Days passed.
Slow.
Monotonous.
Suffocating.
Each shift blended into the next.
Wake.
Work.
Eat.
Sleep.
No surprises.
No kindness.
The iron halls knew no mercy, only schedules.
Asveri adapted in silence.
He spent hours observing.
Not just faces.
Not actions.
He reached deeper.
Subtly.
Carefully.
Omnipresence had always been passive to him.
A sea of voices and moments, blurred together.
Everywhere, but without focus.
Now, he learned to aim.
He found targets.
A guard wiping his face, bored.
A prisoner slumped, broken and hollow.
Another, burning with quiet hatred.
Asveri drifted into them.
Not fully.
Not intrusively.
Just enough to taste their thoughts.
To feel their weight.
Fatigue. Regret. Hunger.
Simple, crude emotions.
It drained him.
His head ached when he pushed too long.
His chest tightened when he lingered too deep.
But he kept going.
The need to understand outweighed the strain.
Understanding them…
Was safer.
Smarter.
It made this place less alien.
Anor'ven followed the same path.
But without purpose.
He worked when commanded.
Ate when given food.
Sat in silence when left alone.
He spoke rarely.
Only when Asveri forced words out of him.
Short phrases.
Minimal responses.
No warmth.
No hostility.
Just existence.
Anor'ven had lived too long to care for routine.
He did not resent it.
He did not embrace it.
It simply was.
Even so —
He did not ignore Asveri's presence.
The boy spoke often.
Filling the air with simple thoughts.
Complaints. Jokes. Frustrations.
Anor'ven listened.
Not because he cared.
But because sound was preferable to emptiness.
Perhaps that was enough.
Change came without warning.
Not through chaos.
Not through revolt.
But through authority.
The doors opened during the evening shift.
Guards entered.
But they were different.
More polished.
More precise.
And behind them walked a man.
His clothes were elegant.
Dark blue, stitched with silver lines and mechanical patterns.
He wore no armor.
But the guards around him did.
His steps were measured.
Boots tapping softly against the metal floor.
He did not look at the prisoners.
He scanned them.
Not as people.
Not as enemies.
As stock.
The man spoke in short bursts.
A tongue neither Asveri nor Anor'ven understood.
Commands, observations.
The guards answered quietly.
A few prisoners were approached.
They were dismissed quickly.
Too old.
Too frail.
Too scarred.
The man kept walking.
His eyes fell on Anor'ven.
He stopped.
For a long moment, he observed.
There was no recognition.
Only interest.
He spoke to the warden.
Negotiations began.
Numbers exchanged.
Quick. Businesslike.
Agreement followed.
Anor'ven had been selected.
Asveri stood nearby, stiff.
His reaction was subtle.
But real.
He glanced at Anor'ven.
His expression unreadable.
Concern?
Frustration?
Something else.
The man noticed.
Eyes sharp.
Not curious.
Just calculating.
He spoke again to the warden.
Firmer this time.
— "[Take both. Together.]"
A slight frown from the warden.
More negotiation.
Numbers adjusted.
Agreement again.
Chains were brought.
Asveri hesitated.
Not from fear.
Not from pride.
Just confusion.
But he did not resist.
Anor'ven did not speak.
Did not argue.
He let the cold cuffs wrap around his wrists.
Asveri followed.
His were lighter.
Unnecessary.
But rules were rules.
The other prisoners barely looked up.
This was routine.
People came and left.
None returned.
The guards led them away.
No words of farewell.
No promises.
Just silence.
They were moved through the halls.
Every step echoed.
The city's heart hummed softly around them.
Pipes hissed overhead.
Steam pressed against narrow windows.
They were placed in a steel carriage.
Seats bolted to the floor.
Chains attached to loops beside them.
The vehicle hissed and rumbled to life.
It began to move.
Through the dirty glass, the world passed them by.
Tall spires.
Brass bridges.
Flickering neon signs.
This was civilization.
Cold and vast.
Asveri broke the silence first.
His voice low.
— "So… now we belong to someone."
Anor'ven said nothing at first.
He stared out.
Watching the endless gears turn outside.
Eventually, he spoke.
— "Ownership is meaningless."
Asveri raised an eyebrow.
— "Easy for you to say. You don't care."
Anor'ven looked at him, calm.
— "You shouldn't either."
Asveri smirked, though without humor.
— **"Right. Sure. I'll just stop caring."
No answer.
The carriage shook slightly as they passed over a high bridge.
Lights flickered briefly inside.
Asveri's hands rested on his lap.
He watched them.
Fingers flexing slightly.
— "Still… I guess being sold is better than rotting."
Anor'ven finally looked at him.
His eyes as cold as ever.
— "Not better.
Just faster."
Asveri exhaled slowly.
He leaned back against the wall.
His head tilted, voice almost casual now.
— "You're really bad at cheering people up, you know that?"
Anor'ven did not reply.
The carriage slowed.
Steam hissed.
Gears clicked softly beneath them.
Through the dusty windows, the landscape shifted.
No more towers.
No more endless bridges.
Fields.
Workstations.
Crumbling walls of faded stone and steel.
A provincial district.
Far from the city's burning heart.
Simple houses clustered together.
Machines and wagons lined narrow streets.
People watched as the vehicle arrived.
Eyes dull.
Used to shipments.
Uninterested in faces.
The carriage doors opened with a metallic sigh.
They were ordered out.
Anor'ven stepped down first.
Asveri followed.
The ground felt different.
Less polished.
Dry.
Rough beneath worn boots.
The man who purchased them stood nearby.
No longer surrounded by heavy guards.
But his stance was no less commanding.
Locals bowed slightly as he passed.
Not out of fear.
Out of routine.
He gestured to a nearby servant.
A young man hurried over, speaking quietly.
Chains were removed.
Not kindness.
Necessity.
The man pointed ahead.
— "[You belong here now. Work. Obey. Don't cause trouble.]"
Asveri did not understand the words.
But he understood the tone.
Not cruel.
Not gentle.
Simply matter-of-fact.
They were tools.
No more.
No less.
Asveri looked around.
Fields stretched far.
Teams of workers — some human, others mechanical — moved slowly, completing endless tasks.
Carrying.
Repairing.
Sorting.
Nothing noble.
Nothing rewarding.
Just labor.
Anor'ven said nothing.
Asveri spoke quietly, half to himself.
— "Out of one cage… into another."
No reply.
The man, likely the overseer of this province, turned and left.
Their orders had been given.
Their purpose was clear.
A local foreman approached.
Older. Scarred hands.
He glanced at them briefly.
No curiosity.
No kindness.
He pointed to piles of heavy crates nearby.
— "[Move. There. All day.]"
No explanation.
The foreman walked away before either of them responded.
Anor'ven did not hesitate.
He moved toward the crates.
Hands steady.
Face neutral.
Asveri followed.
His steps slower.
His shoulders heavier.
But he followed.
Together, they started their new task.
The sun hung low.
Wind carried dust across the empty fields.
No chains.
No walls.
But freedom remained distant.