I had a lot of difficulty with this chapter, and honestly have not been satisfied with my own writings lately. I hope that you enjoy this regardless of that.
TW: Rape, Slavery
The truck rattled, bumping and shaking as it went down the road. Chūjō interlocked her fingers, her wrists sore and chaffed, the rope having dug into her skin long ago. Her stomach growled, her stomach a painful knot. The blindfold over her eyes was itchy, the world a gray blob whenever she opened her eyes.
She had no idea how much time had passed. That man in the tan cloak, Bán, had her and the other villagers put in trucks. They seemed to have been driving for days, weeks, only stopping to give them something she could barely call food. Her stomach twisted at the memory of switching from the truck to the boat, and the long voyage on that, of the stink of vomit and the feel of it on her dress when the others got seasick.
She felt the truck start to slow and lifted her head. She heard the truck door swing open, light filtering in.
"Out. Single file."
She swallowed, and got to her feet, waiting awkwardly as the people in front of her funneled out. She hesitated, taking a step back.
"Out!"
She gasped as the woman at the door grabbed her by her bound hands, yanking her out of the truck and crashing into the hard ground.
She staggered to her feet, her knees stinging, blood dripping down one of her legs. She could faintly see the others and went over to them, standing by them. She bit her lip, trying, and failing, to ignore the pain shooting from her knees.
Someone ripped her blindfold off, the light stinging her eyes as she blinked.
The truck that the remaining prisoners were getting out of was banged up, the color faded and splashed with dust and ash. The soil was a deep black, and large mountains surrounded them. She could see a bay further down the mountain, a plethora of different ships docked, and a makeshift town surrounded the docks. Green filled the mountains and hills leading up to where they were. She squinted; where those rice farmers?
"Follow us!"
Chūjō looked over, a group of people in black and gray tartans stood in front of the group, weapons in hand, bits of tan feathers adorning their bodies. An older man bolted, shoving past her; Chūjō screamed as a shot rang out, his blood spraying onto the black soil. He slumped to the ground, his blood pooling.
"Anyone else got any bright ideas?" Chūjō looked over at the group; a large man was lowering a pistol, looking them over.
A woman shoved Chūjō forward with the butt of her rifle, forcing her to walk forward, following after the crowd. They hiked upwards; toward the top of the mountain they were on. Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the scent of smoke, and bodily waste. Tents were strung up, large metal stakes encircling the camp at the mountains peak.
She interlocked her fingers, squeezing her hands as they entered the camp, the nauseating smells making her stomach churn. People bustled about the camp, tending to weapons, tanning hides, preparing food. They all wore the same black and gray tartans of their captors. She squeezed, nails biting into the back of her hands as she looked at the cages.
They were covered in tattoos, their clothes grimy and ragged. They watched her with hungry eyes; darting from her to the other captives.
She looked away from the cages, swallowing as they approached a large crowd standing around a large podium made of wood. There was a mix of people in the crowd; people in the black and gray tartans, the white suits of the SDC, and the colorful robes of Mistral.
They were led around the crowd; the murmuring voices of the crowd slowly dying down as they stood behind the podium.
Why is this happening?
She couldn't find her voice as she was dragged onto the podium, a woman in gray and black addressing the crowd.
Why am I not running?
The crowd screamed over each other, their eyes making her skin crawl, the same look in their gaze that the rice vendor would give her.
Those people in white, they would take me back to dad, right? They work for the SDC, they can't be bad people, dad wouldn't work with bad people.
A large man in a black and gray tartan stepped through the crowd, a large stack of lien in hand. He handed it to the woman, and grabbed the ropes binding Chūjō's hands. He led her through the camp, reaching a large tent.
Chūjō inhaled, her eyes widening.
A woman was locked in a cage, a filthy red dress clinging to her thin frame. Her hair was long, black, and her eyes a deep yellow.
The man drew a knife from his belt, cutting the ropes free from her wrists. She rubbed at them, grimacing at the weird sensation. The man went to the cage, unlocking it. The woman looked at him, fear in her eyes as she scrambled out of the cage.
Chūjō watched in confusion as the man handed the woman his knife. He looked over at her.
"Prove to me your life is worth the money I spent for it."
Chūjō screamed, ducking out of the way as the woman charged at her, slashing through the air. The woman whirled, pouncing at her with the knife. Chūjō moved aside, grabbing the woman's hair, pulling on it. The woman yelped and swung the knife.
Pain shot up her arm, blood falling down. Chūjō stumbled back, screaming louder as the woman yanked the knife free. The woman charged at her again. Chūjō grunted, the wind being knocked out of her as she was tackled to the ground. The woman raised the knife and swung down.
Blood spurted over her face, her voice hoarse as she screamed, the blade embedded in her palm. Her arms shook, straining against the woman. The woman shoved, the blade piercing further through her hand. Chūjō's thrashed around as the blade was forced down and down toward her chest.
She slammed her head into the woman's nose, feeling it break, blood spraying over her. She headbutted the woman again, forcing her back. Chūjō scrambled to her feet, yanking the knife free from her hand. The woman charged at her with a yell, blood soaking her hair. Chūjō screamed, thrusting the knife forward.
She heard a squish, and warm, sticky blood pooled over her hand. The woman couldn't breathe, her chest heaving.
Chūjō pulled the knife free, the woman groaning, falling onto her. Chūjō dropped the knife, sliding to the ground, the woman a weight against her.
The woman fell into the dirt, staring up at her as her heaving chest slowed. The woman's yellow eyes began to grow distant, glass like as they stared at her.
Chūjō's vision blurred, tears beginning to drip down. She felt herself tremble as the sobs rocked her. Oh Dust, she… she…
"What have I done?" she cried.
"Proven your worth."
She looked over her shoulder. The man was approaching her, that look in his eyes. That same look the rice vendor would have, that the crowd had had.
She shrunk back, trying to get away. She yelped as he grabbed her leg, yanking her forward. She screamed as he grabbed her dress, tearing the front of it open, bits of black cloth going into the air.
"What are you doing?! No! Stop!" She kicked at him; he caught it, pinning her leg down, grabbing her other leg and spreading them apart. He chuckled, grabbing her underwear, his nails digging in as he tore at them. "Stop! Stop! Please, Dust, STOP!"
Has Dust forsaken me?
Tears dripping down as the needle went across her back, at the tattoo branding her.
What did I do to deserve this?
The sting of his palm across her face. "Your name is Hai now, got it?" The reek of booze on his breath.
Is this what this world is?
The confines of the cage, the cold feel of the dirt, the gnawing pain that was hunger.
Is this my life?
The stench of his body, his moaning her ears anguish, his thrusts her agony.
How long have I been here? What year is it?
Blood dripping from the knife, the numbness inside as her replacement lay dead in the dirt.
Who am I?
The tiniest bits of meat from the bone, delicacies, every crumb and morsel.
What is a life worth? Dad always said everyone had a price, did he mean it like this?
Hai leaned against the cage, watching as Liath drank from his bottle. He pulled it free from his lips, wiping the dribble with the back of his hand.
"Hai, tell me something." He said. He looked over at her, his eyes beady. "Do you believe in destiny?"
"I-I don't know." She said.
She watched him through the bars of her cage as he waved his hand in the air, drunkenly motioning with it.
"Is this shit all decided for us, Hai? Does the Feathered One decide how our lives will go as they soar through the cosmos on their six wings?" he snorted and spat; a sticky glob of phlegm wetting the dirt.
"Or do we have control over ourselves? Every awful thing that's happened to us isn't because some big space bird decide it would be that way, but because someone stronger than you made it that way." He guzzled from the bottle before lowering it again. "The people that run this world are the ones with power. The more ya got, the more destinies you control." He started to chuckle, looking her over.
"Don't know why I'm talking about this with ya. Your destiny ended a long time ago."
Destiny?
Hai ran her hand through the dirt, feeling it against her skin.
Is this really all I am? Is this… my destiny?
She frowned, her lip curling, a heat growing inside of her, the dirt growing uncomfortable.
I'm just going to live like this, as nothing more than a sex toy until my replacement kills me.
She gasped, sparks and flames consuming the dirt, glass forming. She ran her finger over it, inhaling sharply at the pain, pulling her finger back. Blood trickled down.
She smiled.
She looked over her shoulder. Liath was sleeping on his cot, his bottle resting in the dirt.
She grabbed the glass, savoring the feeling of it cutting into her palm. She grabbed a hold of the bars with one hand, forcing that fire into it, watching it as it began to melt.
She stepped through the molten metal, gripping the glass, going to him.
Her lip twitched as she looked at him, at the filth that he was.
"Liath." He grunted, his eyes slowly opening. He stared at her in confusion, the sleep leaving his eyes. "Do you believe in destiny?" she asked.
She plunged the glass into his throat with a yell, the shock and pain in his eyes the greatest pleasure she had known in Dust knows how long.
She stabbed again and again into his throat, blood spraying over her hands as she decapitated that inhuman creature.
It's not about how much power they have, it's about taking away what power they have
"Tell me your name, girl." She glanced down at her arms, at the blood and soot covering them. She looked behind her, at the flames engulfing the slavers camp, the locks of her hair laying in the dirt. Sparks and cinders wafted from the flames, falling onto the remains of her hair. She watched her hair start to smolder, the cinders turning to a raging flame. She heard herself start to laugh, tears dripping down, the knife trembling in her hand.
"Call me Cinder."