A Name of My Own

Glistening dew adorned each blade of grass, the freshness of the morning air filling my lungs with a sweet, invigorating scent. The serenity and palpable beauty of this place belied its unreal nature. Had Orryn not enlightened me, I'd have been blissfully ignorant, lost in the captivating splendor before me.

Children, their cheeks flushed with the glow of innocent mirth, darted around, their giggles and laughter echoing like a melodious tune. Their vibrant energy contrasted starkly with the somber memories of their not-so-distant past. A mere year ago, a few months for some, these same souls were shackled, their youthful spirits crushed under the oppressive weight of the tyrant king's command.

Watching them now, their faces illuminated with the pure joy of freedom, a warmth spread through my chest, my lips curving into a smile almost involuntarily. The realization that our actions had instilled hope and brought about this profound change was beyond rewarding. Growing up, trapped within those stifling prison walls, I would often drift into daydreams of freedom. But the reality unfolding before me? It surpassed even my wildest dreams.

A vibrant ball, dappled with a myriad of colours, slipped from a child's grasp, lazily rolling and coming to a gentle halt against my shoe. Their previously animated expressions dissolved into an all-too-familiar look of trepidation. Their wide eyes, once sparkling with the simple joys of play, now shimmered with tears of fear. Memories of a cruel past likely haunted their minds, making them believe that a minor mistake could yield a dire consequence.

I could empathise deeply with their reaction. Years of confinement and the sting of unpredicted punishments had taught me that even the smallest missteps in the prison could invite outsized retribution.

Gently, I knelt down, the grass brushing against my knee, and scooped up the ball. Trying to wear a reassuring smile, one that wouldn't betray any hint of menace, I extended my hand, offering the toy back. "Here you go," I murmured softly.

The children exchanged anxious glances, hesitation evident in their postures and expressions, debating whether to approach.

"You're safe now," I whispered, my voice imbued with warmth and kindness, striving to erase their apprehensions. "I promise, I won't hurt you."

One of them began to inch forward, deciding they would be the one to take the fall should I only be trying to get them closer to punish them. His little feet shuffled forwards, the fear in his eyes evident as he approached. My heart warmed for the brave little boy.

"T-t-thank y-you," He stuttered, voice quivering, eyes darting between the ball in my hand and my face.

Every fibre of my being was focused on appearing non-threatening. As his tiny fingers tentatively extended toward the ball, there was a fleeting moment of hesitation, a second-guessing, driven by deeply ingrained caution. However, upon catching my subtle nod of encouragement, he mustered the courage and gently retrieved the ball.

A palpable wave of relief washed over the group of children behind him. Their shoulders, which were hunched in trepidation, now relaxed. They had been bracing for an unexpected outburst, fearing I might lash out against their companion. The simple act of returning a toy had turned into a testament to their collective trauma, reminding me of the long healing journey ahead for these innocent young souls.

The child's eyes, wide and brimming with a mix of innocence and trepidation, met mine as I posed a question, "What's your name?" His slight startle at my voice, betrayed a depth of underlying fear.

He hesitated, those bright eyes shadowed with confusion. "I..I don't have o..one," He murmured, voice as fragile as thin glass. "I'm just a s..slave."

Attempting to unearth any cherished memory from before, I pressed gently, "Before this life took over, didn't someone, perhaps your parents, have a special name for you?"

His forehead creased even more, lost. "Parents?" The word, so foreign on his tongue, felt like a dagger to my heart.

A sombre recollection engulfed me, echoing voices from a past discussion where guards whispered of a harrowing facility, initiated by the king. Women, wrongfully confined, were trapped in a grim cycle designed to increase the prison population, stripped of any semblance of humanity.

With the twisted belief that those birthed in captivity would never yearn for liberty, the king aimed to cultivate submissive subjects. These children were then methodically trained, stripped of individuality, their names replaced with cold numbers. By the age of six, they'd be funnelled into labour, a life predestined for servitude.

Shaking off the haunting memories, I focused back on the young boy before me. The raw vulnerability in his eyes suggested he had not known freedom for long, if ever at all. It was a poignant reminder of the dark shadows from which he emerged.

"Well, we can't let you go without a name, can we?" My voice wavered slightly as I forced a smile, trying to bring warmth into the atmosphere, hoping it would be contagious. "A name... it's like a personal brand, your own identity."

He glanced downward, his bare toes digging into the soft earth beneath. "Names are for people, not slaves," He declared, his voice imbued with a conviction far beyond his tender years. The tone was a rehearsed echo of harsh voices from his past. "I don't deserve one."

"Nonsense," I countered gently, my fingers brushing away a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "A name is a birthright, not a privilege. Here, in this place, you are free. You are not bound by the chains of the prison any more."

His eyes, deep pools of uncertainty, searched mine, perhaps seeking some trace of deceit. I could see the vestiges of distrust instilled in him from countless harsh experiences. "So," I pressed on, trying to break through the wall he had built, "if you could choose any name, what would it be?"

He bit his lower lip, a contemplative look overshadowing his face. The weight of such a choice seemed overwhelming. Observing his hesitation, I offered, "Would you like me to suggest one?"

With a timid nod, he gave his consent. His youthful face lit up, eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and hope.

"How about 'Ethan'?" I proposed, my voice soft and encouraging. "It means 'strong and firm'. A resilient name for a brave boy like you."

The name hung in the air between us, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to pause. "Ethan?" He tasted the name on his tongue, as though savouring the sweetness of a forbidden fruit.

"That's right," I affirmed warmly, watching as his face lit up. "From now on, you are Ethan. A name that now belongs to you."

Ethan's gaze lingered on mine, a mixture of disbelief and hope shimmering in his eyes. "Ethan," he whispered again, clutching the ball tighter, as if anchoring himself to this newfound identity. "I've never owned anything before."

It was a simple gesture, but to him, it was a step towards finding himself, a beacon of hope in the bleak world he had known.

Lifting my gaze, I addressed the group of curious children who had been quietly observing. "Who else wants a name?"