A Cruel World

Third Month of Fire, Year 1200.

Mount Caled, located in the eastern outskirts of Barbas, the Shifting Plains-

"The hell? Lads, you see this?" A man on horseback pulled his reigns back, stopping his steed so as to prevent it from trampling over what looked like an unconscious boy. He grunted as he got off his horse, pulling a fur cap over ears reddened by cold. He squinted, high altitude winds buffeting his eyes.

Several riders behind the man, numbering a solid twenty, stopped. A few from the front of the formation dismounted and joined the man, forming a small group of three to watch the boy.

All the men were dressed in tunics and pan

"Ain't a khon pup, that's for sure," said a

"Course it ain't, you halfwit. The lack of fur and tail don't tell you that enough?"

"Shut it, Deorold. Wait until the bruise on your face from our last fight stops being blue before you get snappy with me."

"Your all muscle, no brains. Ernold the Strong, more like Ernold the Fool."

"What'd you say!?"

"Quiet." The man that first dismounted spoke, his voice resonating with a ring that made it clear he was used to being in charge. In response, the two other men, Deorold and Ernold, stopped their growing altercation.

The leader knelt by the boy and observed him. The child looked to be about four or five. Dark red, almost black hair. A healthy boy, no ribs showing. He checked one of the boy's hands. No callouses, either.

No sign of manual labor.

The leader raised a brow. Raising the boy's hand had revealed a rucksack underneath him. With a shove, he rolled the boy over and dumped the insides of sack out. A few slices of stale bread, shattered remnants of some kind of red candy, and a blue orb fell out.

"Greatmother's tits!" said the leader, immediately clutching the orb.

"What is it!?" said Ernold, squinting his eyes. "Is that some kinda…some kinda treasure?"

"It's a Scry, stupid," said Deorold. He was a tired looking man, tall and skinny with dirty blonde hair and sunken in blue eyes. "Haven't we done business with Orian mages enough? Some of em' have floating helpers. That's one of them."

"Right. I forgot." Ernold scratched his head with a massive, brick-like hand, one hardened and shaped by crushing many a skull. Compared to Deorold, he was a monster, standing almost six foot five (195 cm) with a wide, powerful frame like that of a bear. He had a strong underbite caused by two small tusks jutting from his lower jaw, a telltale sign that he was a half-orc.

"Got hit too many times in the head is what, I tell ya," said Deorold. "Boss, what are you thinking?"

"Damn it," said Cuthred, boss of the outlaw group known as the Trappers. "Blasted thing's coded to the boy. Damaged, too, look at the crack on the surface."

"We can still sell the thing for a nice sum. Coded or not. Broken or not. Just have to find the right Orian mage. They'll want it for its parts, and you don't need a password to get that. Just a good hammer," said Deorold. "Honestly, may be a good idea to break it now-,"

"No." Cuthred stood up, placing the Scry into the rucksack and slinging the whole thing over his shoulder. "Only noble Orian bloodlines can afford Scrys. And this kid, he hasn't worked a day in his life. He's of high blood, I'll bet my beard on it."

Deorold smiled. "Aye, you thinking what I'm thinking, boss?"

Cuthred smiled too, revealing teeth cracked, some missing from fighting. "Aye, Deorold, I am."

"What we thinking about?" said Ernold.

"A ransom," said Cuthred. "I don't know why a highblood Orian boy's out here in these dumps, but the priests say never to question when the Greatmother sends a miracle to you, heh. Take him to the cargo. Make sure to give him his own cage. Don't want the other slaves eating our payday now, do we?"

I woke up with a pounding headache and nausea raging in my stomach. Traveling into a Vortex was not something I ever wanted to do again. A strong, wild smell punched into my nose, and I immediately looked around in alarm, wondering if some beast had happened upon me.

"What the hell?" I whispered.

I was in the back of some moving vehicle, which, judging by the constant rocking, was moved by beast of burden, not magic. All around me were cages. Cages filled people. Not humans. Demi-humans with what looked like were wolven traits.

They had pointed ears, sharp teeth, claws, and long, bushy tails.

And none of them were old. At most, the oldest was barely ten years old, judging by the softness of the facial features. But even then, that ten-year-old was huge, being almost five foot ten (178 cm). In fact, all of the demi-human children seemed quite big for their apparent age.

I myself was in a cage, bars of iron rising all around me.

"Scry, where am I?" I asked.

No answer.

"Your Scry ain't here, boy." At the edge of the cargo hold, a seated man stood up and made his way to me. As he moved, all the demi-humans that he neared cringed and whined, closing their eyes, as if waiting to get hit.

The man squatted down in front of my cage and smiled.

I got a good look at him. He had a grin full of missing teeth with a scraggly, pointed black beard. His eyes were hungry, full of greed, as was his grin. I knew this type of face very well.

It belonged to the type of man that lived by taking. I had encountered many in my past life.

"My name's Cuthred. What's yours, boy?"

I did not respond.

"Heh, your highborn parents taught you not to speak with strangers, that it?" Cuthred chuckled. I noticed his arms, bared from a vest of what looked like chainmail, were noticeably muscular and scarred. They had seen quite a few fights.

A sword scabbard lay at the side of his hip, indicating his weapon of choice.

I remained silent, observing.

"Boy, I want to make this easy for us. You and I are both human, after all, not like the furred wildborn around us." Cuthred sniffled. "Even now, I can't stand their fur. Clogs my nose up real good. "Anyway, as I was saying, let's not make this hard, eh? I'm only trying to help. Tell me who your mama or papa is, and I'll take you back to em. If you behave well, you'll be in one whole piece, too."

I knew I could not tell him this. The moment I got sent back to my father was the moment I died. So, I remained silent.

"How about this, then?" Cuthred waved the Scry in front of my face. The gift that Eyva gave me. Seeing it in this man's grubby, dirty hands sent waves of anger through me, but I remained expressionless.

"Activate it," said Cuthred. "It's got a little crack here, but I've made sure it can work. Just needs you to say something. That way, I can get to know your name."

"Scry," I said.

"Greetings, Uldan," said the Scry.

"Uldan…?" Cuthred scratched his beard. "That don't sound like an Orian name. What's your family name?"

"I have none," I said, truthfully. The more I could delay Cuthred from getting me to my father, the longer I could survive. I knew from this brief interaction that Cuthred was not here to hunt me down. He had no idea who I was.

He just knew I was a highborn child, most likely from context clues like having a Scry, and wanted to ransom me out.

By stalling Cuthred out, I could devise a way to survive.

"Don't lie to me, boy." Cuthred spoke to me with venom in his voice. He held the Scry closer to me. "Make it say your full name."

"Tell me my full name."

"Your full name is Uldan, for you lack a family name," confirmed the Scry.

"Trying to trick me, are you?" Cuthred growled, shoving my Scry in his pocket. He withdrew not his sword, but what looked like a wand from his belt. He pointed the wand at me and chanted, "[Ilektriki!]"

A current of electricity shot forth from the wand, burning into my body. My muscles seized up as the current wrought havoc throughout me, forcing me to collapse in pain. I was left breathless, slumped over, drooling in my dirty metal cage.

"I went easy on you today, boy." Cuthred stood up, turning to take his leave. "But every day, I'm going to come back. The pain will get worse and worse. You best behave soon and tell me what I want to know soon."

Cuthred stormed out, shoving a door open and jumping out. Before the door swung back into place, I got a glimpse of the world outside me. It was rocky and mountainous. I also got a sense of how fast we were moving.

Not too fast. A good bit faster than ordinary horseback, but not enough to cover the ten thousand plus miles separating me from my father in any reasonable amount of time.

When I regained movement, the paralysis from the electricity leaving me, I sat up, leaning back against my cage.

I then laughed. The demi-human children around me perked their ears up and watched me like I was a madman as I laughed and laughed.

I went into the Vortex hoping that the world was good. Just like how Eyva said it was. I wanted to believe that when I got spat out, a good Samaritan would save me and take care of me.

But I was wrong.

Eyva was wrong.

This world was just as cruel as my last one.

I had no idea why I held onto my childish hope that things were better in this world, that the presence of magic and fantasy made human nature any better.

No, I did know why. It was because Eyva had skewed my perception of this world. She was a true light in every sense of the word, good deep down into her heart. Her goodness had made me soft.

Hopeful that I could change in this world. That I could be someone different. That I could be a good person.

I loved Eyva, I truly did, but the rest of the world was not like her.

It was not good. And if I wanted to survive, I had no room to be 'good' either.

'Good' and 'life' could not coexist together. Life was survival, and survival was a zero-sum game. There was a victor and there was a loser. There was predator, and there was prey.

My old master's words resonated in my mind.

'Do you know what principle guides a fist to be strong? Is it harmony? Is it peace?

No.

It is survival.

And what is survival?

It is to kill before you are killed.

It is to take before you are taken from.

It is to destroy before you are destroyed.'

If I wanted to survive, I had to throw away my hope. I needed to return to how I was.

How I used to be when I was the Strongest.