instantly. "Hey. That's not something you ask."
"I am."
No hesitation.
No change in tone.
Drier than anyone expected. No one laughed this time.
It wasn't immediate fear.
It was genuine surprise. I tilted my head, confused.
"You're not?"
They exchanged glances. Someone avoided my eyes. Another cleared his throat, as if my question had crossed an invisible line.
Eren spoke first.
"It's not like that," he said calmly. "It's not that we can't. We just don't."
I kept looking at him—not suspiciously. Just trying to understand.
"There's a difference," he continued. "Between the sentenced… and the others."
"The others?" I asked.
"Those who can still be useful without becoming disposable tools," he replied flatly. "People locked up over debt. Bad luck. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They still have something to lose."
"And you?" I asked.
"We already lost it," one of the men said with a quiet laugh. It wasn't a joke. "That's exactly why nobody wants internal trouble. Fear is stronger than hatred."
Eren nodded.
"It's not racism. It's not disgust. It's instinct." He met my gaze directly. "A sentenced man has nothing holding him back. Nothing to protect. That scares people."
I stayed silent—not because I disagreed.
"But that doesn't mean you can't stay here," Eren added, softer. "If you wanted to sleep in the tent, no one would stop you. The fire belongs to everyone." Silence returned.
Heavier than before.
"So…" someone asked hesitantly. "What were you sentenced for?"
"Murder."
No pause, no weight added. Just a fact.
Someone swallowed hard. The fire cracked—too loud at the wrong moment.
"How old are you?" another asked quickly, as if trying to escape the topic.
"Nineteen," I said after a brief pause. "As far as I remember."
The discomfort spread like cold. Not instantly—but inevitably.
"That's… the same age as my son," a man murmured, more to himself than to us. Everyone heard it anyway. After a few seconds, someone tried again. His voice came out wrong.
"And… how many people have you— you know."
"Killed?" I tilted my head. "I don't remember. I never had a reason to count."
There was no pride in the words.
"In my hometown, the wanted posters said the body count reached the hundreds."
A pause.
"But I never knew where they got that information. They were probably lying."
This time, no one could hide it.
No one said it out loud—but the revulsion was there. In the averted eyes. In the slight steps back. In how the fire stopped feeling shared.
I noticed.
"If you don't want to walk with someone like me… I'll leave."
Without remorse, only acceptance.
I took a step back—And Eren moved.
He stood up and blocked my path. The emptiness he carried until then vanished, replaced by something solid. Unyielding. Like a pillar holding something together.
"Wait."
Everyone watched in silence.
"We're seven now."
***
"We're seven now." Eren repeated it, firmer this time.
He pointed first to the man sitting closest to the fire, with a thin beard and hollow eyes.
"That's Harlan. Before all this, he was a blacksmith."
Harlan raised two fingers in greeting. "Yo." He didn't smile, but he didn't seem willing to go against Eren's will either.
"Next to him, Mira."
The woman inclined her head, arms crossed. Her gaze lingered on me a second longer than it did on the others.
"Tolen and Brask." Eren continued, indicating the two youngest, always together. "Brothers. They don't like talking much."
They nodded almost at the same time.
"The old one over there is Corven."
"Old" was an exaggeration. He just looked more worn down than the rest.
"And I'm Eren. But you probably already knew that."
"…Why all this?" I asked. "You didn't even care about their opinion."
"Who said I disagree?" Harlan cut in.
Before I could reply, the others nodded—some hesitantly, others almost automatically. No one looked comfortable. Even so, no one stepped back.
That scared me.
Not because of the acceptance. But because of how easily they accepted something they clearly didn't understand.
The subject died there. Not because it was resolved, but because no one knew what to say after that.
Not long after, the metallic sound of weapons and the voices of the officers cut through the frozen air. It was time to move. The fires began to be put out, the tents dismantled in haste.
The conversation about names was left behind—or, according to Eren: "For the next time."
Like many other things.
The caravan began to move again—and this time, there were no more excuses.
The capital lay ahead.