"I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."
A lively, red-haired girl with freckles dusting her cheeks bustled over to their table, balancing two plates with practiced ease. Alpheo immediately noticed the resemblance between her and the tavern owner—most likely his daughter. The size of the establishment suggested a family-run business, though he cared little for such details. Observing his surroundings was simply a habit, something to occupy his mind when boredom set in.
Asag and Alpheo instinctively pulled their hands back, making room as she set their meals down. Out of the corner of his eye, Alpheo caught Asag stealing quick glances at the girl—only to avert his gaze the moment their eyes met. Meanwhile, the girl's attention lingered on Alpheo.
For a brief moment, his thoughts drifted. It was still strange to think that this awkward young man had once saved his life back in Arlania. Had it not been for Asag, that soldier's dagger might have pierced his throat. Would he have been able to wrestle the weapon back in time? Would he have been strong enough to stop them? He didn't like to dwell on such questions. They made him feel... weak.
Shaking off the thought, Alpheo looked down at his plate and realized something—this would be the first time in his second life that he'd tasted meat. He never had as a slave, nor as a farmer's son, but as a free man he now had the chance. Before him sat two roasted cuts of meat, accompanied by fresh vegetables. His stomach growled in anticipation.
Without hesitation, he dug in.
It had been decades since he last tasted meat. And while the flavor wasn't anything remarkable, there was something deeply satisfying about it. For once, he didn't feel like a tool to be used and discarded, or a beast to be whipped into submission. He felt like a man. A proper man. Or at least, he wanted to believe so.
Across from him, Asag ate with deliberate care, savoring each bite. The expression on his face made it clear—he was enjoying this meal as much as Alpheo.
They ate in silence. Slowly but surely, their plates emptied, leaving only scraps behind. Alpheo washed his meal down with ale, while Asag, true to his preference, stuck to water.
Before long, the girl returned to collect their dishes. As she did, her eyes met Alpheo's, and she offered him a small, hesitant smile.
He didn't return it.
She lingered for a moment, as if expecting something more. But when none came, she sighed softly and turned away, leaving them alone.
She was pretty. Just like that other one had been...when he pressed his hands on her neck....
And just like that, memories crept into his mind—memories he didn't want.
As Alpheo observed his men enjoying their meals and drinks, a soft voice broke through the din of the tavern.
"Thank you."
He turned to Asag, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "For what?"
"For not asking about it," Asag murmured, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "The scar, I mean. Most people always ask. They press and press until I tell them. But you didn't. Instead, you sat with me, shared a meal, gave me company." He hesitated, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his cup. "It's been a long time since I ate with someone. I missed the feeling."
Alpheo said nothing, sensing the unspoken emotions beneath Asag's words. The young man was holding back—fighting the urge to let his voice waver, to let the weight of his past pull him under. Loneliness was like a dagger, slowly pressing through the back until it reached the heart.
Alpheo understood that feeling well.
The worst part of being a slave wasn't the beatings. It was the silence.
The days spent in solitude, the nights whispering to himself just to hear a voice—those were the things that nearly drove him insane. The world had ignored him, cast him aside, treated him like he was nothing. And so, now, he surrounded himself with people. He was never alone. He refused to be.
Letting out a slow breath, Alpheo shifted his gaze away, giving Asag the space to compose himself.
"I was a farmer, you know?" he began, his voice tinged with something bitter. He hadn't planned to share, but somehow, it felt right. "Didn't even know the name of my own village, let alone the lord who claimed to own me. I worked from dawn till dusk, ate scraps like a dog. Some nights, I'd go into the forest and eat roots just to keep my belly from turning inside out."
He gave a short, humorless chuckle.
"I had five brothers, but I didn't know them. We were strangers who happened to share blood. My parents barely noticed I existed."
The words spilled out before he could stop them—memories long buried surfacing like corpses in a flood. He hadn't spoken of this in years. Maybe ever.
"One day, while I was working in the fields, I saw my father talking to a man. Laughing. Smiling. The man reached into his pouch and placed some silver coins into my father's palm. He took it. Still smiling."
Alpheo clenched his fists.
"Then my father walked over, grabbed my sleeve, and put me in chains."
He fell silent, his hands trembling with barely suppressed emotion.
"I struggled. Clawed at the dirt. Hung myself in place, digging my heels into the ground. The slavers punched me, pulled at me, but I didn't move."
For a brief moment, his voice dropped to something quieter.
"Then my father stepped forward. For a second, I thought... I thought he'd changed his mind. That he would stop them, that he would realize that we shared blood."
Alpheo let out a dry chuckle, as if hearing a joke for the first time.
"He slapped me," he said, his voice distant. "Then he apologized to the men. As if I were nothing more than a stubborn mule refusing to work. It happened so long ago, but... I thought I was over it."
Asag remained silent, his eyes fixed on Alpheo's trembling hands.
Alpheo exhaled slowly, his fingers unclenching.
"My own blood betrayed me for coins. The family the gods gave me cast me aside. So I learned something that day—what matters isn't the family you're born into, but the one you choose."
His gaze lifted, settling on Asag.
"I chose my family among the men beside me. When I became a slave, I found brothers among the damned. We suffered together, bled together. And those nights… the ones spent alone were the worst."
A brief pause. A flicker of something unreadable in his expression.
"Many died. But those who lived, we planned our escape. And you—" he pointed lightly at Asag "—you saved my life back there. You're one of us now. You're my brother, Asag. And I will treat you as one, like they should have."
The younger man inhaled sharply, his shoulders trembling ever so slightly. Was it Alpheo's story that shook him? Or simply hearing that someone cared?
Alpheo already knew the answer.
With a firm pat on Asag's shoulder, he stood. "I'm getting another drink. Then I'm off to take a piss. Wait here."
As he approached the counter, his sharp eyes caught the red-haired girl from before. He reached into his pouch and slid three silveriis toward her.
She raised an eyebrow, then smiled, her fingers grazing his hand as she leaned in. "All this? Just for me?" Her voice dipped, sultry and inviting.
Alpheo's expression remained cold. "Not for me. For him." He inclined his head toward Asag. "Make him believe you like him. Stroke his ego. Stroke his cock if you must. But bed him."
The girl blinked in surprise before her lips curled into an amused smirk. "You're sure? Wouldn't you rather have me yourself?"
Alpheo met her gaze with an icy stare. "Don't make me repeat myself. If you won't, I'll find someone who will, for a much lower price."
The act dropped in an instant. With a sigh, she pocketed the silver and slid off the counter.
"No need," she muttered, turning toward Asag,clearly not liking the sight.
Alpheo watched as she sauntered up to him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and whispered something in his ear. Asag stiffened at first—then, slowly, he smiled.
Alpheo studied them for a moment longer before turning away.
He always repaid his debts. Always.
But he never forgot a slight.
Not even from his own blood.
"Debts come due for everyone," he muttered as he stepped out of the tavern, ready to piss the ale away.