His neck chained to the wall by a steel chain, Thomas looked around.
'1, 2, 3 — 7, 8 — 9 people...'
He was dizzy and nauseous. He was trembling, cold... maybe hot too? Actually, he didn't know, everything was blurry. When was the last time he ate? Yeah no, the real question was — had he ever eaten at all?!
"Hrk—! ...Kh-ghrk!...Hhhhhn—!"
He tried to vomit but nothing came out… His stomach was clearly empty.
He looked at an old man who seemed to laugh at seeing him suffer. He spoke in a muffled voice:
"Hey you! Answer me, what the hell are we doing here?"
The old geezer staring at him frowned, then tilted his head back. One hand on his face, he burst out laughing.
"Hrrr-héhéhé... keh-keh-keh!"
"What? What the fuck are you laughing at, asshole?!"
A woman observing the exchange spoke up.
"Yé vanio paurty cabah?! Héhéhé!"
"Huh?" he said, confused.
'What the fuck is that language?'
Suddenly, Thomas remembered something terrifying:
'The language I'm using… what's it called again?!'
"Hey! Anyone here know who I am, by any chance?!"
Ba-thump! Ba-thump!
Thomas was suddenly overwhelmed by uncontrollable panic. Who the fuck was he? He wasn't even sure of his own name!
"Yo—you! All of you there, what the fuck did you do to me, goddammit?! Hey, you, you fucking old bastard, answer me!" Thomas shouted.
The room was dimly lit by torches, he couldn't see all the details but some were looking at him with fear, others with pity — wait, why did most of them look happy?
'Bunch of idiots, explain a little instead of enjoying my obvious misery.'
Minutes passed. Thomas stared at them coldly. They were obviously talking about him — what else could they be talking about anyway? The neighbor's dog?!
In any case, the conversation must have been thrilling judging by the laughter... Thomas had already given up on it — what's the point?
Bored, Thomas counted ants — it was the most entertaining thing around.
'You won't find anything here, you stupid bugs… There's only shit and piss on the ground — it reeks of death…'
Suddenly, as if someone finally remembered to make the plot interesting — a guy entered the cell. The guy was wearing a faded red hooded cloak — a sort of poncho! He was holding a tray in one hand, and at his waist… a sword?
Thomas looked at him enter, annoyed…
'Alright! The circus starts again… Look at this crap! The others already have chipmunk cheeks… like they'd burst if they opened their mouths.'
Looking at him, he frowned and tilted his head to the side.
'What's with this Halloween costume? That circus line was a joke — why the hell does he have a sword? Uh… Halloween, what does that even mean again?'
The hooded guy was looking at him — I guess his face was hidden. Was he afraid to show it?
'Ah yes… This is the torture time. OH YES!'
"Yé etah bonio Ilgraa yutour d'a babor!" he said, holding out the tray.
'Huh? Oh yeah, real interesting what you're saying, buddy! Go on, I'll take part in this legendary exchange too, my friend!'
"Hey bini to ma tata mi yo purta lo bonito ba hu ka nononono burtalomipaaa! Paaa Paaa!" Thomas replied cheerfully, taking the tray.
'Ah, what a delight on this beautiful day… Dry bread and water.'
Suddenly, the hooded guy smacked the tray, knocking the bread and water to the ground… The worst part was, the bread landed in an unreachable spot.
Thomas, surprised, looked at the strange guy.
'Did I say something rude? No, impossible...'
"YÉ BABUTARD — YO BITRUTE KANO MI!" shouted the bringer of false hope.
'What?! Does he want me to get on all fours and lick his boots as an apology?'
The man, who seemed to be a guard here, calmly drew his sword.
"Hey! My good man, you're on the wrong line, that's for the next page!"
Unable to go far, he stared with boredom at the guy who was grabbing his sword by the blade instead of the handle. A technique called Mordhau.
Well, for the VIP spectators around Thomas, this was without a doubt the most entertaining moment of their day — oh no, of their week for sure! Maybe even of their life?
Thomas tried to dodge the pommel strike, but failed — worse, the hit struck the chain, choking him briefly. He fell to the ground.
"Hu-huurk!"
'Fuck, he's not gonna kill me, is he?!'
"Yé blito ba Ilgraa yu benii!" said the guard, striking again.
This time, he hit him in the stomach.
"Huuuf–!"
While Thomas was being beaten down, another prisoner tried with all his might to grab the piece of bread — no success.
Satisfied, the guard left a battered Thomas — leaving a bitter taste to his first day in this world.
Staring at the piece of bread, Thomas leaned his head back against the wall.
'Turns out the ants weren't stupid — they'll have a feast tonight…'
---
Days passed, and to say the least: boring as hell. Thomas had finally gotten his thoughts in order. The shock of being in an unknown place with no memories had been violent.
What he assumed were guards escorted other prisoners down the hallway. That suggested there were other rooms like this one… Still, no one from his cell had ever been escorted.
The others now ignored Thomas. He was probably considered the crazy guy of the group.
Oh, and yeah — one day, a massive luxury was granted, leaving Thomas surprised: they cleaned the room. Ecstasy — not for long, alas.
Something worrying started happening on the second day — a faint green glow began emanating from his skin. But no one but him noticed it — strange… It was almost as if this phenomenon was perfectly normal.
"Hey! You! You don't see I'm a human light bulb?!"
The glow intensified day by day, it was now a full-blown aura. He thought maybe he was sick. But he set that thought aside — illness was the least of his worries.
In truth, it had taken several days for the body with perfect potential to adapt to the soul of Zelvirah and integrate it into its system. Zelvirah had managed to integrate only because he had become one with Thomas — and because the strength of Thomas's soul and mind was simply beyond comprehension. He undoubtedly possessed the greatest spirit and soul in all of Eldrad.
During those boring days, he hadn't stayed idle. Frustrated at not understanding anything, he had tried to learn a few phrases, even though understanding their meaning was tricky.
One word came back often among the guards: Ilgraa. Groupings like: blito ba, yutami yira, io ba and etah bonio often preceded the term Ilgraa.
When a guard entered the cell: yutami yira Ilgraa. When he handed out a meal: etah bonio Ilgraa. When he escorted a prisoner: io ba Ilgraa. And before an important action: blito ba Ilgraa.
Thomas concluded that the term Ilgraa was specific to the guards, since none of the prisoners ever used it. It was probably a greeting, the name of their organization, or something religious — he had no idea, but those were his most logical hypotheses.
Their language functioned with logical blocks. It was a bit weird but their sentences started with an announcer: Yé. Like saying: listen, this is a sentence. By stacking these blocks, they created meaning. No word had a meaning by itself, the meaning came from assembly.
In addition to learning the blocks, he memorized every guard's move, every interval. If he had to stay up all night counting the time between two events — he would.
It was important to understand the tiniest detail here. For example: is it as active at night as during the day?
Thomas was observing an anthill from the inside, but only from a room with a hallway view — not enough, but he now had a pretty good idea of how things worked here.
On the seventh day — or what he assumed was the seventh, since actual time was unknowable — a guard entered.
"Yé yutami yira Ilgraa émi quat!"
The cell guard let the other in.
"Yé pinta yuta Ilgraa émi quat."
'Pinta yuta, let's see the meaning…'
All the prisoners looked at him with big smiles — the biggest he'd seen so far.
'Huh? What's going on? They taking a vote?! Why me?!'
The guard looked at everyone, then started laughing.
"Khe! Khe! Bahahah—ah!"
He turned toward the little girl and pointed at her.
Thomas frowned.
"Yé io ba Ilgraa émi quat."
'Ah, there's that term émi quat again. Interesting. So émi quat probably means a goal. The word before Ilgraa is the action leading to that goal. If pinta yuta signals a choice, then io ba must be the selected option for that goal. If I got this right…'
The girl began to shake and scream in fear. Tears streamed endlessly down her childish face.
'So he's saying something like: For Ilgraa, we choose you for the event.'
The girl's mother, panicking, screamed at the guard with hatred:
"ILGRAA! ILGRAA! YÉ BABUTARD ILGRAA!"
You could easily imagine the guard's face turning red, but alas, under his hood, nothing was visible — that would've been too good.
'Alright, this event clearly isn't a godly gift.'
The guard drew his sword. He got into position to do a Mordhau on the little girl.
'No fucking way — he's gonna beat the girl for what her mom said?!'
"YÉ BABUTARD — YO BITRUTE KANO MI!" Thomas yelled.
It was the same phrase the first guard had shouted before beating him. Undoubtedly an insult.
Everyone stared at him. All were surprised. Thomas was known as the guy who couldn't speak.
But the most surprised were the girl, her mother — and the guard.
They looked at him with eyes saying: why are you helping us? And it was a good question. Why was Thomas helping them? They had all humiliated him.
'I… I can't let this child fall… Why?!'
"Keh! Keh! Bahahah—ah!" laughed the guard.
He approached Thomas and sheathed his weapon.
Thomas watched him approach, not knowing what to do. He couldn't do anything even if he wanted to…
'Am I an idiot? No. I don't know why, but I can't stand seeing a child suffer. I simply respected myself.'
The guard firmly grabbed Thomas's face with one hand. For the first time, he saw a guard's face. His skin was entirely scarred.
Seeing that face, Thomas felt only one emotion — fear.
"Yé io ba Ilgraa émi quat." the guard said in a chilling voice.
'Shit...'