2404 Iclis 15, Daleth

Kennen's shoulder throbbed after being hunched over himself for hours. The rumble and bounce of the cart hasn't really gotten better and their captors didn't give a hoot about their comfort. He raised his head, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. His gaze landed on Dalan, the only friend he had made in this harsh journey.

"Had a good one?" the bearded half-blood asked like he did every morning Kennen couldn't bear to have his eyes closed anymore. Over the weeks, if not for Dalan, Kennen might have gone insane trying to cope with what's happening to him.

And there was a lot that had happened. Kennen inadvertently got his wish. He got to travel the island, see the sights it offered, and experienced walking on different kinds of ground apart from ice. Over the course of a few weeks, he had set foot in countless forests and had watched different kinds of colorful animals dash and flit around without a care. Despite not knowing the names of the territories they visited, it was enough to satiate Kennen's curiosity for the time being.

The only con? He did it all wearing a metal collar around his neck.

As customary when letting them out, the poachers clamped heavy collars around their necks, each connected to a lengthy chain that each poacher was in charge of. Kennen's gut twisted as he thought of the reason why their captors resorted to this method. It's because of his petty attempt at an escape a few weeks ago.

He cast a baleful look at the bloody rag tied around his shin. It wasn't a far off memory to see a dagger sticking out of his flesh, mostly because it really happened. The wound hadn't healed completely and it's all thanks to Dalan that Kennen was still able to keep it.

His memories of that night were hazy. All he remembered were urgent screaming—he wasn't even sure if they were from him—, the thumping pain in his muscles, and the dreams he had showing him that he was back home and that he was safe. The hell and truth came crashing down upon him the next morning when he woke up feeling like his form was on fire.

Since then, the half-blood stuck to Kennen like a species of barnacle known to feast on ice conjured by the synnavaim. Kennen was secretly grateful for that as Dalan seemed knowledgeable in brewing potions. That's probably the only good thing that happened to Kennen for a long while.

When he asked Dalan about the half-blood's skills one time, Dalan had merely shrugged. "I'm no healer," he had said, sipping from his vial of bitter fairy potion. "But I can save a limb or two from falling off."

Dalan didn't feel the need to say anything more and Kennen hadn't had the energy to keep prodding so they had lapsed into a comfortable silence then. That's the last time Kennen had ever come close to the topic.

Kennen rubbed his arm, feeling the tight bunch wrapped around his other wound made by the same dagger. He made it a point to remember its owner's face. Perhaps, he'd send Geradine upon him and watch while the General flayed him alive.

A bitter and humorless laugh shook his shoulders, earning a concerned look from Dalan. How pathetic must Kennen be? He couldn't even clean up his own mess and seemed content introducing more of it as he went. Sending a General out just for personal vendetta? What kind of ice sprite was he? Moreover, what kind of heir was he? He wasn't really doing his race a favor this time around. He shouldn't have insisted on going out. Or at least, he should have told someone.

Who could blame him, though? His only friend not only began avoiding him because of some twisted logic and now said friend was missing.

Kennen blew a breath. The lack of windows in the cart had been one of the things bothering him. Like the walls of the Ice Capital, it told him nothing of the state of the sky, the sun, and the moons and stars. The only indicators of time passing was when they were being ushered out of the cart and being prodded in a neat line underneath some dim warehouse in an obscure part of a bustling city.

It was always the same. If Kennen hadn't been paying attention to several small details, he could have assumed they were just being driven in circles and deposited to the same place. But it was a different warehouse. Always.

Even if they have the same rows upon rows of huge barns made of wood, the smell of blood and rancid fruit and milk, and the chinks of versallis being exchanged in a transaction, there would always be one thing that was off. Could be how the roofs slanted a different angle, or the presence or absence of hay and neighing and braying animals.

Mostly, it was the fashion that's a dead giveaway. Kennen could tell they have changed territories again because of the sheen of the textiles the people streaming in and out of the venue wore. Having spent considerable time being surrounded by threads and dyes, he knew how different each one was.

With Dalan's help, Kennen was able to identify people and which territory they belonged to. Throughout their journey, Kennen had been able to see people hailing from Lanbridhr, Peltra, and Dwanzeig. Some outliers Dalan helped him identify to be humans or half-bloods. Something about looking at a part of the soul called a trail? It was beyond Kennen's attention and he liked Dalan better when he didn't sound like Lydin.

A sharp neigh from the animal pulling the cart resounded. Kennen learned they were called dagrine and each territory kind of had one kind of their own. Kraejen for the shard fairies, paulsaris for the banshees. According to Dalan, some of the breeds were deemed untameable so other territories had to import riding animals.

"It's a huge market," Dalan had commented as he finished explaining.

Judging from how the braying echoed and sounded hollow, they were currently inside a huge establishment, most likely roofed. It's only a matter of time before one of the poachers yank the cart door open and rasp at them to climb out.

As expected, the hinges whined—a sound Kennen had already associated with the cart door opening. The poacher whom Kennen knew to be Nermil was the face that greeted them this time. His scarred face and greasy green hair was a revolting sight to behold. For a while, Kennen's dreams consisted of nothing but Nermil chasing him down in some forest and stabbing his limbs over and over.

Haven, the only woman in the crew, sauntered beside Nermil and spat out the ilkai candy she had been chewing. "Out," she said. The chains and collars clinked in her hands as she hefted it. "No funny business with you lot."

Like all the times Kennen and the others were told the same set of words, they shuffled out, one by one. Sooner or later, the collars were in place and they were prodded to line up inside one of the warehouses.

The huge trafficking cart was parked by the opening, effectively shielding the view from unwanted eyes. Only those whom the other poachers settled in the front would entice would be allowed a peek inside. Only then they would discover that the wares these people talked about were fairy, half-blood, or human lives.

As usual, it was nothing but hours of standing and looking at nothing interesting. Kennen had lived through several showcases like this. Sometimes, a well-dressed noble would saunter in, talk a bit with the poachers in charge of the chains, and walk back out. Other times, the patrons would toss a bag of versallis at the poachers, raise their hand, and point to the person who caught their eye.

The process would almost always involve one of the poachers smiling wickedly as they pass the chain to the patron. Then, the unbought ones would watch as their cart-mate for a while be yanked by the chain, off to a new life with their "master".

It sickened Kennen to some degree but seeing as he couldn't do anything to stop it—he couldn't even save himself from being captured—he just learned to accept that some things in this island really did suck.

Something clacked and chuckled from the cart. Kennen's gaze flicked to the warehouse's facade moving a bit. From the space made between the cart and the pillar holding the building up, a woman sauntered in. Kennen could tell she was well-fed just from the smoothness of the cloak strapped on her shoulders, trailing behind her a few notches from the ground.

Her strides were slow and measured, exuding authority with every step she took towards them. Kennen's throat dried up at the mere flick of her golden-eyed gaze in his direction. Blond hair flowed to her waist in luscious strands from a feathery turban wrapped around her head. With angular features, she smiled at both Nermil and Haven, her glasses casting shadows over her cheeks thanks to the warehouse's dim light. It only made her even more menacing.

To Kennen's horror, she raised one of the hands she had rested against her black staff and pointed a finger at him. "How much for this kid?" she said. "That trail's...interesting. I have never seen it before."

Haven chuckled and shook Kennen's chains from her hold. "You have no idea, miss," she said, suddenly showing respect in the presence of a more elegant woman. Disgusting. "It's a miracle he hasn't been sold all this time."

The woman hummed. She seemed to be in the mood to keep chatting. "Maybe because he looked more like a flower-child more than anything," she said. Kennen knitted his eyebrows, casting one look at the woman's ears. Rounded. She wasn't a fairy. How could she refer to fairy children almost like it was instinctive? "Thankfully, I'm not looking for brawns. I'm looking for flighty individuals who have it in them to survive in the environment I have for them."

"Oh?" Nermil perked. "What kinda environment is that, lass?"

Leave it to the man to show no respect to anyone. The woman didn't seem to mind. "How much for him?" she asked, not bothering to answer the question. "I don't have long."

Haven jerked her chin at the woman's direction. "Think ya can do three, mid-sized kalta selme?"

"Done," the woman produced a bag of versallis from her belt and tossed it towards the front of the warehouse. "That and more. Consider it a tip for your hard work."

Kennen gritted his teeth. Whatever environment this woman had for him, he didn't want to be a part of it. He just had to get his timing right and he'd be out of here. With watchful eyes, he observed Haven stretch her hand to meet the woman's to pass Kenne's chain. When she let go, Kennen dashed forward, pushing past the woman with a hard shove.

His breath echoed in his ears as he pushed his legs to run faster. Despite the stiffness in his limbs. Despite the pain from his wound shooting up his leg.

There wasn't any sound but air was knocked out of Kennen's lungs when something heavy slammed into him. He stumbled forward, the chains connected to his collar falling with a clank against the warehouse's compact soil for a floor. He tried rising but his legs wouldn't work. What—

The woman rose from the ground, the rounded gem sitting on the pommel of her staff glinting in the dim light. Did she...did she disable him with only that? "Is he always this feisty?" she turned to Haven whose mouth flapped open and closed.

"Ma'am, if I may," Dalan dared to step forward. He winced when Nermil yanked at his chain to bring him back. He pushed on despite the poacher's threats for him to shut up. "That boy needs me to stay calm."

Kennen looked at him in askance. What's he doing? "I can ascertain he will go with you if you bring me with him," he said. "It seemed like you have enough versallis for another, don't you think?"

The woman regarded the half-blood with narrowed eyes. A silent beat passed by between them. "Fine," she said, finally. Her hands rested on her staff once more. "Bring me that boy man too."

Mum, Nermil handed the woman Dalan's chain. Both he and Haven basically wilted when they saw how fast this woman could move. Kennen still hasn't quite regained feeling in his legs. How would he walk? Would he ever be able to walk after this?

"Up you come," the woman nudged his arm with the pointed tip of her tight, knee-high boots. Dalan had to kneel beside Kennen and press a hand against Kennen's hips. Warmth seeped in Kenne's skin as Dalan's magic repaired whatever the woman hit. Soon, Kennen could at least step forward without feeling like he was about to fall down.

The woman knelt and picked up Kennen's leash and dragged him and Dalan out of the warehouse, on to their new fate.

Kennen stole a look in Dalan's direction. The half-blood smiled at him like what he did was the most natural thing to do. And yet, Kennen had been so ready to leave Dalan when he thought of running away from the warehouse.

Dalan's a good person. Kennen could only wish there were an infinite number of him in this rotten world. It would have improved it a little.