It had been weeks since routine swallowed them whole. The days bled together now, soft in their repetition. Labour. Eat. Rest. Repeat. Somewhere in that cycle, the world had dulled. Not entirely unpleasant, but muted, like colors fading from a once-vivid painting.
Asveri stood with his arms crossed, watching the field before them. The dirt, dry and cracked, seemed less oppressive these days. The slaves moved like a tired river — slow, steady, predictable.
Beside him, Anor'ven remained silent, adjusting the grip on his worn tool.
"Look at them," Asveri muttered casually, a small grin curling on his lips. "Even Oren and Mira. They're like... perfect little workers now."
Anor'ven followed his gaze.
Oren and Mira were working close together that day. Their motions synced without words. Mira laughed softly at something Oren had said, wiping sweat from her brow. There was ease between them — something genuine that had formed through necessity and quiet moments shared.
Asveri leaned on the handle of his tool, smirking faintly. "Kinda sweet, honestly. Even here, people find reasons to smile."
Anor'ven said nothing, but the faint lift of his brow hinted at mild amusement. Or perhaps simply observation.
---
But as the hours crawled by, something shifted.
It began faintly. A tension, low and bitter, began to trickle into Asveri's senses.
At first, he ignored it. There was always anger somewhere. Always boredom or frustration. Being surrounded by dozens of broken souls made it unavoidable.
But this was different.
Midway through pulling a cart of loose rocks, Asveri paused. He closed his eyes briefly, focusing.
The omnipresence, once chaotic and overwhelming, now moved smoothly around him. Like invisible threads connecting every mind nearby, tugging faintly with emotion.
He searched. Felt.
And then — he found.
The thin man. Cruel eyes. Always muttering. Always distant, but present.
Asveri didn't need words. The man's feelings screamed clearly now.
*"Why him? Why does she smile at him?"*
*"Pathetic. He's nothing. She should know better."*
*"One day, I'll remind them. I'll make her see."*
Asveri's lips pressed thin. It wasn't just him. As he expanded his reach slightly, he caught traces from others too — two more men, ones that often worked near the thin man.
Not loud. Not organized.
But filled with quiet, poisonous jealousy.
---
Later that afternoon, when the sky dimmed and workers returned toward the shed for water and rest, Asveri walked beside Anor'ven in thoughtful silence.
It wasn't until they reached the shadows cast by the large barrels near the shed that he spoke.
"Something's not right," he said quietly.
Anor'ven gave him a look, not questioning, but waiting.
Asveri ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "It's them. That thin bastard and his little crew. They've been simmering since day one, sure — but now? It's not just resentment."
Anor'ven's gaze sharpened slightly. "Explain."
"It's Oren and Mira," Asveri said flatly. "They don't like seeing them together. Not just out of hate... but because they want her. Like animals fighting for scraps."
He paused, frustrated. "They're planning something. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon."
Anor'ven remained still for a moment, before speaking softly — coldly.
"Desire burns quieter than anger. But it consumes twice as fast."
Asveri nodded grimly. "Exactly. I don't think they'll just let this continue."
He shifted his stance, leaning against the wall.
"I don't know what they'll do, but… I don't like it. Feels ugly."
Anor'ven studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"Then observe. You already can. Use it."
The words were simple, yet final.
---
The following days unfolded without event — yet the tension lingered.
Asveri spent more time near Mira and Oren, not obviously, but enough to keep them within reach.
He sharpened his ability further.
Whenever the thin man glanced over, Asveri could taste the bitterness clinging to his thoughts.
*"He's getting too close."*
*"She smiles too much."*
*"Soon."*
The thoughts repeated, day after day. Sometimes with more heat, sometimes fading into background noise. But they always returned.
Oren and Mira, oblivious to the undercurrent of hatred, continued on.
They shared small jokes. They split food fairly. They spoke softly when they thought others weren't listening.
Mira, especially, seemed lighter than usual. She hummed more. Her eyes no longer darted nervously every time the master's voice echoed across the fields.
Asveri, watching from the side, couldn't help but smile faintly at first.
"They're just trying to live," he murmured one evening as he and Anor'ven sat by the low fence at dusk.
Anor'ven, sitting beside him sharpening a crude blade, did not look up.
"That is enough reason to be hated," he said without emotion.
Asveri frowned. "That's... really depressing."
"It's true."
Asveri didn't argue.
Instead, he stared ahead, watching Oren and Mira by the communal fire. They shared bread, laughing quietly as Mira accidentally spilled some water on Oren's boot. It was mundane. Soft. Human.
And dangerous, apparently.
---
One night, Asveri pushed further.
Lying on his thin mat, eyes half-lidded as exhaustion tugged at his mind, he focused deeply.
The thin man. His mind was sharper now — more direct.
*"Soon."*
*"Night. Maybe tomorrow."*
*"Quiet. Quick. They won't expect it."*
The thoughts chilled Asveri. Not fully formed, not spoken aloud, but clear enough.
He sat up slowly, glancing toward Anor'ven nearby.
"He's serious now," Asveri said quietly, almost whispering. "It's not just ugly feelings anymore. They're planning something."
Anor'ven turned toward him, his eyes narrowed faintly.
"How soon?"
"Not sure," Asveri admitted. "But soon. Within days."
For a moment, they sat in silence.
Anor'ven stared up at the cracked beams above, as if lost in memory. His voice came soft, distant.
"Jealousy turns even weak men into wolves when night falls."
Asveri shifted uncomfortably.
"So what do we do?"
Anor'ven finally turned back toward him, eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light.
"Watch. Listen. When the wolves bare their fangs — decide then."
---
And so, Asveri watched.
The next day, and the next after that.
He stayed close, omnipresence stretched lightly across the camp.
Mira and Oren remained unaware, living softly in their stolen moments of comfort.
The thin man and his allies, however, coiled tighter each day — a quiet storm gathering, hidden behind forced smiles and gritted teeth.
Asveri felt them — every twisted hope, every bitter fantasy, every whisper of violent thought.
He sat quietly beside Anor'ven that evening, watching Oren pass a piece of bread to Mira. They laughed again, soft and innocent.
Asveri whispered without looking away.
"It's close."
Anor'ven, as calm as ever, replied.
"Then be ready."
The night fell gently.
But the peace was already broken.
Not loudly. Not violently.
Just enough.
Enough to remind Asveri that kindness, even here, painted targets.
And that listening too deeply meant hearing the beginnings of cruelty before anyone else.