Rough hands shook me awake from a horrible dream. The first thing I felt was pain. My chest burned like there was a fire underneath my heart. My breath came in wheezes, every inhale like a stab through my lungs. I felt weak. Impossibly so. Something cold and heavy pressed against my neck. Feeling the object with my hands revealed a metal collar with strange markings carved into the steel. I tried getting up, but the motion was so trivial. Yet it felt like a monstrous feat in my weakness. All I managed was to lift myself up a little before falling down again. A pain at the back of my head flared as I made contact with the rough grounds.

  “It’s no use.” A dry and hoarse voice spoke from the shadows of the cell.

  “Wha… What do you me… mean?” My words fought against the wheezing to no avail.

  “Inhibitors. They block out the energy from our bodies. For humans, it's only a slight discomfort. But for us… You seem to have the worst of it, though.” His voice was a deep baritone. But also gravely from misuse.

  For but a few seconds, an absolutely enormous hand exited the shadows. The pale white skin and blue fingernails gave no room to mistake what he was. “Jotun,” it was barely a whisper, but the realization caused my eyes to widen in surprise. A rare species of giant that was all but wiped out in the Age of Dragons and Gods. A coughing fit interrupted my thoughts.

  “Tell me, what is a child of the sky doing here in the frontier? I would think the elves would remain in their kingdom.” The Jotun asked.

  I was thankful for the conversation; it was a welcome distraction from the pain. “I am the product of a union of house El… and Drakkar.”

  “Hahaha, to think I would be trapped here with a prince. Oh what a strange thing life is. But, enough of that, rest, little prince. You look like shit.”

  “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.” I winced as another coughing fit took over. The giant was right, I needed rest.

  Hours turned to days and days turned to weeks as I slowly withered away. A flower bereft of sunlight could not grow. I barely saw my captives. The most I ever saw was a bandit who came in to inspect us. They hardly ever gave us food, and even water was scarce. They did not even clean our waste, letting us sit in our own refuse. I got to know Jurgen quite well in our time in captivity. The giant was a bit melancholic, but overall, a good fellow

  He was a bloody poet at heart. With a penchant for singing. To say his voice was angelic would have been an understatement. Although I would never admit this to anyone. I started to sing along. His voice was deep, like the rumble of a storm filled with melancholy. My own voice was like the soothing rustle of trees, quiet yet outspoken. No one would have imagined that Aristotle, the Black Death, commanding general of the Fourth Holy Crusade, would… Sing. Yet boredom had a way to devour one’s mind.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  But my mind was the least of my worries. Within only a few weeks, I had turned from a strong young man. To a skeleton of my former self. All the while, the fire in my chest continued to grow. Where in the beginning my coughing fits would last only for a few seconds, now they could go on for so long, and I began spitting up blood. If something did not change soon, I would not make it out of this cell.

  And one day, that change arrived in the form of five bandits entering the cell. The rough-looking men bound us with shackles and chains before dragging us out. The light of day was like rays of fire that burned my retina. It took a long while before my eyes adjusted to the light. And for the first time, I saw what Jurgen truly looked like. White hair and pale skin. Blue eyes tinged with sadness. He looked almost as bad as I did. His frame is nothing but skin and bones. With his cheekbones protruding through his skin. He stood at 9 feet tall, dwarfing my own 6 ft 5 by a large margin.

  There was something fundamentally wrong with seeing someone so tall being so skinny. “Stop resisting.” A squeaky voice grunted in front of me while dragging the chain forward, causing me to stumble. “These fucking slaves are starting to get on my nerves. Couldn’t we have just killed these freaks?” The same bandit asked another.

  “You know they cost more on the market. Besides, the boss said one of the more exotic merchants will be coming in a week. So shut up and do your job,” a gruff voice spoke from behind me.

  The information was slightly unsettling. Not only to hear that this world has an active slave trade. But also the fact that I only had a week to figure out my escape. For now, I held my tongue and continued to act passively. “Dammit, man, can we get this over with already. I'm itching to get back to those pretty little flowers. Before Dreadon breaks them again.” The squeaky bastard spoke with a lecherous tone.

  “If you keep talking, then we'll never get done. For fucks sake your like a child, Ravel.” The gruff voice sighed in irritation.

  They led us through a camp with various tents. The camp had a stench of sweat and blood permeating through the air. The bandits kept making banter the entire time we walked. Petey, the small bastard holding my chain, was extremely vulgar. The more he spoke, the more I wanted to rip out his vocal cords with my bare hands. Almost on reflex, I kept flexing my muscles against the shackles binding me. My thoughts moved at a hundred meters per hour as I began formulating a plan.

  Right as I began formulating the final details of my escape, we came to an abrupt stop. We stopped in what looked like a shoddy parade ground. Wooden logs were dug into the ground, with men tied to them. The men were beaten and bloody. As my eyes traveled across their faces, anger bubbled in my chest as I recognised Bjorn and Magnus. They were barely recognizable under the blood and grime. Bjorn was barely conscious while Magnus stared out in defiance.

  At this point, I was practically fighting against my chains. Even in my weakened state, my strength was not to be underestimated. Petey was thrown off his feet by my excessive force. Yet, within seconds, the other bandits were pinning me to the ground. Even then, I continued to struggle. It was all to no avail. All my actions brought me was punishment.

  While swearing, the bandits dragged me to an empty log before stringing me up. My feet only barely touched the ground. “You piece of shit. You think your though do you? I’ll show you what we do to tough guys. Lamney bring the cat's tail.” Petey punched me in the gut. Knocking the air out of my lungs.

  Another bandit brought him a barbed nine-tailed whip. Petey looked gleeful as he held the weapon in his hands. A large smile split his face. “This is going to hurt.” He said with a laugh before he began to beat me. Barbed iron dug into malnourished flesh. Skin and flesh were ripped from the bone. He gave me six lashes on my chest and stomach. The pain was almost unbearable. My dry throat began to hurt as I screamed my lungs out. It felt like a hot iron being dragged across my chest. The searing pain was all too familiar. Memories of the fire invaded my thoughts. As my trauma began claiming my mind.