Weeks passed — not softly, but not cruelly either.
Somewhere along the way, things had become… normal.
Asveri said it himself one morning as they prepared for another day in the fields. He stretched his arms lazily, his face marked more by boredom than misery.
"You know, this ain't so bad anymore."
Anor'ven raised an eyebrow slightly, watching him.
"I mean, sure," Asveri continued, slinging his tool over his shoulder, "being a slave sucks. But at least we're doing something. Kinda better than rotting in some random village, right?"
Anor'ven said nothing, but he did not dismiss the thought. The days no longer felt like punishment. They simply existed.
In time, they had both adapted.
Not out of happiness, but out of necessity.
They had even started forming bonds — faint, but real.
Mira and Oren had become familiar faces. Not quite friends, but steady presences in a life ruled by repetition. Days spent working side by side softened the distance between them.
Language had been the first bridge.
One evening, Mira pointed to herself and spoke slowly. "Mira."
Oren followed. "Oren."
Asveri caught on quickly, grinning. "Ah. Names, huh? Okay — Asveri."
He nudged Anor'ven. "Come on, don't be shy."
Anor'ven, ever reluctant, gave in eventually. "Anor'ven."
Mira repeated it, stumbling slightly on the pronunciation. Still, she smiled.
Asveri chuckled. "Close enough."
And just like that, something small had been shared.
The routine continued.
Work in the fields. Quiet breaks by the shed. Short, simple conversations.
Asveri found himself picking up more words. Basic things, mostly — objects, actions. Sometimes Mira corrected him. Sometimes Oren would nod approvingly when he got it right.
"You're actually improving," Asveri said to himself one afternoon, proud as he wiped sweat from his forehead. "Not bad for a kid stuck in a body forever."
Anor'ven, nearby, overheard and replied without looking.
"Improvement is natural when nothing else distracts you."
Asveri grinned. "You call me annoying, but you listen anyway."
Anor'ven did not argue.
The master, as always, came and went without much regard.
One afternoon, his voice echoed across the field.
"You and you — north quarter. You two — west ridge. The trench will expand. Finish before nightfall."
Asveri groaned. "Yeah, yeah… 'finish or else.' Got it."
Anor'ven didn't comment. Orders were orders. They followed.
By the time night fell, they gathered again near the shed.
"Sky," Mira said, pointing upwards as usual.
"Sky," Asveri repeated, then gestured at the dirt. "Earth."
"Earth," Oren confirmed.
Anor'ven, more casually now, repeated as well. "Sky. Earth."
Asveri smiled faintly, sitting back.
"Look at us. Talking like locals already."
No one answered immediately, but the quiet agreement hung between them.
In this far-off corner of the world, among chains and duties, words became more than survival. They became bridges.
And so, the day ended.