When he woke up, it was cold.
He didn't open his eyes. The ominous feeling in his chest made him wish to go back to sleep again. There was a bandage over one of them that also covered half of his face, covering the burns that itched a lot. He felt something cold wrapping around his wrists, ankles, and neck. His clothing was soaked, his body was aching. The only reason he was sitting up because he was leaning on a cold, hard wall.
He tried to focus on the last thing he remembered. It all flooded back to him; returning to his family, the fire the fire the fire—, leaving the island, and drowning... except he wasn't dead. No dead person would be wherever he was, would feel his body ache like he did. Which means he was alive.
For how long, though, is a good question.
The silence was suddenly broken by thee screeching sound of a door opening. It sounded like a door to a jail cell, which made Sabo realise he was in one. This definitely did not feel promising.
There was a tug at his chains, making them clang and ring, and suddenly he was pulled to his feet. His body ached more, he still felt too tired to open his eyes, so he dragged his feet and followed whoever was leading him out.
The floors of wherever he was were as cold as his cell. There was silence all around, but an occasional cling of chains that weren't his, of sniffles and wild muttering. It sounded like there were hundreds of other cells all over the place. Was he in prison? Surely, going in the way of the Celestial Dragon's ship wasn't that bad of a crime? They were told to be gods, the richest and "purest" people of this world, but maybe they were exactly like the others. Maybe they were like every other nobleman back in Goa. Maybe they were like Sabo's parents. He hated that that sounded right.
As they walked further, Sabo heard screams of anguish ringing through the air. It made his blood run cold, made him stop walking, but someone behind him kicked him in the back hard so he resumed. He felt himself tremble in fear as the noises got louder, and his ears were ringing. Another set of doors opened.
The sudden light and heat startled him, making him blink his eyes open.
Hundreds and hundreds of people, being burned. Being branded. Stoic workers with branding sticks, heated hundreds of degrees. Brands. People. Slaves.
His breaths became quick and shallow. People begged, yelled, cried. Bile rose in Sabo's throat, and he instantly threw up right at the front doors. Someone again kicked him, this time square in the stomach, making him retch some more. They were saying something but he couldn't make out any words. He fell right into his own vomit and was immediately dragged away again, towards the heat. Towards the brand.
He screamed.