"A slave with no hope is not a slave well kept. let them toil in the dark, their spirits chained as tightly as their bodies. Then, grant them a glimpse of light - just a whisper of freedom- and they will desperately crawl towards it like moth's to a flame, no matter how impossible the conditions to achieve it. But crush their hope completely, and you will come to know why even a spider knows to fear the ant."

  — Excerpt from "Treatise on the Flesh trade ", by Darin Solvath.

  Alric woke up with a clearer head than he had in days. The flame of ambition still smouldered in his chest, and he knew exactly where to start. He didn't trust Elara— after learning about the cursed he would be a fool to do so, but she was knowledgeable and she had a sense of superiority that allowed for exploitation of that fact. He was very interested in learning more about the Ignatharian, and he was sure that as someone in a high position, Elara should know quite a bit about the man. Not to mention, it was a perfect opportunity to begin laying the groundwork if he decided to join her group, being her cellmate made her quite easily accessible.

  Elara was already awake, sitting in her comfortable bed, her head bent over the similar parchment he had seen the day before. She was focused, and had an elegant brush which she used to draw on the slips of parchment. The movements of her hand were precise, elegant, and perfect. Alric was mesmerized by the grace and precision she used to write, though he didn't recognize the symbols. She was using some sort of red ink, and was pouring her entire focus into each sheet. He approached her cautiously, mentally adjusting his manner of speaking to appeal to her.

  He waited at a respectable distance, and when she was between sheets of paper, he gave her a small bow. "Good morning, lady Vale. I hope you had a good rest." She looked up from her work, and set down per paper slips and put the brush and inkwell to the side. Alric saw a mesmerizing tapestry of symbols on the sheet of paper, glistening in ruby red. It reminded him of the collar in its symmetry. "Good morning, Alric. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your interruption?" Her eyes locked with his, and Alric felt a shiver as her piercing green eyes dug deeply into his own, as if searching for something.

  Alric quickly averted his eyes from the parchment, remembering her "Advice" from the previous morning. "I apologize my lady. I merely wished to thank you for your advice yesterday. I indeed should not dally about picking a side. And so there is but one thing I wish to ask of you, my lady. What can I do for you?"

  The suspicion in Elaras eyes lessened, and a spark of amusement lit within them. "My, my Alric, how direct. Dont you know that highborn ladies such as myself prefer subtle displays of interest?'" She chuckled. "But I suppose you have listened well. And as luck would have it, you have placed yourself quite well for the use I have for you." She put her parchment back in the drawer. "You see, I am a person who likes to be aware of all the pieces on the playing field. The important ones I am already aware of, but there has been.. an anomaly of sorts. And who better to help me solve the mystery than an anomaly on my own?" She smiled and brushed Alrics arm, who felt his hair stand on end. "The Ignatharian. Despite my ..subtle persuasions, and the direct invitation of that oaf Rannok, he does not join a faction. You must have noticed how he struggles with the Oar. Don't you find that curious?"

  Without waiting for an answer, she continued, waving her hand. "If that was all, I wouldn't particularly mind. After all, he is not very important to my plans. But there is another reason why I want you to approach him. Can you guess why?"

  Alrics mind whirred. This was a test. One he couldn't fail. He collected the facts. Silas wasn't joining a faction despite the clear advantages. Elara and Rannok, who he assumed to be the Bald Bear's name, failed to persuade him. Elara wanted to find out why, but didn't care to recruit him. Assembling this information in his mind, it wasn't particularly hard to see which puzzle piece was missing. " I assume my lady, it is because of Zain? Do you think he has joined up with him?"

  She smiled. It was a sharp smile. "Correct, my little puppet. Well, mostly correct. The reason is that Zain hasn't even tried to recruit him. Ever since that madman put on his little show and stirred the hornet's nest a week ago, he has been completely silent. Silas was a survivor of his performance, so I can't help but think something has happened. And that's what you need to find out."

  If Alric was very curious about the "little show" Zain had put on he didn't show it on his face. He remembered advice number one after all. Instead, he kept his mind impassive while he thought about Elara's proposal. Realistically, there wasn't much downside to what Elara was asking. He wanted to get closer to the Ignatharian anyway, and it would put him on Track to join Elara. He had never really intended to join Zain's gang of sycophants either, so he wasn't taking a loss on that front. Instead, the handsome prisoner threw a different wrench into his plans. If Silas really was aligned with Zain and he went spying on him, wasn't he making an enemy of the supposed madman? Difficult.

  Sensing his hesitation, Elara was quick to soothe his worries with silken words. "Don't worry so much puppet. You won't even get close to Zain. In fact, I think you'll quite enjoy my plan for it. I'll arrange for you to join the porters during the day. That will give you free time for some.... Investigations. And during the breaks, you'll talk to Silas of course. I know how much you love to do that after all."

  She leaned closer. Unlike the rest of the sweaty prisoners on the ship, she had an intoxicating fragrance Alric couldn't quite place. "But sometimes darling, to impress a lady, words don't quite cut it. Actions make for a much better show of faith. So what say you?" She leaned away again, and Alric resumed to breathe, something he hadn't even noticed he had stopped doing.

  Thankfully recovering from the shock quickly and not completely losing his composure, Alric gave a small bow. "It will be my pleasure."

  Elara eyes twinkled with mirth, and her mouth quirked up in a half smile. Tidebringers balls, what a beautiful yet scary woman. Alric allowed himself a self-deprecating smile. And here he thought he had a silver tongue. She had him convinced in just a few words and the flutter of an eyelash. Yet, he hadn't decided without thinking it through, despite his impulsive reaction at the end. Zain might be scary, but he wasn't his cellmate. Elara on the other hand, was. If there was any more convincing argument for agreeing, he hadn't found it yet. And her offer had enough benefits to make it worth it regardless. Porter duty? That sounded downright cushy when compared to having to row a vessel this massive more or less by himself. Not to mention the other huge benefit he gained from it. Wasn't he worried about getting information about Silas to better approach him? Well, who better to ask than the one who tasked him with some espionage?

  "At the risk of incurring your displeasure my lady, I have a few questions about my mark. I would be beholden to you if you answered me, for it would make my task much easier." Blegh. So wordy. Alric couldn't believe highborn talked like this all the time.

  Elara, who was about to continue with her drawing, paused and set down the brush once more. "Why not? It is good to try to gain every advantage before a strike. I am pleased you know this as well. What do you wish to know?"

  Alric took a breath, put his thoughts in Order, and began. "Thank you, lady Vale. You honor me. Firstly, I would appreciate you told me what you know about him. Secondly, I would like to know about this incident with Zain he was apart of. And lastly, I have a question about a folk tale I heard him mention."

  Elara briefly seemed to be lost in thought as she moved closer to him once again. Too close. Alric forced his eyes not to stray from her face, and pushed the thoughts about her perfume out of his mind. This was serious darn it. After a short moment, she began.

  " I have learned what I can about him of course, but what is known is very little. He was arrested for Illegal weapon trading and later found to be a cursed. He is from a rather well-known family of Ignatharian weapon traders, the Asherims. Since his first name isn't Ignatharian, I believe he is either the child of a concubine, or a bastard. He is an accomplished fighter, and has bested most of the rabble that sought to pick a fight with him, including that stray dog. He is very reclusive, and does not speak much. He didn't respond to threats nor suggestions. In short, figuring him out is a waste of my time, which is why I have delegated it to you."

  She chuckled before continuing, as if remembering a funny memory. " As for the incident, you might have noticed that the hold isn't as full as it could be. The primary cause behind this is Zain. Of course, he can't take all the blame, the first few weeks were rife with conflict. Diplomacy had to take a bit of a back seat shall we say. But while the guards don't care much if we murder each other here and there, no one did it as boldly as Zain. You see, his kind of killing leaves a very specific kind of cadaver. And so when the guards found 14 people dead in exactly this manner one morning, it wasn't hard to figure out who did it. The reason this is connected to the Ignatharian, is that many of the people that were the most.. shall we say zealous about his heritage, had all died. Do you see my suspicions?"

  Indeed, Alric did see. Suddenly he was very glad he had one of the more scary cursed as a cellmate. As long as she didn't turn on him, he could imagine no better guard dog. Even Zain likely wouldn't boldly stroll into here. Those first few weeks where the gangs were vying to establish themselves must have been a bloody affair, and if Elara managed to be one of the few that came out on top it gave him even more reason to stay on her good side.

  "I do my lady. Thank you for your enlightening words. As for my final question, yesterday Silas mentioned a folk tale, about some personage called the veiled temptress. It seemed to be important to him, but alas I only enjoyed a common education, I am not as well-read as a lady as you must be. Would you perhaps know the tale?"

  Suddenly the air felt a bit colder to Alric. Elaras's polite smile hadn't faded, but in the depths of her green eyes he saw a cold and calculating gaze, one she shared with her brother. Her head tilted slightly to the side, as he felt her evaluate him, gauge him, weigh him on a scale only visible to her. And then the moment disappeared, and the warmth returned to her eyes.

  "I am unaware of any such Folk tales, I'm afraid. It must be specific to his region." She waved him off with one hand. "Oh, but Alric? I don't recommend using it as conversation material. The churches aren't very fond of foreign tales and heroes. If someone were to overhear it... well you experienced the hospitality of the acolytes yesterday already."

  Alric, feeling a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, hastily answered. "Understood my lady. Thank you for your answers. I assure you I will have an answer to your mystery soon." he gave a small bow, and quickly left Elara to her own devices. The moment in which he had felt her cold gaze wash over him was short, almost as if he had imagined it, but his instincts had not lied to him yet. Why had her demeanor shifted so much? Why had she given him a warning while denying knowing about it? Did she really not know and something else had displeased her? Alric thought it improbable. This was the second time he received a strange reaction when talking about that name. The Veiled temptress. From Owen's memory, Alric knew the 3 main gods of the continent, and none of them had any title like that. They were the Tidebringer, the Lawmaker, and the Risen one. The gods of sun, sea and order. Their churches were very fierce in beating down any upstart religions, claiming they were promoting the worship of the abyss. Could the temptress be worshipped by one of these cults? But then why had Elara denied knowledge of it?

  Alric's head spun, with theories and conspiracies, but as breakfast time was approaching, and the hammering of boots drew nearer, he decided to abandon these pointless ideas. Asking questions was only going to bring him trouble, and as he investigated Silas he was bound to find the truth anyway.

  As usual, the guards were quite rough in opening the cells and getting everyone ready for their morning meal, but thankfully Alric had little trouble this time. The hold was filled with the low hum of conversation, and the clatter of metal bowls as the prisoners ate their meager breakfast. having learned his lesson from last time, Alric immediately went to get his portion from the surly cook, and made his way to the loner's corner, as he had begun to call it. After a quick glance to ensure he wouldn't run into the arms of Brandt, Alric quickly spotted Silas, alone at his usual table, brooding. The man really had perfected the look, he had to say. But Alric wasn't dissuaded. He sauntered over to the dark-skinned man and took a seat next to him, the sudden spring his step not having anything to do with the lumbering Brandt he had just spotted in his peripherals, no sir. With a clatter, he set his bowl down, noting that the Porridge seemed even thicker today, barely moving from the sudden movement. How appetizing. He casually leaned back, putting the sawdust paste into his mouth. Blegh. At least it gave him good reason to talk instead of eat.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  "Sho," he said with a mouthful of cereal quicklime, "they really only know one reshipe around here eh? Shomehow even worse than yesterday."

  The mans face remained locked in brooding, as he moved the spoon from his bowl to his mouth without blinking. "It is edible and easy to chew. Taste matters little when the alternative is starvation."

  Alric snorted at that, which wasn't an easy feat with his mouth glued together by the vile mixture. "Shpoken like a true foreigner. I'll have you know that Thalorian houshewivesh stake their honor on their cooking. Theresh no insult more grievoush than one about their food. I wonder who cooked thish right mess."

  Silas gave a small smile at that. "I am aware. There are many bad things about your country, but food is not one of them. The people of Zenthyr could learn a thing or two."

  Swallowing with difficulty, Alric looked at the man."Oh yeah? What's the food like in Zenthyr then? That's the capital of Ignathar isn't it?"

  Silas, still faintly smiling, paused his eating for a moment. "For the folk of the upper city, I imagine not much different from here, if more spicy. But for travelers and the poor, food must be practical. The heat of the sunscar makes ingredients spoil in not even a day, and water is scarce. Dried fruit, rockbreaker bread, and dried meats are what most people eat."

  Alric shrugged. "Doesn't sound too bad. Except for the rockbreaker bread. Is that the food your miners eat?"

  Silas shrugged. "It is named that, as one can break rocks with it. In comparison, this is a feast."

  Dumbfounded, Alric blinked at the man. "And how do you eat bread you can break rocks with? Don't tell me your teeth are hard enough to bust through stone."

  Silas chuckled. "One eats it very slowly. Your mouth-juices will soften it enough so it doesn't shatter your teeth. It's a matter of habit."

  "Remind me to never ask for bread in Ignathar. Well if I ever get the chance to visit that is." Alric answered between bites, shaking his head at the idea of anyone intentionally making bread hard and dry.

  "Unlikely." Came Silas's calm voice. "This voyage ends soon. As will any chance at escape. Kresh, I am eager to stop handling these oars."

  Alric sighed. "So am I, and I only remember doing it for one day. But hey, maybe the Acolytes will give one of us the more comfortable jobs today aye?" Alric glanced at Silas's face, scanning for reaction.

  But the man just maintained an impassive face and shook his head. "No. The guards only allow for those positions out of fear and benefit. It is meant to placate the powerful, not distributed at random."

  Alric already had guessed that of course, but hearing it confirmed made things seem much more clear. "The acolytes? Why would they fear any prisoner?"

  Silas turned his head to look at him with incredulity, and as if suddenly remembering the conversation yesterday he softly groaned, putting his hand on his head. "Ah yes. The mind-loss." He discreetly motioned to Rannok, the bald giant of a man. "This one can and did rip a man in two, collared or not. This one," his head gently nodded towards the relative of Elara. " is known as the butcher of Kroma pass. I can tell from his bearing he is a warrior of great skill. And this one," He motioned at Zain, "is the most dangerous. The captain invented some position that keeps him away from the prisoners and crew." he looked at Alric seriously. "That is just their personal power. The latter two are former nobles with many remaining connections. I recommend you avoid all of them."

  Alric just gave a deadpan stare to Silas. The Butcher of what now? His eye twitched. Smooth pearls of the tide bringer, was he ever thankful he didn't begin cursing in front of Elara.

  "Ehh about that Silas." He discreetly nodded towards Elara. "That one, is my cellmate."

  Silas just looked right at him, and made a half-circular motion with his palm. "You are the cellmate of the butcher's sister? I shall pray for you. Though I cannot promise the risen one will listen."

  Alric's eye twitched again. As if he wanted a cursed to pray for him, that would likely have the opposite effect. But just as he was about to reply, the doors to the hall opened and the acolytes summoned the prisoners to assign jobs for the day.

  As always, the peacock got sent to his position by himself, for reasons Alric now understood, and Alric's name got called along Elara's group. Alric looked around himself, and paled appropriately, his face portraying what he thought a good mix of confusion and fright. Shivering, he made his way away from the rower group, and turned his head to look back at Silas, who looked at him with sympathy, and made a half-circle prayer to the risen one. It wasn't hard to imagine what the man must be thinking. Good. That would disassociate him from Elara's group.

  Having rounded the corner and sure no one was looking, Alric's gait returned to normal. While he was quite nervous to be working with the so-called Butcher of Kroma pass, that was all supposed to be part of the plan.

  His task as a porter led him down the main staircase deeper into the hold where the Cells were located, but further towards the bow of the ship. The hold, it seemed was divided into 3 sections. Towards the front, or the bow, was the storeroom. This was where he was headed, and he quickly saw it was filled with provisions—mostly sacks of grain, crates of dried, durable foods, and barrels of spirits strong enough to singe nose hairs from across the room.

  The middle section of course, he was quite familiar with. It was where his and all the other cells were located, and was the largest. As for the stern, he wasn't sure, but if his instincts were correct a ship this size must have a sickbay, which usually was located at the stern. As he walked down the long hallway full of cells he couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of this vessel. It had to be at least 90 full steps in length and nearly 25 in width, If his sailor's acumen served him correctly, that was nearly triple the size of a standard 3 mast-er. It seemed impossible that something this size would be able to float, let alone move, but then again, the ship was full of blessed and cursed, so who was he to say what could work?

  Alric, big thinker as always, was quickly brought back to reality by a sharp prod from a metallic-looking wooden staff jabbing his midsection. A short, unshaven acolyte with the messiest stubble he had ever seen was scowling at him. "Yeh de new guy? Den move it. Yeh got crates to lift."

  He and two other members of Elara's group, namely the red-haired girl, and much to his chagrin, Elara's imposing brother had been assigned to bring supplies to the kitchen. Without so much as a word or glance to him, Dorian got to work. Effortlessly hoisting two full barrels of water onto his muscular shoulders, he left both Alric and the red-haired Girl in the dust. He moved with such efficiency that even the stubbly-chinned acolyte scrambled to get out of his way, not keen on getting steamrolled by the butcher. His expression was impassive and he didn't look strained, as if he didn't just lift two barrels the weight of 2 grown men each.

  Alric stared after him, slack-jawed. He tentatively tried picking up one of the barrels on his own, and barely got the blasted thing off the floor with both arms, before setting it back down with a curse. Next to him, the red-haired girl was chuckling at his efforts. "Dont let yourself get flustered by Dorian, he's always like that, the showoff." then she sighed, and motioned him forward. "And of course, he leaves it to me to show the new guy the ropes. Right come here... what's your name again?"

  Alric gave her a friendly grin before walking over to where she was motioning him. "Alric. What's yours?"

  "I'm Mira. Now come on, lets get a move on before Stubby Jim recovers from almost getting ran over and takes it out on us. I'm up front, you take it from the back." They got down next to a crate full of root vegetables. and on a countdown from Mira, heaved the thing up. "Grab it close to the body and put it against your hips, really push into it. Then grab it from below with your hands. Better to bend over than to fuck up your back. Now lets move, I already see him coming with his stick."

  Despite the strain, Alric had to laugh at Mira's words. "Stubby Jim's coming over with his stick and you want me to bend over? What's next boss, want me to drop my trousers so the crate doesn't slip from my hips?"

  Getting a move on before the acolyte got within earshot, Mira laughed, her Mirth shaking the vegetables in the crate. "Nah, wouldn't want to make it too easy for the bugger. Lawmakers word, I heard from the other acolytes that he's a real menace at every port visit. The bathhouse wenches call him hedgehog, and not on account of his stinger either. After a long voyage like that, well, better keep your trousers up."

  Throwing a furtive glance behind him, Alric sighed. "You know just how to motivate me to move faster eh? Ah crap, here come the stairs."

  Thanks to miras advice, and Alric's combined motivation to not look weak in front of a pretty lady and to not find out just why the acolyte was called hedgehog, they roughly hauled up the chest the first flight of stairs. unfortunately, Alric quickly realized that whatever misbegotten bastard had designed this ship, he had made the kitchen on the upper deck away from the mess hall. And so letting out a combined groan, both of them put their backs into hauling the blasted crate up another flight of stairs. His muscles were screaming bloody murder at that point, and his back felt like it was bent out of shape. He leaned heavily against the crate, his back and arms on fire.

  Just as he thought he might actually take an involuntary nap from exhaustion, Dorian casually appeared, already having completed his previous run, carrying a crate identical to theirs.. under each arm. he set it down next to theirs with a soft thud not even a drop of sweat on him. After giving both of them, a single, emotionless glance, he turned back and walked back down the stairs for more. Alric could swear he saw a mocking grin on the corner of his mouth.

  That little... With a deep breath, Alric reminded himself that getting into a pissing contest with a man who likely held a prestigious spot on Thalorin's deadliest killers list wasn't a good idea, and straightened up, ready for more backbreaking. But before, he took a quick glance around the kitchen. It was surprisingly spacious for a ship, tucked away at the stern, but what really struck him was the light. Not the dim amber glow of those strange glowing rocks that seemed to illuminate most of the ship—no, this was something else entirely. The room was bathed in bright, warm sunlight.

  His eyes followed the source and landed on two portholes carved into the walls, letting in bright beams of sunlight. Alric froze, momentarily forgetting the ache in his back and the heaviness in his limbs. When had he last seen the sun? His mind scrambled, but aside from the few memories shared with Owen, he didn't remember the sun at all. His chest tightened, and he found himself walking toward the light without even thinking about it, drawn like a moth to a flame.

  The sight that greeted him through the portholes left him momentarily breathless. The vast, shimmering ocean stretched out before him, an endless expanse of deep blue, the water sparkling like scattered gems beneath the morning sun. The horizon was tinged with hues of pink and gold, the sky still bearing traces of the dawn. There were barely any clouds, just a few wisps here and there, but they did nothing to block the sunlight. Far in the distance, a flock of brightly colored winged creatures soared above the waves, their wings catching the sunlight as they darted and danced through the air, creating a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors against the sky.

  For a moment, Alric forgot everything else. The weight of imprisonment, the uncertainty of his situation, even the strain from hauling that crate—all of it melted away in the face of the sea's serene beauty. His eyes followed the graceful arcs of the creatures in the sky, mesmerized by the colors and the freedom he saw in them. For the first time since his imprisonment, his heart swelled with something unfamiliar. Not anger, not fear, not bitterness—but joy. Genuine, unfiltered joy.

  He pressed his hand against the cool glass of the porthole, as if trying to touch the horizon. The sunlight felt like a balm on his soul, washing away the grime and despair that had clung to him since his awakening. The sheer openness of it—the vastness of the sea, the boundless sky—stirred something deep within him. Hope. A small, fragile thing that had been buried under layers of survival instinct and cynicism.

  He felt his pulse quicken, the steady thrum in his veins syncing with the rhythm of the waves. There was something about the sea, something that called to him. It was as if the horizon itself whispered promises—of freedom, of escape, of a life beyond these cursed walls. And the fire of defiance burned brighter than it ever had before. He wanted to live. Not just survive, but truly live. To be free again, to stand under the open sky, to feel the sun on his skin, to explore the world he had forgotten. The hunger inside his soul stirred. He'd be damned if he let anyone stand in the way of that.