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When Wahreit Tiashe Raggs was born, the whole country of Raggs celebrated. Had Krom been one for celebration, he would have thrown a feast and invited every single family in their entire Kingdom. Even the neighboring kingdoms!
If only there had not been a warning from House Krat that the winter that succeeded a joyous occasion would be harsh and grim! Krom was the King, however, and he needed to be the voice of reason even if he so very much wanted to celebrate Tiashe’s birth with an extravagance that they could not afford. The Eye of Mikhail might be able to help with regards to keeping the resources manageable, but they should not rely on such divine power to sustain an entire kingdom’s worth of food. Yet in the same vein, energy would not be a problem. With Vanessa and their alliance with Antwort standing strong, there would be little worry when it came to caring for their citizens.
But now is not the time or place to think of things like that. Problems were to be thought about and discussed on the table of Counsel. This was a moment he would treasure for eternity. His precious little star has just blessed the world with stardust.
“Krom, my dear.” Millea pats his hand, face pale, but eyes glowing with radiance that surpasses any smile she’s ever given before.
“Millea.” Krom sobs but his lips were stretched into a wide smile, tears running down his cheeks as he cradles his newborn son in his arms. “He’s beautiful.”
“Yes.” Millea smiles, small, and tired but incredibly wonderful, bathed in an ethereal glow. “My beautiful Tiashe.”
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“You really don’t need to do this, Krowell.” Krom insists assures as he stares at the piece of paper in his hand. “We can always send Agas.”
Krowell gives his dear brother a bland look and intones dryly, “Of course. We could send Agas with his helpful sarcasm and wait only a few days until Barsburg declares war on us.”
“Agas… can be a little abrasive at times, but he means well!” Krom winces and continues a little hopefully, “Maybe Karan?”
“Karan is politically and personally naive, your Highness.” Krowell keeps his face perfectly still, “He’d be bulldozed over by those vipers in the Barsburg Court and he won’t even notice.”
Krom sighs. “There really isn’t any persuading you, is there? Even if I say we could send one of the older politicians?”
“No.” Krowell says with finality.
“Or that I would let you play with Tiashe for an entire day, once a week, if you don’t go?”
Krowell raises an imperious eyebrow.
“No.”
Then Krom goes silent, gears turning in his head and playing with pros and cons. Krowell does not let the silence wear on him. He’s long been used to these games Krom liked to play. He’s no longer as affected as he had been when he was a child.
Minutes pass but Krowell does not move a bit.
Then finally, Krom withdraws his seal, the seal with the crest of the royal family, folds the paper once, twice and slides it into an envelope, dripping wax on it and stamping it with the seal then letting the wax harden.
Krom slides the envelope across his table with a small flourish.
“Congratulations, Krowell Raggs.” Krom says with a tone he very rarely uses around family, a tone that Krowell has long learned not to be impressed with. Yet he could feel his shoulders traitorously loosen in relief. He hadn’t even known he’d tensed up. “You are now the Ambassador of Raggs for the Barsburg Empire. Would you like to request anything else?”
Krowell reaches for the envelope with both hands, slightly bowing as he did so and says with no small amount of snark,
“Idiot brother.”
“Krowell.” Krom sighs exasperatedly.
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When Tiashe reached the age of one, Krom realized that the presence of the child made Vanessa irritable and prone to fits of anger. He knows that the child of a concubine would not be considered as the first in line to the throne but something about Tiashe just set Vanessa off. Krom is made to understand that this kind of behavior is normal for women who share the same lover spouse, yet there is still something that sets off warning bells in the back of his head. The first time that Tiashe had approached Vanessa, Vanessa had looked at the child with neither fondness nor repulsion. Krom had taken it, naively, hopefully, as a good sign that Vanessa was at least willing to try. Thinking about it now, with Vanessa’s sneers hidden behind her fan, the face she had worn was the same face that she wears when dealing with dignitaries that she ranted about with anger when she thinks they cannot hear.
“Kreuz.” Krom calls, eyes gazing fondly upon the sleeping child in his lap. Tiashe was just so precious and couldn’t bear not being with him for too long.
“What’s wrong, Krom?” Kreuz shuts the book in his hand. He knows that tone and it never bodes well.
“You were right.”
“Of course I was. I always am.” Kreuz comments automatically and blinks. “About what?”
“Vanessa.” Krom winces.
Kreuz sighs. “It’s Tiashe isn’t it?”
Krom only nods and Tiashe buries himself deeper into Krom’s robes.
“Then, how about we let Tiashe spend time in the church instead? At least, until you find a way to break the engagement that Father had arranged for you.”
Krom groans. “That will take years and however we do it, Antwort is going to take it badly. I don’t even want to think about the consequences of that. But it is a sound idea. I will miss Tiashe too much, I think. Especially with Millea…”
Kreuz pats Tiashe’s head. “We cannot let him be in any danger.”
Krom takes in a deep breath and exhales. “No, we cannot.”
Kreuz smiles sadly and opens his arms. “Then this child will be an orphan of the church.”
Krom reluctantly places the sleeping babe onto his brother’s arms.
“From now on, your name will be Teito.” Kreuz hums.
“Teito…” Krom repeats, eyes grim.
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Those eyes. Those wide innocent eyes made Vanessa’s stomach roil.
And if that child didn’t exist?
If only that child never existed !
If only that child hadn’t been born! Something so small, so innocent was the thing that made disgraced her so!
It was all that Mistress’s fault for seducing her beloved King and husband to be, bearing a child so that he wouldn’t be able to leave her! Krom was so kind to shelter such a whore that didn’t even know the slightest difference between a petticoat and a parasol! It was a good thing that the woman had fallen to sickness. It would only take a little while and she would be free of those shackles that prevented Krom from loving her fully, as the only light in his life and the Queen that would be the mother of the heir to the throne. That bitch just wanted the money and status granted to her if she would be the one to become the queen. Vanessa needed none of those things. She just wanted Krom to love her!
Her father has a plan and she knows that it would work.
There is nothing in this world she wants more than Krom and if the child was to be an obstacle to that, then there was nothing anyone could do that would save him.
Vanessa sees the Guards leave for a meeting with some dignitaries and…
She strikes.
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The King of Antwort had planned this extensively.
Yet Vanessa had ruined it with her fitful impulses. She had branded the child with the mark of a slave and then his plans had just fallen, boxed, crumbled and buried under ground. They could have just killed the child and no one would be the wiser, but Vanessa had gone and done the most idiotic of actions. If they had killed the child then and there, with the mark of a slave etched onto his skin, the suspicion would tighten upon the nobles and given that Vanessa had been less than friendly with the child, the suspicion could fall incredibly easily on her.
What was done was done, he didn’t need this kind of thinking now.
So what can he do?
Ah.
That was it.
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“AGAS-DONO!” A soldier with eyes bright and wild called, his voice hoarse and pained.
“What happened?”
“The Prince! He—” The soldier took a fortifying breath. “He fell off the tower!”
“What!?” Agas spat.
“It looked like the prince was running and slipped! His attendant tried to rescue him, but she fell too. I—I failed!”
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“It’s not Tiashe. I just know he isn’t!”
“Krom! Krom. I believe you but acting like this isn’t strengthening your subjects’ faith in you. The investigation will continue, but you must rest. Mark said that you haven’t slept in days.”
“It isn’t Tiashe.”
“No. It wasn’t.”
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The King of Antwort drew his blade.
“NO!” Vanessa shrieks. “We aren’t going to kill this thing!”
He breathes slowly, blade mere inches from the child’s neck. “And why pray tell?”
“It needs to suffer! I want this thing to suffer and it cannot suffer if it dies!”
The King of Antwort purses his lips. “We cannot keep the child. Kreuz-dono often visits and he will most definitely recognize this child.”
Vanessa’s eyes tinge with madness. “Perfect. I know just the place.”
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Teito does not remember anything important before he was sold as a slave.
He’s asked the other slaves if they knew anything about him other than his name, but they were terrified, shaking like leaves falling in the days of autumn, and were not even able to speak. Some who could speak cannot tell him anything other than he arrived before winter had settled where they were currently docked. He does not remember anything. One of the other slaves tell him that losing memories wasn’t rare, but it wasn’t exactly common either. The memories that they have before they became slaves slowly fade in a way that no one would be able to stop. He only even remembers his name because he’d recalled a kind voice telling him that it was bath time Teito, you should take a bath before the kal-kal bugs get you. He does not even know if it was his name, only that he’d been called that twice. The slavers only called them by their numbers.
He does not feel anything other than a hollowness in his chest, the tears he feels that he’d cried had dried. He does not remember crying. Only the feeling of fire and flame and stinging on his back. He remembers cold but wild eyes and nothing else.
“You look like a lost lamb.” The old man smiles sadly, then almost to himself. “How did they get you from the church?”
Teito’s eyes glint in the light, shining with unshed tears. “My name is Teito. I.. don’t r‘ember a lot.”
The old man sighs. “I’m at my limit, so I can at least help you out.”
The old man tells him that he’s been on this ship for almost three years now. None of the buyers would willingly pay money for an old man, and the slavers hadn’t dropped him off yet for who knows what reason and he’s started telling the new arrivals what to expect.
“The slavers want you to be obedient.” The old man says. “So be obedient, don’t cause trouble. At least, until you’re sure that they can’t handle you anymore. You look like you’ve got spirit, kid. Don’t let them kill that. Hide it under obedience, but you should always remember. Remind yourself of it every night. Never forget. Do not speak when not spoken to and do not act like a child.”
Teito knows he’s still a kid. How do you stop being a kid?
“Make yourself as small as possible, that way, you won’t be as noticeable.”
The old man finally looks at him and blinks, as if surprised.
“And…” The old man purses his lips, throat dry. “Pray.”
“To Saint Michael the Archangel.”
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The slavers paced to and fro the cells of slaves with nothing but apathy in their expressions. Some of the people were crying, some were shocked and was still as stone, and none of them seem to have chosen to be in this situation.
“From now on, you maggots have been sentenced to a lifetime of servitude. Be grateful, you damned leeches to society!” The head slaver’s voice booms. “You no longer have family. You no longer have names. You have lost your right to freedom. You belong to us now.”
When none of the slaves let out even the slightest noise, the head slaver smiles, satisfied.
“Okay, leeches, line up! I don’t care about order, just make sure you get here.”
Some of the slaves had tried to escape, but there were too many guards with too much power that the slaves wasn’t able to do anything but flail. The new slaves learned it the hard way.
The slaves were herded into a room one by one, and finally it was the little green-eyed boy’s turn.
“Name?” The slaver demanded, tapping his clipboard impatiently.
Teito swallows, tears prickling at the edge of his eyes and remembers what the old man had said. “No name.”
The slaver blinked, as if surprised and then grinned. “You’re learning fast.”
Teito does not answer.
“Age?”
“F-four.” He says timidly, eyes glued to the floor.
“That young, huh.” The slaver shrugged. And then pulled an orb from somewhere in his pocket and handed it to Teito. “This’ll tell us if you have Zaiphon or not.”
Teito frowns. “Words of Heaven..?”
The slaver paused and stared. “Fucking… You’re a church kid? Shit. Fuck. Whatever. Anyway, they won’t be able to do anything it they don’t know…”
The orb is pushed into his tiny hands. Teito hesitates but accepts the orb. It shines a bright red.
The slaver looked absolutely delighted. “Oi, asshole! We’ve got a battle slave here! Ah, we’re rich!”
“You sure about that?” The voice echoes from the hallway, proceeded by hurried footsteps.
“Pretty sure. Look.” The slaver pointed at the still glowing orb.
“Hmmm. Give the kid a cell alone. We’ll sell him to the Big Mams in District 3. She’ll pay a hefty sum for one of these. I have thought he’d be a normie. He’s pretty and young, he’d have sold well even if he wasn’t for battle.”
The slaver giggled, unholy in its perversity.
“Big Mams it is, then.”
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Time flies by fast when you’re a slave. The days blur together, and routines are followed to the letter.
Big Mams was a gambling establishment with a slave arena in which the privileged watch slaves beat on each other, placing bets on which slave would come out alive. The winning slave was given some luxuries, like a bath in a tub, or an extra helping of food when they won. He had been given some form of training by the owner of the arena, and a set of slaves were scheduled to fight against each other. There were some slaves, like him, young and malleable and some of the larger slaves built for transporting heavy things. There were also some criminals given to Big Mams and the arenas were used like execution ground for the convicted. There were three of them that were called the child reapers. S-8910, J-1125, and Teito himself, K-7341.
Teito remembers what the old man had said.
He said to say his own name every night, just once and prays to Mikhail, unloads all his problems to the absent deity and does not let himself cry. Teito makes it a habit because it lets him forget the smell of blood forever coating his hands, the pleas for him to spare a life, the laughter and mocking jeers of the wealthy and the sheer amount of lives he’s taken since this farce began.
Yet, once he asks J-1125, J-1125 says that of all the slaves in this arena, the only one who hasn’t lost their fire yet was Teito. J-1125 says with eyes dull and empty that he would welcome death if it comes to him, yet he will not actively seek it.
When a slave wins a hundredth consecutive time, they are given a luxury of their choosing, within limits, of course.
It is a mockery of the freedom that they should have, but Teito welcomes it nonetheless.
When he reaches his 100th win (his hundredth death), he’s five and a half and he asks for bibles.
They think he cannot read or write, and so laughs off the suggestion but grants it regardless. They give him access to a small library and Teito spends the entirety of his free time, when not recovering, reading. He opens a chapter of the Holy Scriptures and bits and pieces of his memory come back, so he often opens them as much as he could. He remembers a soothing voice, a voice he’s labeled as ‘Father’ singing to him as a lullaby the many chapters of text. He does not understand all the words, and his guards do not have the inclination to answer any of his questions, so he makes do. He knows two languages as he’s found out. One of them was Raggs, and the other Barsburg. He reads and speaks Raggs’ better, but the people here only speak Barsburg, so he’s a bit out of practice.
When he finishes all the Scriptures, he moves on to something familiar. One was something about politics, and another about art. He does not know why it is familiar, just that it is and something about them lightens his heart.
It goes on in that vein for years.
He turns 10.
(He hasn’t lost count of his wins, his kills, the amount of blood on his hands.)
726…
726.
Then.
Everything changes.
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“Miroku says we need you to make nice with Granne.” Kal says with a straight face.
Krowell sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Pray tell, what do you mean by make nice, exactly?” Krowell asks, already dreading the answer.
Kal almost grins but doesn’t. “You’ve been avoiding her. She’s heartbroken.”
Krowell takes in a fortifying breath.
He definitely did not need to hear that.
“So, I’ve taken the liberty to assign you as her guard to her trip to the Third District.”
Krowell’s brow raises. “A Military-inclined Ambassador as a guard?”
“She’s the Empress’ sister.” Kal shrugs. “She’s important enough to warrant it.”
Krowell’s eyes narrow, suspicious bastard he is. “What’s in District 3?”
Kal actually grins this time. “We’ve finally found that slave arena you’ve been sniffing around for.”
Krowell’s mouth twitches into an odd smile. “I see. You should have opened with that.”
“And miss all your cute catty reactions? Not for all the yuus in the world.”
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The casino is as distasteful as Krowell predicted. The patrons, talking in hushed excited tones, were wearing masks that covered the entirety of their faces but exposed the entire ugly underneath that festered inside their rotten souls. There were tables with cards, and some with dice, but the most notable part of the place was the furnished veranda surrounding a pit of cold steel and dull asphalt beneath a glass barrier. The inside of the barrier was kept clean, but bloodstains were not easy to wash off from rough cement. Krowell despises slavery with a passion, but the process of removing the system was still in the works and they do not have an acute reason. Yet. The Barsburg Empire legalizes slavery and the Empress and Emperor were yet to be swayed from their views that slaves were not needed for an Empire to function. Krowell does not know if he can be an ambassador to such a country that practices this kind of barbary.
“Welcome to the Battle Arena!” An announcer declares grandiosely. “Tonight we watch and see which of the Battlers will come out on top! Place your bets and we’ll begin in a few minutes!” He introduces the arena with large billowing gestures and a highly annoying booming voice. Then he hands off the mic to a masked lady.
Big Mam. What an ostentatious name. Krowell couldn’t help but click his tongue.
She describes the rules and closes the official betting but Krowell couldn’t be bothered with the technicalities.
“First Battle! Reaper K versus Prisoner Ilio!” The announcer continues as Big Mam sits in a throne-like seat in a high position on the veranda.
In the arena entered a largely built man, well-muscled and a scar running through his eye to the edge of his jaw, roaring.
And then a child no older than 10 entered the pit from the entrance below Krowell’s seat, hands and feet bare, and around his neck, a familiar collar.
“Start!” The announcer calls.
The child launches himself towards the large prisoner in speeds that few can match. The child lands a kick on the upper shoulder of the giant, dislocating the bone at the shoulder and earning cheers from the audience. He makes a flip mid-air and lands on his feet, now facing Krowell and only a few feet away.
Krowell frowns at the familiarity he feels when he sees the child.
Then he freezes, his face paling as bile rises up in his stomach. He pushes the nausea down.
The child looks exactly like Krom when he was that age, albeit the eyes rounder and cheeks less full, but.
There was no mistaking it.
“Hyuuga. Tell me everything you can about that child.”