The girl didn't know how to answer. “I know, I just meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Aleister said. “It was just a joke. And, we're out of luck in the whole save area.”

“But...” She pointed to the three red stripes branded into his neck.

Most slaves were commoners or peasants, like the girl in front of them. Thus, slavers branded them on their forehead. Making it easy to spot the mark. On the other hand, nobles were worth more than a hundredfold in comparison. Most slavers avoiding branding most noble slaves in order to preserve their value. Unfortunately, he they branded him as a troublemaker.

He escaped on three separate occasions. This caused them to burn three distinct marks off his neck. Still visible, yet hidden. Another privilege of him being a noble. Yet to him, it was more of a curse.

Escaping three times for most slaves would lead to their deaths. It would be easier to capture a new slave than recapture the same one multiple times. Certain circles even preferred him to have escaped multiple times, as it showed he still had a spirit to break down.

Aleister rubbed the marks with his hand. "Mistakes like fractures."

The girl looked down, dejected, but the boy next to him spoke up and asked, “How did you escape three times?"

“Chance,” he answered.

“Three lucky chances?” the boy further questioned.

"I don't know about lucky."

"Do you still have hope?" the boy asked.

"Hope," Aleister relaxed his body, "Is a prison."

The boy obviously didn’t know how to continue his questioning even further. Instead, he started talking all about himself. Aleister ignored every word and pulled out his rolled-up book. He knew what all of their fates were. Knowing about people, caring about people, anything to do with people. They would only lead to further loss and anguish in the end.

“You have a book?” the girl from earlier asked, noticing what he held.

"No," he said. "This is actually a sword."

The little girl giggled. “I am surprised you can make jokes at such a time.”

"Not like I can make anything else," he said.

The talkative boy stopped talking and asked, “How did you get a book in the first place?”

"Privilege, I assume." Aleister didn’t know the real reasoning, to be honest. But his answer made sense on why the slavers let him keep the book. It was the only possession he had left. Apparently the slavers believed it posed no threat. Within it, several illustrated fairy tales. He read an uncountable number of times but couldn't remember them. The perfect disconnect from reality.

The wagon continued to travel along the beaten path. The small holes poked into the top of the wagon exposed the outside light, giving him another way to track the passing of time. As night fell, the slavers stopped the wagon and pulled each child out before giving them a careful examination, making sure none fell ill. Once they finished, the slavers sat them down around a small fire pit and served them food created from leftover burned rice. One of them kept an eye on the children, while the rest stayed at the wagon they traveled in, upfront.

Aleister gagged as he smelled the even worse than usual slop. He looked around, concerned, but based on the reactions of the other children, it looked like nothing was out of place. He held a deep breath and begrudgingly swallowed the slop—whole. The second he finished, he washed it down with a cup of lukewarm water. He absolutely hated the warmth, but drank out of an instinctual necessity to survive.

The rest of the children cupped their hands and use them as a spoon, swallowing one bite after the next. One girl dropped her bowl and let some of the slop spill over onto the ground. She dug her hands into the grass and ate it without the slavers' noticing.

Looking on the bright side, the outdoor environment made up for it in some ways. Literally. The full moon illuminated the night sky. I wonder if Serene is still alive. She earned her name after the moon and in turn the moon goddess—Sehaline. Well, at least that’s what one of the fairy tales he read suggested. Guess it wouldn't do him to any harm to mutter silent prayers to her tonight.

A slaver came from the front and caused a flock of black-coloured birds to flutter away in fright. Crows perhaps. Maybe ravens? He wasn't exactly an expert on birds.

The slaver’s face was red as he walked towards the children. Clearly in a drunken stupor. He shouted some words in the same language from earlier. However, from how slurred and soft they sounded now, Aleister wasn’t sure he could understand the words, even if he knew the language.

Each child stood in a straight single file line where the slaver examined them once again. As he finished with each child, he shoved them back in to the wagon. He was at the end.

A streak of white flashed past him. Red liquid splashed across his face and rags. In front of him, the slaver fell to his knees. Blood spattered out from his throat and brain fluid leaked from where his eye should have been. Some children screamed, while the rest—stunned silent. The slavers in front started shouting in fright. Aleister could no longer hold the contents of his stomach back as he looked at the body. He looked in the direction the arrow came from. Goblins?