The day began with tedium, and it ended in chaos.

  Heron rose from his bed as the bell rang out from the courtyard, the sound echoing through his head as he opened his eyes. He stumbled lurching against the wall as he stood, a wave of nausea coursing through his body. The world spun as he steadied himself, inhaling the dusty basement air.

  This had become routine of late, no doubt he was still recovering from his injuries. His dreams were peaceful and deep, and he had the most wonderful dreams of home. Of reuniting with his mother and father as the people celebrated his return day and night. Gifts from the gods to keep his spirit strong while his body was weak.

  His nausea remained, but he managed to steady himself as he prepared to start the day. Pulling his ratty tunic over his head, still stained black with the blood from his flogging. Every step brought a new wave of fog over his mind, his movements sluggish and tired as he stretched.

  As he prepared to leave the room, tying the laces of his sandals he remembered the events of last night and the knife under his mattress. If only I caught a glimpse of their faces, I could have talked them down. I can only hope that my interruption spooked them enough for now.

  Heron’s mind drifted towards the frail Hanno. Despite his bravado, he could tell that under the mask the old man was terrified. Due to his age, he was almost worthless as a slave, he worked slow and tired fast. The prime target for collective punishment, worth more to make an example of to keep them in line. If any of the slaves here attempted to rebel directly, he would be the first on the cross.

  He contemplated taking the knife with him, weighing the decision in his mind. If he was caught with it hidden on his person he would be seen as a rebel. But if he had it with him, he wouldn’t have to worry about someone finding it without him knowing. He contemplated throwing it away, but he hesitated. It was a short blade best suited to dicing vegetables rather than people, but it was still better than just his fists.

  Perhaps against his better judgement, he decided to take it with him as he retrieved it from his bed. Tearing the sleeve of his tunic, he wrapped the now scrap linen around the blade. He then placed it against his outer thigh and bound the dagger and his leg with twine. He hoped the linen would be enough to prevent the blade from cutting his skin.

  Have I always been this skinny? He thought, his legs serving as one more reminder of how far he had fallen. He was for the first time thankful for the meagre portions that made this possible with his non-existent resources. Not leaving anything to chance, he bound his leg several times ending it in a knot. He strut around his room squatting, lightly jumping in the air, making sure that the blade wouldn’t fall in the middle of work.

  Satisfied with his makeshift sheathe, he emerged from his room and joined the others in the barracks outside their rooms.

  The space was cluttered, filled with weathered tables and benches. The tables were filled with slaves occupying themselves with their bowls, in the past there would have been chatter and laughter. Their spirits were not completely crushed due to Niko’s management style. However, now the atmosphere was dour as one of Aurelian’s personal slaves oversaw the gathering, standing alongside Matron Camilla as she handed out bowls.

  Though while the atmosphere was less jovial than it had been in the past, it did seem more intimate. The Actan slaves all sat grouped together in small clusters, no doubt the sense of community from their common heritage provided some small comfort. The half-giant Tibeios, who was only a hair away from 5 cubits in height sat amongst them, glancing Heron’s way for a moment.

  Making his way, he spotted Hanno sitting alone absorbed in his food as he slowly brought the spoon to his mouth. His eyes had a glassy sheen over them. You look tired Hanno, he thought as he walked towards the plump aging woman with her pot and ladle.

  He lowered his head to her, doing his best to show his subservience in the presence of the outsider who stared at him. The hairless outsider looked vaguely familiar, so Heron assumed he was from the Avanntian Estate at Urr, but he couldn’t match a name.

  “You’re meant to be out by the bell Heron, you’re lucky I’ve not left yet.” The old woman said as she filled a bowl with a watery porridge before handing it to him. “How is the burn? If it still hurts I can apply some ointment, you need to stay hea-.”

  Heron accepted the bowl, grimacing at the slop inside as he interrupted her. “The brand does not hurt, and I have no need of your ointment, Matron.”

  Do you believe that some superficial concern will relieve your husband of his sins, harpy? He thought, angered by her words. Any fondness he might have had for the old woman had vanished the day her husband violated him. He could still feel the heat as his head throbbed.

  He turned away from the woman and the outsider, constantly aware of the blade on his leg. He took his seat beside Hanno, only noticing his presence upon clearing his throat causing Hanno to jump.

  “Who- what do you-“, Hanno started, his voice quavering, failing to recognise him for a moment before dawning his mask on. “Ah, Heron my friend and saviour! Will you be joining me today? How did you sleep?”

  “Well enough I suppose, my humours must be off-balance since I feel poorly, and my head is spinning,” Heron said, as prodded at the mushy porridge. “You should hurry and eat Hanno, we’ll be out soon and you’ve barely ate.”

  Hanno looked down at his bowl, seemingly seeing it for the first time and chuckled. “Don’t worry friend, I’ve eaten enough for one lifetime! One missed meal won’t kill me. Look at me, strong as a bull eh!”

  Looking at his friend, Heron saw baggy eyes and sunken cheeks. The bones of his arms were visible, having no meat to cover them. He didn’t think he had been eating much of late. You look one step away from death. Lifting his bowl, he scooped his porridge into the old man's bowl.

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  “Heron what are you- I cannot accept this, I am fine tru-“

  “I already told you, my stomach is feeling off today. Anything I eat will just come back up later, this way it won’t have to go to waste.” Heron replied, accept the slop you old fool.

  Hanno looked down at the bowl and back at Heron, seeing the commanding look he wolfed the porridge down. The spoon thudded against the bowl. Though he didn’t look particularly happy about it.

  “As you say my friend, it would be a crime to waste.”

  The moment was interrupted by the voice of the outsider, alerting them that mealtime was over and to prepare for their labours. The slaves all funneled out of the barracks one by one as they were organised into separate groups between five and ten under one overseer.

  Hanno was assigned to a different overseer today; He is going to be fine, he’s not a child. He was put into a group with a number of other Actan’s, the man giant standing alongside him as they marched towards the field sickles and baskets in hand. The fresh air brought with it a fresh wave of nausea as he marched, suddenly glad that he had given Hanno his breakfast.

  Hours passed as they hacked away at the field, filling their baskets with the fallen barley to be threshed later. Heron worked noticeably slower than the others, his arms felt heavy. Tibeios swung the sickle to his side effortlessly carving a path through the yellow field. He’s skilled with the sword, no doubt from his mercenary work.

  If rebellion came from anyone, he would expect Tibeios to be leading the charge. He towered over all and unlike Heron, his body was strong and sturdy. And considering how easily he restrained Heron before, he was certainly a veteran of many wars. Heron’s stare did not go unnoticed as Tibeios looked towards him, causing Heron to look away. If there’s any resistance growing, Tibeios will lead it.

  There was no point in Heron resisting anymore, he could never return home. Everyone would know that he was nothing more than a slave because of Niko. All he could do was keep his head down and wait for the right moment to take his vengeance. What happened next didn’t matter.

  Why is he staring? He thought as he felt the eyes of the half-giant on him. Glancing at him, he realised that Tibeios wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at something behind him. Turning around he realised what.

  Walking through the field towards the forest was the Adonis who was their master. He had only seen the master outside a handful of times since he arrived, and those were just walks around the estate. It was strange that he was walking so far into the outskirts.

  Though the real surprise was that his shadow wasn’t with him. The auburn-haired bodyguard was always attached at the hip, like a dog following its master. Instead, he was walking alongside a blonde woman holding a pitcher of wine who repeatedly refreashed his cup. How surprising, the drunk is drinking already. How is he an Avanntian? He wondered how his father could produce a child like him.

  Heron remembered his father the patriarch of Avanntian being one who scorned physical pleasures and enforced his lifestyle on all within his estate.

  His eyes were drawn to the blonde woman to his side, he didn’t recognise her and from the looks he would sure have remembered her. Compared to the others her body wasn’t malnourished and ragged, she looked well fed. Her walking was graceful and refined, it reminded him of the priestesses from his home. No doubt Aurelian’s personal slave from the city. A man like him could only have the best, he wondered why he didn’t notice her arriving in the caravan though.

  He saw them walk, her with sure footing and him stumbling already drunk. They walked through the field towards the forest, eventually fading behind the trees. There was nothing of any real interest in the forest, it was mostly just a bunch of trees. Some of the slaves would sneak off to steal eggs from bird nests, but besides that it was empty. Though Hanno often went there when he could.

  Tibeios kept his eyes glued to the fading form of their master. Heron could feel the anger radiating off the giant, but before long he went back to his work. Though he could tell that he swung his sickle noticeably harder, and was sloppy when it came to picking up the fallen barley and putting it in his basket. He breathed a sigh of relief, from the way he stared at Aurelian it seemed he was only a second away from charging at the man. In another life, he would’ve joined him, but not now. His head throbbed.

  A while passed as they continued to work, the field becoming more barren with every swing of the sickle. Again he was interrupted with the sound of stomping boots behind him, Aurelian’s shadow advanced towards him with speed, fully armoured and hand on his sword.

  Heron’s blood turned cold, he knows about the knife, you need to come clean now. No, hide it! Shake it off! He tried to shake his leg without being noticed, trying to shimmy the blade off, but it was tied too tightly and it didn’t move.

  “You, marked one.” The shadow spoke, “The master passed by here a moment ago, which way did he go? Be quick!”

  His words were frantic, but a feeling of relief passed over him. He doesn’t know, how could he? All he had to do was tell him where the lout had walked, he wouldn’t be beaten today.

  “The lo- imperator walked into the forest with his servant, master,” Heron said, bowing his head slightly.

  However, what he thought would have been a placating gesture turned out to enrage the shadow. Grabbing his shoulder and pushed him in the direction of the forest.

  “Servant?! Take me there, now! Run!”

  Confused, he started to trot towards the forest where he saw Aurelian disappear. His steps a brisk walk before Aurelian’s dog shouted at him to go faster, to which he broke out into a sprint. His stomach churned as he felt another wave of nausea crash over him, he felt bile form in his stomach as he suppressed his urge to vomit.

  Aurelian’s dog ran alongside him, following him deeper into the forest, the birds had grown quiet no doubt due to the ruckus of the man’s armour, clanging together as he ran. The silence was only broken when in the distance a scream echoed through the forest. Was that a woman?

  To his side he saw Aurelian’s dog sprinting towards the commotion, he tried to keep pace, but he struggled. Nausea forced his body to slow, and he was no doubt in far worse shape than the trained and more importantly, well-fed warrior.

  Doing his best to keep up but failing, he fell behind as he chased the warrior until they found the source of the scream. The master, the beautiful drunk was on the ground. His sword was stained crimson and lay at his side, as his tunic was dyed red.

  “Aurelian! Aurelian wake up!”

  The warrior kneeled at his side shaking him. He pulled his tunic off to inspect the wound, grimacing when he did so. Aurelian was breathing, but it was laboured and slight as he groaned. His slave was nowhere to be seen, and it was clear to Heron what had happened.

  Aurelian must have tried to force himself upon the girl, no doubt as he had done before like all other perverse Urran masters. But she resisted, no doubt managing to steal his sword and fight back. You got what you deserved, rot in the void.

  Without sparing another glance at Heron, the warrior lifted Aurelian into his arms and sprinted towards the villa. Moving faster than he had seen anyone run before, he disappeared through the trees in moments with the groaning corpse in his arms.

  Left without directions, he looked around the area. He could see the pool of blood left by Aurelian. But he also noticed a trail leading away from him, He must have injured the girl. Following the trail, it disappeared a few feet away. Deciding that there was nothing to gain by sticking around, he went to follow the warrior back to the villa, lest he be accused of any crime.

  However, he stopped, seeing movement in the corner of his eye from above. Straining his neck, he looked into the trees, expecting to see a bird or perhaps a mountain lion. However, what he saw instead was a short blonde woman crouching in the tree. Her dress was ripped, and her arm was bound in the torn fabric that had turned a deep red. She lay motionless pressed against the tree to make herself appear smaller and hide herself.

  Heron glanced towards where the warrior had ran, and judged that he’d be far enough away as to not hear him. “Are you alright? Come down, it's safe now.” He called up to the woman, who glared in response, making no attempt to move.

  “I cannot stay, I will return later if I am able with medicine. But stay out of sight, if you are caught, you will die.”

  The woman made no effort to respond, seemingly denying the fact that he had seen her. With that Heron left hurrying after the warrior as he prepared himself for the chaos to come.