The slave let out a small gasp as his palms and knees hit the rough deck of the ship. "Fifteen lashes," his master ordered from behind him. "That'll teach him to spill my breakfast all over my cabin." The slave wanted to protest that if he hadn't been so tired, he wouldn't have stumbled, and he wouldn't have spilled anything, but the punishment for denying guilt was far worse than the one for mere clumsiness.

Chironex watched as his favorite slave to torment was secured to the mast and the flogging began. Where is the mighty Shark Clan now? He thought gleefully. Long before the five islands of the United Lands had been, well, united; they had been inhabited by two clans- the Jelly Fish Clan and the Shark Clan. They had fought with each other for many, many seasons; until the Shark Clan had finally conquered all the islands. Over time, as they lived together, the differences between the two groups had dissipated, and left in their place was one nation.

However, there were some who still remembered the wars, and who hated the Shark Clan for their dominance. The royal family of the United Lands was descended from the leader of the Shark Clan, and some descendants of the Jelly Fish Clan hated them for it. Chironex was one of these, and since he knew his slave's true identity, he took great delight in watching him suffer. It hadn't been easy to break the boy- true, he was already apathetic towards life and no longer rebelled openly- but he didn't cower in fear either. Chironex had been determined to change that, and he had succeeded.

Of course, the first step had been to give Shark a reason to fear him. So, Chironex had sent in a slave that was completely loyal to him to have a little talk with his newest acquisition. Shark had withdrawn into himself and didn't open up to Chironex's minion, but dirt didn't have to talk to allow seeds to take root in it.

"The Master told me about your sisters, boy," The spy had said. "His friend Lord Heartland told me all about it. It's a real shame. What are you going to do?"

"I deserve to die," Shark had whispered.

"Perhaps. Though if you ask my opinion, the punishment would be much worse." Shark had lifted his chin slightly at that, as if to ask what the other slave meant. "If I had sisters, and they had died the way yours did, I would think I deserved to suffer for the rest of my life. I would think that a life as a slave was what I was due for my failure. But of course, that's just me. I come from a line of excessively honorable people, you see. For us, dying would be the cowards way out. But like I said, that's just my opinion."

Chironex had given Shark a little time to think this over, and in the meantime had started breaking him. Really breaking him. The boy was up before the sun rose and after it went down. He was worked hard, until his hands were raw and bloody from the labor. There was plenty of work to be done on a ship, and Chironex's hired goons made sure the slaves did it thoroughly and efficiently. Beatings became a daily occurrence, some delivered by Chironex himself in Shark's case. Food was kept at the barest minimum. Starvation, back-breaking work, and constant pain was the way to keep a slave in their place.

Of course, that wasn't all there was to it. Chironex also took pains to strip his slave of his identity. "What's your name?" Chironex would demand every night.

"Shark," the slave had answered the first time.

"Wrong!" Chironex had given him five lashes and sent him to bed without supper. The next night, he had asked the same question, and this time, after some hesitation, the slave had answered,

"Shark, Master?"

"Wrong!" Chironex dealt out the same punishment that night, and once again his slave went to bed hungry. The third night, the answer has been,

"I don't know, Master,"

"That's right, slave," Chironex had told him. "You have no name, because you are nothing. You are called whatever I choose to address you as. Now, get to bed!" The slave hadn't gotten any food that night either, but neither had he received a beating. On the fourth night, the slave had given the correct answer and been rewarded with stale bread and water. Every night following, the slave repeated the answer and received the same response.

After about a moon had passes, Chironex had performed a test. "Shark!" He had yelled across the deck. "Shark, come here!" The slave had come running, and received twenty lashes for it. Ten sunrises later, Chironex had once again called him by the old nickname, and the boy had slowly started towards him, evidently hesitating. Chironex had swooped down on him and given him ten lashes. Ten sunrises later, the test had been conducted for the third time. This time, the slave didn't even look up. He was rewarded by being allowed some extra sleep that night.

Step three was the trickiest part. He had to make his slave forget about his sisters and only remember that his purpose was to serve his masters. One night, after the boy had answered "Whatever you wish it to be, Master," and was waiting for his meal, when his master pulled down the whip on his cabin wall. The slave tensed visibly, trembling.

"I have some more questions for you tonight, slave," his master told him. "Number one: What are you?"

"A slave, Master," was the immediate response. Chironex nodded in satisfaction, not that the slave could see. He didn't dare raise his eyes to look at his owner. It was a lesson he had learned quickly on the slave ship.

"Very good. Now, what is your reason for living?"

There had been a moment of silence, and then the slave had answered, as Chironex had hoped he would, by saying, "To pay for my crimes against my sisters, Master."

"NO!" Chironex had beaten the boy savagely until his knees gave way and he slumped to the floor. Grabbing him by the hair, his master had put his mouth next to his ear and whispered, "You have no sisters. Your only reason for existing is to serve the one who owns you." With a savage kick to the ribs, Chironex had sent his slave to bed without anything to eat.

It had taken considerable time to drive thoughts of his sisters from his mind, but Chironex had done it. After being condition, weakened, and flogged, the apathetic boy with a shred of pride left was gone. In his place was a slave, in mind and body. Every night, as Chironex would grill him with questions, the answers were whispered with a tremor of fear, and they were always the same.

"What is your name?"

"Whatever you wish it to be, Master."

"What are you?"

"A slave, Master."

"What is your reason for existing?"

"To serve my masters, Master."

"Does anyone in the world care about, ever have cared, or ever will care about your thoughts and feelings?"

"No, Master."

"Why not?"

"I am just a piece of property, Master; my thoughts and feelings don't matter."

"That's right. Do any of your masters care about you?"

"Yes Master?"

"Why?"

"Because I am there property and am worth money to them."

"Excellent, slave. You got them all right. Here's your bread and water; now get out of my sight."

"Yes, Master." The slave had learned to bury his emotions and memories deep within himself. It was safer that way. He would be punished for bringing them up, and the deeper they were buried, the harder it would be to recall them. He couldn't remember why anymore, but he knew that death was not an option for him. He deserved to suffer. So, he took each day as it came and did his best to please his master. (Days, he had learned, were what Heartlanders called sun cycles. Several of Chironex's men were native to Heartland, and he learned a few things about their destination from them, because he could understand their language. How or when he had learned it, though, was something he had forgotten).

He had a funny feeling, whenever someone mentioned the name Heartland. As if it should mean something to him. But nothing really meant anything to the slave anymore, except his master's wishes, the cruel lash, and his body's need for food, water, sleep, and relief from the pain. Despite his best efforts, he was still beaten on occasion, like right now.

The slave braced himself for the tenth blow, but he couldn't stop his body from jerking or the cry of pain from escaping his lips. "Master, please," he whimpered. His master liked to hear him beg; he would sometimes shorten a punishment if he did so. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of those times. Five more lashes came before he was released from the mast. He fell to the deck, unable to support himself.

"Get up, slave," his master ordered him, kicking him in the side. "You have to clean up that mess you left in my cabin."

The slave tried to force himself to his feet, but he was in too much pain to do so, so he settled for crawling back to his master's cabin. As he picked up the broken dishes and mopped up the spilled coffee, a few hot tears rolled down his cheeks. He brushed them away angrily. He deserved every lash he had received. He deserved this life of misery and servitude.

The slave knew that if he thought hard enough, he might be able to remember the horrible thing he had done that had condemned him to this existence, but he didn't dare. He feared his master and the whip, and if he took another beating so soon, it could possibly kill him. And he didn't get to die yet. Who had told him that? He couldn't remember.

Things had never looked so dark and full of despair for the royal siblings before, but not all was yet done. Not all was yet said. Even the craftiest plans can go awry, and Domitian and Heartland couldn't possibly have countered what would happen to Emperor Nash when Chironex's ship reached the Southern Isles.

The End