A slave.
That word is often used to describe a human who is owned by another of their kind.
Slavery happens to everyone. The weak and cruel who are in power love them the most. It makes them feel a sense of power, of ownership, of rightfulness in the face of the strong.
Rian Cross knows best. Because though he wasn't a slave that was bound by the neck and ankles, he was bound spiritually, emotionally, altogether. From a young age, he wasn't born with much; in fact, he was an orphan. He took what he could and did whatever he could to survive.
There was no safe place to go, and growing up in the slums of a well-off city, the impoverished were cast aside every day. The rich consumed it all and left the scraps to starving children like him.
By the time Rian was 13, he wasn't starving physically, but ambitiously. He had dreams, goals, and aspirations. He wanted to learn the sword, venture into the world, and make a name for himself. Throughout his life, he was often told he wasn't like the rest of the kids.
He read often, at least whatever he could get his hands on; he was well-spoken and showed talent with his athletics.
At 16, he was recruited to a shadowy organization. They promised warmth, shelter, and strength. Suspicious, he took the offer, and thus he was subjected to the ranks of a trainee assassin at the Talon Clan, under the Bladed Division.
He trained hard. He never questioned his superiors. And he completed any mission given, big or small. By the time he was 17, he was already a rung higher on the ladder than his peers. But his seniors in the Clan often spoke badly about him. Talking down on his "Unorthodox" ways.
Rian moved like a seasoned assassin, but fought like a magic swordsman. This was deemed incompetent by those above him, and yet he proved them wrong time and time again. By 20, he was a lieutenant who led strike teams, planned hits, and mapped out escape routes.
At 26, he became the youngest Commander in the order.
***
Rian Cross just turned 27 years old.
"Happy birthday, commander."
"Yeah, happy birthday."
Mellow voices came from around him as a small desert was placed before Rian.
The two telling him birthday praises were his closest men. Men who had been through him with everything. Men, he started with as a trainee. He was happy that he brought them along with him.
"Thank you. This means a lot to me. Try not to get all sentimental, though." Rian joked.
The 3 of them laughed until the door swung open.
"Commander, the uhm... Clan Patriarch wants to speak with you."
Paused, Rian said, "With me?"
"Y-Yes, sir."
Taking the final bite of his dessert, he bowed slightly to his 2 men and strided out the door.
His heart thumped. His fingers are clenching and unclenching. He loosened up his neck-line to allow more breathing room due to the sweat buildup.
"I'm afraid..? Me?" He mused.
'No. I'm just.... curious.'
He continued walking, turning through corridor after corridor, now in the main hallway heading outside, as he crossed past the pond, and the trainees, he stood before the headroom of the Talon Clan Patriarch.
The door slid open.
Rian peered his head in.
"!!"
He swiftly dodged a flying teacup.
"P-Patriarch, sir?" Rian said in a puzzled tone.
"You little..... WORTHLESS! Just worthless you!"
The patriarch, Paule Talon.
A heavy-set man with a winding mustache and double chin. His eyes are wide, and he wears black robes lined with gold silk to signify his position in the clan.
This man does not know how to wield a single blade. Nor does he know a single foot technique.
Strength matters, yes.
But in places like this, it's those with birthright, those with clean hands and nails, those with uncalloused palms, that gain the greatest benefit.
Rian dropped to his knees before the Patriarch. Head hung low, hands out before him.
"I-I apologize, sir. What have I done wrong to offend you?"
"What have you done!? Everything! I told you to kill that man! I told you I needed his land! Yet you failed!" The Patriarch spewed on and on.
"But... But Patriarch... I did what you asked. Did you not tell me to let that man live? You said he was an asset you couldn't afford to lose."
A tea cup struck Rian's head; it shattered, causing blood to gush and form. But he remains still, not moving, not disobeying.
"I never said that! I never said that! Never, never, never!"
The Patriarch flailing his arms like a child throwing a tantrum.
Rian bowed lower, bloody forehead to the floor.
"My... apologies, my lord."
"Not to mention... that ugly style of yours! Magic, swordsmanship, and assassin techniques!? You're basically going against the code!" The patriarch said with a smirk on his face.
Rian understood what was happening. He was being... exiled. The Patriarch was now looking for any reason to lash out at him.
But Rian must have understood that too late, as he opened his mouth to argue.
"But, Sir! Have I not proven myself!? Have I not shown you my style is capable, and strong, even while unorthodox!?"
His head was slammed back down to the floor by a man in dark tactical gear and robes, with 2 daggers by his side and a mask on.
"Silence!" The masked man said in the ear of Rian.
Rian raised his head slightly to see the Patriarch's face.
Paule was angry.
"How... How dare you talk back to me, you worthless nothing!? I am the son of the mighty crimson dagger! The direct descendant of the founder himself! You should be ashamed. No, you should be exiled!"
The command was given.
"W-Wait... no. Please listen to me-"
Rian's head was bagged instantly.
And he was dragged out by unseen arms.
He screamed and resisted, but to no avail.
He was thrown in a cold cell for hours, his arms and ankles shackled by iron links. When he heard the creaky slide of the cell, he accepted his fate.
In the order of Assassins of the Talon Clan, exiled is a word used not just to represent being discharged, but executed.
Rian's head was placed on a wooden guillotine. The blade was recently sharpened for days like this. A crowd had formed by now, some of them cheering, some silent, and a few saddened at the loss of their cherished commander.
But everyone knew to obey, everyone knew not to step out of line or raise up, or else they would be next. It's the age-old question, "Is it better to be feared, or respected?"
The Talon clan chose fear.
As the executioner grabbed his axe, Rian remained stoic, seemingly unbothered in the face.
Then, he clenched his teeth, clenched his fist, and his eyes went bloodshot with rage. Blood spilling from his swollen lip, as well as trickling crimson from the gashes his nails made between his palms.
"I'll get even! This isn't over, you bastard! I will slaughter you! I will be back to kill you and take what I deserve! You think that last name makes you something? I will kill you and rip it out of your brain matter!"
Finally, he calmed down, letting out his breath.
'It's all over.'
Then the blade dropped.