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The time is now 12am. All submissives are required to remain indoors. Unbound submissives will be subjugated on sight. I repeat—
The announcer’s voice reverberated across the night, her words crackling through the loudspeakers in the city. This late on a weekday, only the bars still leaked light from their windows, standing watch as their keepers closed up shop.But the streets were far from empty. Pairs of patrollers prowled, weaving their flashlights in a fine mesh, like ants on the hunt for prey.A young man watched them from his perch atop the city wall, his silhouette hidden behind the parapets of stone. As a searchlight wandered past he flattened down, waited, then threw himself off the other side. Skilled feet bounced effortlessly off an outcropping of rock, breaking his fall before he fell into the forest below.The youth was injured—sweat and grime matted ash-white hair to his face, clinging to a scuff on his cheek. A few crimson lines scored his back, staining his shirt with crusts of dried blood.And yet, he moved fluidly through the trees, unaffected. His bare feet made only soft patters on the forest floor, a secret sigh of his presence beneath the gentle, nighttime din.All of a sudden he skidded to a stop, tilting his head to the side in a sharp, fluid motion. His breath hitched and he jumped, launching himself up several branches until he was hidden behind the trunk of a thick tree.A short moment of silence—the chirping insects stretched out their voices to fill in for the absence of noise. Then, a faint twinkle of light, before two flashlights pierced through the darkness.A pair of voices followed, drifting languidly through the trees.“...’s not like they can get this far— hic —‘nyway.” A man. Slurring. “What they gonna do, fuggin’... jump o’er the wall? That ol’ thing gotta be half the size o’ Mt. Kuku— hic —roo.”“Can you just shut up, damn you?!” A woman, snapping, her voice bitingly sharp. It seemed to carry itself like a blade of wind, cutting through the woods. “Boss is pissed enough already. Sober your ass up before you get me in shit.”“Bah! Don’t use your damn pull on me,” the man grumbled, “I ain’t no sub.”He muttered something vulgar under his breath, but fell into silence after that.Only once they were gone did the youth climb back down. He pressed an unsteady hand against his chest, breaths fast. Then he swallowed, straightened himself, and huffed a shaky chuckle.“Scary lady,” he whispered under his breath. “Good thing she’s just patrol.”A few more quiet moments, and then he was gone, vanishing into the trees.  Nestled along a trade route through the Shadikar mountain range, Tamaran City’s heart beat to the rhythm of trade.With horse-drawn carriages providing a steady click-clack down its cobblestone roads, the cries of competing merchants sounded almost musical.Distant traffic honked through the percussive haze, punctuating their annoyance at the traffic squeezing into a pedestrian-dominated city proper. Life seemed idyllic here—submissives and their households chatted as they bustled about, decorating the streets with fluttering, multi-coloured laundry and the thick spices of home cooked meals. Children flitted through nooks and crannies, chasing each other as they played out their secret adventures.One district, though, stood out for its cleanliness in the otherwise chaotic city. Here, lavish stalls sat in place of makeshift spreads, each meticulously arranged like they were competing in a fine arts show.The goods displayed came in all shapes and sizes—the umber skin of the local majority accented by lighter skin tones of imported wares.Some spoke to shoppers from atop their gilded stages, while others were inspected by merchants and onlookers both. Each bore an elaborate symbol of ink or scar, displayed prominently by their clothes. Stallkeepers gesticulated animatedly at the markings as they haggled.A short, slender figure stood among the back alleys, all but hidden from view as he watched a loading caravan. A hood hid most of his youthful features, falling into a draping cloak past his shoulders.If anyone had been paying attention to this young man, they might have noticed him tearing a long rip into one side of his cloak, pushing his shoulder through the hole to reveal a faded scar. After a brief hesitation he shifted his hair, too, pulling out a little tuft of white. He drew a shaky breath, and gave himself a tiny nod.The object of his scrutiny was a heavy-set Dominant man, actively struggling as he attempted to pull a chain of slaves into a horse-drawn wagon. His rounded face was pinched in anger, spittle flying as he shouted in an east Mimbonian accent.“Damned if I’m going with you bastards! Help! Help!”A skinny, dark-haired man was struggling against the rest of the slaves, his tattered, bloody shirt revealing swathes of pale skin. He seemed to be shouting—at least based on the bulging veins in his neck. There was obvious strain in his voice, but his words were quiet. Muted. As though he was just an actor, playing the part of a shouting man.“No! No! Fuck you all!” He pulled back on the chain at his wrists, feet dragging in the gravel. “I’m a Free States citizen! My friends’ll come lookin’. I’m gonna make all you sorry fucks pay!”“Shut up and walk!” the Dominant commanded with his pull , though the skinny man only spat at him in response, spit flecked red with blood. Most of the slaves only walked forward for show, shuffling slowly when they were prodded by the Dominant. A few of them, though, shot furtive glares at the back of the line.The slaver’s face reddened with rage and he raised the coiled whip in his hand, intent on adding to the fresh injuries on the man’s back. He stood like that for a moment, shaking, huffing.The cloaked youth inched out from his hiding spot, head and torso falling into the warm, mid-morning sun.“Hey Boss!” the slaver called after a moment, walking toward a group of Dominants drinking around a mess of boxes and crates. The biggest man among them, a burly Mimbonian, looked up as he passed his flask to a woman beside him. “The tourist mutt still barkin’, need your help.” He pointed to the slave, and the large man nodded as he trudged toward the line.“Silence!” The towering man’s voice boomed across the small clearing, carrying a will of its own. He grabbed the pale slave’s wrist. “Leorio. You will go on the cart. Now.” The slave, who had started backing away when he saw the man, tensed with the touch. When the pudgy slaver tried yanking the chain again, he walked forward, mechanically stiff.The boss patted his subordinate on the back, turned, and started walking back, but his gaze caught on something near a narrow alleyway. He squinted his small eyes, pausing for a moment. Then he returned to his seat.He said something to the woman beside him, and the woman looked up in that direction. She nodded, stood, and walked towards the youth.The youth, who was now sneaking around some scattered wagons, seemed unaware of the sudden scrutiny. He had his eyes set on an unsupervised cart where a loaf of bread poked out of a slightly open sack.Swift with practise the woman approached from behind, dancing quietly along the gravel. She stopped just behind him, a little smile creeping onto her face as she watched him carefully extract his prize.“Well. Hello, sweetling,” she purred.He jumped and whirled, dropping the loaf in his hands, and she pounced, her slender fingers wrapping firmly around his wrist. She pulled his face close to hers.“Do not shout, do not fight, be good, now,” she murmured, and her words hummed . “You will walk with me.”She pulled and he followed, walking with her even as he whimpered little no ’s and please ’s in her grasp. She glided and he stumbled, quickly getting back to her boss.“Special delivery!” she grinned, snatching a flask out of someone else’s hand. “I think you found a trained one. That was too easy.”The boss grunted, grabbing the youth’s wrist with a large hand as he plucked off his cloak with the other.Sunlight poured onto the captive submissive’s features, and fully exposed, he looked barely a man. His body was a touch too thin to be healthy, and too short against a face losing the last of its chub. Dirt clung to his overgrown hair, making it stick out in all directions. Sapphire eyes danced behind white lashes, pupils blown in terror. He licked his lips.“S-sir, please,” he stammered, holding his free hand up defensively and leaning as far back as he could. “I’m s-sorry for—”“You are not from here.” The slaver cut him off, keeping a grip on his wrist even as he spun the youth around to inspect the brand on his arm. “But you were trained here. Truth?”The brand was intricate, a circular, swirling line of scarring just below his shoulder.The youth shook his head, jaw clenched, but after a moment he lost his struggle. “Yes. Sir.”The man hummed. “This is a high quality mark. You are escaped from someone, I think?”“P-please—”“Yes or no?” Firm. Demanding. A slight reverberation accompanied the words.“Yessir,” the youth gasped, his words clawing their way past his lips. His eyes went wild and he clapped his hand over his mouth shaking.The woman who had captured him chuckled. “Ohhh, he is so cute,” she said, elbowing the burly man. “Let me borrow him, Youpi.”The boss shot her a long, hard glance. Then, his lip twitched.“If you go help him with your pull, ” he nodded toward another wagon being loaded by the stocky Dominant, “and take extra watch tonight. Then sure. You can have him. One time.”The woman’s lips pressed into a thin line and she grimaced. Then, she eyed the young man again. She stood up, took a final gulp of booze, and walked off toward the other slaver. “You are a slave driver,” she pointed an accusatory finger at her boss, facing the group as she backed away. She grinned. “But sure. He is worth.”“You go crazy and damage the merch, Palm, you know I will kill you. Yes?”She laughed and raised her hands in mock surrender. “I would never hurt that precious little thing.”Youpi rumbled a chuckle as she turned away. Then he directed his attention back to the slave in his grip.The captured young man was leaning his whole body away from the slavers, but his wrist stayed placidly in the boss’ hand.“What is your name, slave?” Youpi asked, a slight pull in his voice.The word, again, forced its way past the submissive's lips. “Killu.”“Killu,” Youpi repeated, pinning him down with his small, beady eyes. “You will call me Master Youpi, I seek to bind you now, as mine. You will obey me—” he gestured around him at the others, “—and my friends. You will be quiet, and be pleasant. You will not try to escape me. Do you accept my bond?”The submissive’s breaths sped up, hand still clamped over his mouth. He was trembling hard, desperately shaking his head.But when the slaver tightened the grip on his wrist, he collapsed—dropped onto the ground. Body weak. Like a puppet cut from its strings."Yes, Master Youpi,” he answered with a numb voice, eyes staring past the gravel. Hollow. “Yes. I… am yours."The large man grunted in approval. He pointed at a nearby wagon.“You will hide your mark again and join that cart.”The youth glanced at it, and nodded. “Yes, Master Youpi.”When the large man let go, the youth pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. His hands shook as he numbly retrieved his cloak, pulling it over his head and hiding his face.The wagon was a sharply rectangular thing, made of thick slabs of wood that encased all six sides. A chunk of plank had chipped off from the roof, creating a tiny gap that allowed some light into the interior.The young man eyed it cautiously as he climbed on. It was crammed tight, two rickety benches occupied by a few older slaves. The rest stood quietly in the space, mostly keeping to themselves.The youth picked his way into a corner, just behind the tall, black-haired man. He tucked his face down, hiding his expression in the neck of his cloak. His shoulders sagged and he quickly deflated, falling back against the thick, wood wall.Though, if anyone had been watching him closely, they might have wondered—was that a twinkle in his eye from a smile?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

From the lift, Lower City didn’t even look real.Below him, a sea of buildings crammed together, squished so tight they warped each other. The massive waterfall on the opposite cliff made little rainbows in the air as it rushed down toward a river.“Wooow,” he said, leaning his body as far over the steel rail as he could. It was almost more than he could take in at once. “This is like a whole different world, right?”Kurapika huffed a chuckle. “Gon, you’re going to fall off,” he chided. But then he leaned up as well, resting his elbows on the rail to look out at the city below. “But yeah. It’s really something, isn’t it?”“Yeah,” Gon said absently, letting the word trail off in awe. The airstrip and the Upper City had been normal; it wasn’t much different from home. This city below them, though—this city below them felt like a fairytale.The clutter of old stone looked more like a carved-up beehive than actual homes. Gon couldn’t even see any streets—just crawling masses of people and moving carts. They made the space between the buildings look like the veins of a living thing.And colour—colour was everywhere. People had furniture on their rooftops, laundry hanging above the streets. Little stalls were bursting with fabrics and carpets and baskets of tiny goods. It made his head spin.“I think that’s the rendezvous point,” Kurapika said, pointing toward the base of the waterfall. It joined into a deep pool there, where a wide bridge stretched over the river to connect two sides of a clearing. People were busy getting drenched by the spray as they took selfies on the bridge.“Do you think Leorio’s there already?”Gon squinted. The clearing was the only part of the city not completely covered in things . A few tables and benches sprouted up from the cobblestone, hosting scattered people sitting down. Three of the people wore the same dark green outfit and were sitting alone near the cliff wall. Leorio wasn’t with them, though.“...No, I don’t think so,” he told Kurapika, pointing toward the three green-shirts. “I think those are our contacts, though.”“Yeah,” Kurapika sighed. “I guess I’ll call him.”The sweaty smell of the crowds rose up to meet them as they got closer to the bottom. It was mixed with a faint whiff of something delicious . Spiced and grilled meat, maybe? Gon wasn’t entirely sure. He wanted some, though.The lift took a moment to fully dock before letting out its passengers. People swarmed out from all sides into the station, and Gon raced them to stay ahead.“C’mon!” he called back to Kurapika. “I wanna figure out what that smell is before we have to be there.”Kurapika waved him on. He had his phone pressed up to his ear, trying to hear past the noise. “You go ahead, I’ll meet you there.”“Okaay,” he beamed, barely sparing a moment to wave before he hopped into the flow of people.The station was packed to bursting and messy with life. Everywhere he looked there was something . Pamphlets were crammed into worn-down shelves, spilling out onto the floor. Every wall seemed to be covered in layers and layers of ads. The old ones looked barely torn off before the new ones covered them up.Someone in front of him cursed, wiping her head when a wet drop hit her from above. Gon looked up to find a pair of lizard-tail doves nesting on the exit sign, their reptilian eyes regarding the humans with disinterest. The sign they sat on was covered in grime.A sheet of paper was shoved into his hands at the gate and he jumped a little. He barely caught a glimpse of a submissive dipping her head at him before he was pushed out onto the street.The sunlight outside was blinding. Gon squinted, trying to see past the glare. He quickly sidestepped the crowd, fleeing to a nearby corner in the shade of a low wall. SLAVE FOR RENT , the flier read in bold text over a pink page. Cheap. Clever! Anything you need. Text Samiul for details .   A local number was printed out underneath.Gon stared at the offensive thing. Slave for rent ?“I see you there, young man!” a voice cried from a few paces away. He looked up as a large Tar’Koshan man quickly closed the gap. He was carrying a cloth bag, the strap soaked in sweat against his bare shoulder. Before Gon could process it, the man had slung a warm, heavy arm around him.“You are new here, yes?” He quickly snatched the pink flier out of Gon’s hands and replaced it with a card. Gon could feel his sweat soaking onto his shirt.“No need to entertain such untrained trash. Come to Vashta’s!” He swept a hand up toward the nearby cliffside. There were more people there, walking a zigzag of switchbacks that led to shops carved into the mountain. “Second floor—third building to the right! We are open all hours of the day and night, anytime your heart desires!”Gon tried to politely pry himself away from the man. “No, tha—”“A secret, just for you,” the man leaned in conspiratorially. His breath was hot and wet against Gon’s ear. Gon cringed away from it. The man didn’t even pause.“We have some top-shelf Arena slaves. You know the Arena, yes? Authentic, premium Arena slaves—the very best Tar’Kosha has to offer! Perfect for a handsome young Dom like you, heh?”He grabbed the card, flipped it, then stuck it back into Gon’s grip.“Tell them Ahal sent you, yes? They will give you a very good discount!”And just like that, he was gone, walking off to accost his next customer. Gon’s lip curled as he tried to wipe the man’s sweat off his shoulders.Arena slaves. Gon knew of them, of course. He had only met one in person, but he understood what it meant.A brothel. He’d just been stuffed with a card for a slave brothel.The card gleamed at him, all golden script and thick, black parchment.  Vashta’s Den of Desires , it read. Ahal Kal .It made his stomach turn. He crushed it instinctively in his hand, and was about to chuck it into the distance when he caught himself.The street was littered with food and trash—and he could already guess whose job it would be to clean it up. Slaves . Everything in the north was about slaves.He needed to calm down; adding to the mess wouldn’t help anyone.He took a deep breath of hot air and let it out slowly, willing his mind to settle into the motion.He knew things were bad. That’s why they were here. One step at a time , he told himself.Grimacing, he stuffed the crumpled paper into his pocket. He could throw it out later. Right now he had to get moving. They had a lot of work to do.A welcome breeze sent a waft of smoky, enticing food his way, pulling him away from his thoughts.Street food! Yes. Food first. Then, work.He followed his nose in the direction of the falls.  Kurapika was at the back of the clearing when he arrived, chatting with their contacts—two older locals and one paler, younger man.He squeezed out of the thick crowds to join them, his prize—grilled eelfin on a stick—wafting thick spices his way in the open air of the square.It was noticeably cooler here, a welcome mist wafting around the clearing from the bottom of the falls. The rush of water was loud, but it was nice, muting the noise of the market nearby. A group of kids ran across the bridge, laughing and screaming as they chased each other through the spray.Kurapika looked over as he walked up. “This is Gon,” he said with a slight smile, motioning him toward the group. The heavy-set, athletic-looking woman stood up, her grey eyes crinkling kindly as she extended a hand to greet him.“Very nice to meet you, Gon,” she said, as Gon shook her offered hand. She had a mellow voice that reminded him of his aunt Mito. “My name is Nahri, this is my friend Cassem,” she indicated the older, greying man, who smiled and took his hand. “We run the Tamaran Tour Group, as you can see.”Nahri indicated the bright pink logo on the breast of her tee, wiggling her eyebrows at him with a playful smile. Gon beamed back at her, enjoying the ruse.“This boy is Tael,” she continued, pushing the last of their group forward. “He is also from the south, but he will be leaving for home soon, yes Tael?”Tael nodded as he gave Gon’s hand a firm shake. “Yeah, next week. You guys will have a lot of work to do once I’m gone.”Nahri let out a boisterous laugh. “Is not that the truth,” she said. “We have started many projects, but finished none of them. I am hoping you three Sahertan Doms might have some hidden tricks up your sleeves.”“Just us two, actually,” Kurapika piped in. “Leorio’s a sub.”Nahri’s face lagged for a half-second, her expression stuck somewhere between mirth and shock.“Wait, what?”Nobody spoke for a moment.“Uh,” Gon offered, tilting his head in confusion. “It’s just the two of us?”Nahri closed her mouth slowly. Very slowly. Then, she turned to look at Cassem. They stared at each other for a long, heavy moment.Gon did not like that look. He frowned.“…What’s wrong?”“What?” Cassem seemed to suddenly remember they were there. “Oh,” he cleared his throat, “no, yes, no, it is fine…”“Where is this friend of yours, by the way?” Nahri asked. She kept her tone intentionally casual, but there was clipped urgency behind it.Kurapika’s shoulders stiffened. Something was wrong.“He’s not answering my calls,” Kurapika replied slowly, pulling his cell out of his pocket. “Or my messages.”Gon felt his blood go cold.Nahri’s eyes narrowed. “Uh huh. Right.” She paused. “And, he is missing for how long, now?”Kurapika’s gaze slowly shifted up to meet hers. His fingers turned white where they gripped his phone. “ Missing ?”“Two hours,” Gon answered. He needed the conversation to hurry up. “He came down here after we landed. Kurapika and I stayed up top.”There was a gasped curse beside him. “He came down to Lower City? Alone ?” Tael sounded alarmed.Kurapika snapped back to his phone. “I’m calling the police.”Nahri waved a tense, dismissive hand. “Do not bother. They will only waste your time.” She looked to Cassem. “Perhaps we should contact Dan’eli, Cas?”The older man hummed a sharp agreement, then pulled out his own phone and quickly dialled a number.Kurapika started talking urgently to someone.Nahri and Cassem spoke under their breaths.Gon closed his eyes.He pushed his surroundings away from his mind, urgently trying to sink his awareness inward. Something almost slipped from his hand and he shoved it into a pocket, distracted.It took some effort to force his mind to calm, but eventually, the conversations around him muted. The heat on his shoulders faded. Everything took on a hazy, dream-like quality.Leorio was somewhere in Lower City. Gon would find him.The sheer number of submissives in the city was crazy. As he strained his senses, he could feel each and every aura tugging gently on his mind, timidly guarding their secrets.But the majority of them felt… dull. Gon had never felt so many auras so muted in the same place. It was like looking out into a field of grey, each person just a blob of static in the background.So few of them had colour. Bursts of anger. Fear. Sadness. Confusion. Relief. Some felt… happy. Those were very few.He tried to focus on what made Leorio feel like Leorio .Leorio was headstrong and expressive. His aura felt almost like a wild flame. Warm and kind, but quick to rise up—bright, unashamed.And… there—so, so far out that he could barely feel it, was the aura he was looking for. It felt hot . Angry. Like a wild thing, suddenly caged and trapped.Leorio.His eyes snapped open. The aura was weak, but he could chase it.“I found him,” he said to Kurapika, pointing in its direction. “He’s in trouble. We need to go, now.”His friend was still on the phone, expression fuming—but his eyes quickly snapped to Gon.A brief moment of pause—and comprehension—passed across his face. Then he decisively hung up.“Go,” he said. “I’m right behind you.”He turned to the others and said something about his number.Gon ran.The streets were narrow; hot. He had to weave his way around so many people. Some got in his way, trying to talk to him about something. He ran past them.Kurapika caught up quickly, his footsteps constant behind Gon. He dodged into an alley when he heard them, taking them away from the too-slow crowds.The alleys branched frustratingly randomly, all twisty and crooked. Gon was focused on Leorio’s direction, which made them hit too many dead ends. Kurapika always put them back on track, though, telling him to hop fences or squeeze through little gaps in the walls.When they were close enough, they squeezed through one last shortcut out onto an open street. Leorio’s aura was strong here. Unmistakable. It tugged on him from an alley at the end of the street.The city was quieter here; there were barely any shops. Most of the old buildings looked like homes. Some had their doors left open, people going about their lives inside. An elderly woman swept debris off the stoop of a beat-up diner.Kurapika slowed to a stop beside him.“It’s here,” Gon said, pointing down the alley before them. There was a subtle threshold halfway down, where Leorio’s aura started to feel panicked. But… it was faded. Old. Like his friend was long gone.Kurapika laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go.”Gon looked up at him. His friend nodded, his face set with determination.He took a breath, nodded back, and they walked.The alley was walled on either side by taller buildings. The dirt ground and stone walls were splattered with filth. Hopflies ran circles around a large garbage trunk, zooming happily to and fro as they bathed in something wet spilling off the side. They scattered as Gon and Kurapika passed.The sudden quiet felt strange, after going through that market. Gon could hear the steady splat splat of condensation dripping onto dirt, backed by the hum of an AC unit in a window above them.The alley led into a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by buildings. Other than a few doors set into the walls, the way they’d come was the only path in and out.Leorio’s aura smothered him—angry, bewildered, scared. It was thick with adrenaline, a clear fight-or-flight response.“I can kind of feel it,” Kurapika said hesitantly, a frown hanging over his brow. “Can you feel where it goes from here?”Gon looked back over his shoulder at the alley they’d entered from. “…No,” he said after a moment.The square was completely normal, just doors and garbage bins. Two of the doors had a glass inset, giving him a view of what looked like apartment stairs.“I don’t get it,” he said after a while. “His aura just… stops here. It feels the same as when subs fall… asleep…”The sudden realization made his eyes snap to Kurapika, but his friend wasn’t beside him. Kurapika was squatted a few paces away, eerily still as he looked at something in a pile of garbage.“...Kurapika?”His friend slowly reached a hand out, his movements almost mechanical as he dug through a bag of trash. Then, he lifted something and fixed Gon with a grim stare.It took Gon a second to understand what he was looking at.It was a tangle of stiff gold wire, stretched long, about a handspan across. A flat, black disc—almost the size of a ping-pong ball—was set into one end, wrapped by a loop of wire.It was…Leorio’s glasses.Bent. Broken.One of the lenses was gone.The world suddenly tilted around him. The ground fell out from under his feet.Leorio.Something happened.Something bad happened.Leorio……was gone ?Just like that? They were talking that morning, excited about landing, about how they could help .Now, they had no idea where he was. If he was even still…No.That was not an option.Leorio had been taken somewhere.They needed to find him.“…We should probably go back to the group,” Kurapika was saying. He sounded just as shocked as Gon felt. “They would know what to do, who to call—”“No.” He clenched his fists.No. He couldn’t sit around and do nothing while someone else searched for his friend.He spun around and started pacing. Looking for anything that would give them a clue. But there was nothing. Nothing but drain pipes, rotting garbage, and doors.He looked at the doors. Of the four, only two stood out—they looked heavy, fully metal; there was no indication of what they were hiding.Neither had knobs or handles. Just locks, for a key.He strode up to the closest one and started pounding.“Gon—” Kurapika seemed ready to stop him. But he didn’t finish. A moment later Gon felt him there, quietly backing him up.He just kept banging.It took a few minutes of progressively insistent hammering, but eventually, the door shifted. It pushed open just a crack, and the grizzled face of an older man peeked out from the darkness.There was no aura coming off the man. A Dominant.“Whaddya want?,” he was saying, “I told ya I want nothin’ to do with—”Gon pried the door the rest of the way open. Now was not the time for manners.Inside was a dark and dirty storage space. Cardboard boxes stood stacked against each wall, piled—lopsided—up to the ceiling. Hopflies were swarming the place, thriving in the stink of half-rotted fish.The Dominant was a burly man in his fifties, large gut covered by a filthy, blood-stained apron. He held a butcher’s knife in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and he was looking at them with a wary expression.They took each other in for a second.The man wasn’t trained for combat; he stood too relaxed, his core exposed. His knife wasn’t held in the right angle to be used as a weapon. Just a regular person.Gon relaxed a little.The man also relaxed, but his expression turned into irritation. “Whattaya—ya tourists?” he sputtered, his voice coarse from a lifetime of smoking. “Whattaya bangin’ on my door for?”“Sorry for the intrusion,” Kurapika said placatingly. “We don’t mean to be rude—”“Well ya are. I got customers waitin’ up front.”He jabbed his thumb at a doorway behind his shoulder, where dim, fluorescent light filtered through a set of plastic drapes. There was no one in the space beyond.“We’re looking for our friend,” Gon cut straight to the chase. “I think he was attacked here earlier. Did you hear anything? See anything? Black hair. Pale. Tall but skinny. A sub.”He gestured above his head, showing Leorio’s rough height.“This was an hour or two ago, at most,” Kurapika added. He pulled up a picture, pointing his screen at the fishmonger.The man’s face flitted through a mix of emotions. Realization. Comprehension. Fear. Then he scowled, and everything else was smothered. “I do not know about that,” he lied. “Go bother someun’ else.”He reached out to close the door, but Gon shoved his foot underneath the crack to jam it. He put himself in between.“You do know.” He stared the man down. “Tell us.”Silence, for a moment. The cigarette burned slowly as the man ground his teeth. His eyes flicked between them, his knife hand twitching thoughtlessly.“I do not know—”“You don’t want to get involved—” Kurapika cut in coldly. He sounded snippy, anger veiled thinly behind his words. Gon looked at him in surprise. The blond stood rigid, his fists clenched so tight they were almost shaking. Gon had never seen his friend this angry before.“—and you won’t be involved. Tell us what you know. Or we can stay here. Let someone see you talking to us. Then, we can go make some noise.”“Uh, right.” Gon clued in, turning back to the man. He did his best to project his sincerity. “We won’t mention you to anyone. I promise.”The fishmonger glared at them. A long, tense moment passed.Then, the man deflated. He grumbled something too fast and too thick with dialect for Gon to catch. He looked up at the sky, sighed, and slumped back against the doorframe.“Look, I got two subs an’ a kid, yes?” He took a drag of his cigarette and blew a thick cloud of smoke into the space between them. “I jus’ wanna live my life, make my money, an’ watch my daughter grow up.”He pointed his cigarette hand sharply at Kurapika. “Ya better keep me outta it.”“We will,” Gon promised. Kurapika nodded tersely.The man sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily. “I do not know who they are, an’ I do not want to. All I know is, they take subs back here sometimes, okay? Then they fight. Then it ends. Quick. Few minutes at most. Unnatural quick. Ya get?”He took another drag. “Your friend,” he said, puffing smoke. “He did not go easy. Took much longer today. Heard him fightin’. But eventually,” he paused, looking grim. “Quiet.”Gon exchanged a tense look with Kurapika. Leorio had been knocked out here, that much was clear. It made sense that his aura trail would fade to nothing.“What happens to them?” Kurapika asked.“I do not know.” The man clenched his jaw again. “But I do know they not some normal thugs.” He jabbed his cigarette at them. “So if I was yous, I would pretend my friend was dead. Now get lost.” He made to grab the door again. Gon didn’t budge.“No,” he said. The man still knew something, he could tell. He wouldn’t lose a lead on Leorio without a fight. “What happens after?”The man stared at him, impatience and anxiety melting into anger. “Look, kid,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “Ya do not know what yous walkin’ into. So let me tell ya.” He pointed across the clearing, at one of the apartments.“Jo’hl, over there. She had a sub before. Registered, yes?” His eyes panned the clearing, then he lowered his voice. “When they came ‘round ‘ere the first time, passin’ out money like they do, Jo’hl did not take it. She did not want it.”He paused. “She did not even report them, ya get? Just did not take their money. An’ the next day—” his voice caught and he swallowed. “The next day, her sub was dead.”He took a shaky breath. “She found ‘im on her doorstep. Open. Cut up. Ya get?”The man brought his cigarette to his mouth again, almost desperately taking a long drag, hand trembling. His breath was uneven as he puffed out the smoke.“Ya wanna guess what happen’ after? Nothin’. Squat. Police did not even blink. They says it was an accident . No evidence o’ foul play, they says.”He stopped. Watched them for a moment. Gon looked over at Kurapika, and found fury in his eyes.“Look,” the man continued with a heavy sigh. “I get that yous not from ‘ere. So let me teach ya the rules, yes? “Ya ask questions, ya get killed.”His gaze turned sharp, fear blurring into anger. “Now get outta here before ya get me killed.”“His name is Leorio,” Gon said. He knew he was pushing. He knew that. The man’s story had made his chest tight. Had made fists clench. But how could he just let it go?These people were dangerous, the man had said it himself. They had to find Leorio. Fast .“He wants to become a doctor. To cure people, and not ask for money. Kids who get sick, but can’t afford it. Kids like your daughter.”He locked eyes with the man—hoping the right thing would come to him.“That’s who our friend is. That’s who was taken.”He paused. “Please. Just tell us where he is.”The man’s lips pressed together. Gon could see his walls coming down. But the hand holding his cigarette was still shaking. It was mostly burnt out, now.He sighed, dropped his smoke, and crushed it under his foot. Then he ran an unsteady hand through his hair. His eyes darted past Gon’s shoulder, nervous.“What’s behind that door?” Kurapika asked. He pointed behind Gon, to the other door without a handle. Gon looked back just in time to see the fishmonger tense—frozen. Unnaturally still.Like a deer in headlights.Like he’d been caught doing something bad.Gon looked at Kurapika, who nodded in understanding. But then, in a move that surprised him, his friend said nothing to the man.He simply turned his back and walked away.Gon lingered a moment, looking at the older Dominant. He could see the stress lines on his face, the crow’s feet where his eyes laughed. This was just a regular guy, making his way through life. He wanted his family safe. But… how many times did he hear them—people screaming for help by his door? How long had he done nothing, silent, as they were taken away by criminals—by murderers?Gon didn’t know whether to blame him or not.In the end, he just said, “Thank you.”The man said nothing. His eyes were a swirl of emotion.Gon turned away, jogging to catch up to his friend.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Only minutes after Killua stepped into the wagon, a slim-faced slaver locked the door behind him. Suddenly sealed off from the outside world, the wagon felt thick with darkness and heat. There was just enough light to drench everything in shadow, making the slaves inside look like the shades of a nightmare.Killua relaxed.His back hit the wall before he realized he was jittery, legs unsteady, world blurry, up and down mixing together. Tension melted off his bones, dragging away everything but exhaustion. God, he was tired. Three days of pure adrenaline; no plan, no rest, no sleep.But… he had done it?It hit him like a wave, so powerful it dragged him under. His heart danced to an odd rhythm in his chest. Holy shit—he’d done it. His desperate, delirious escape had actually worked.As the wagon kicked to a start he stared down at his hand, hardly believing it was his.He pinched a finger. It hurt beneath the nail of his thumb.It hurt. The hand was quivering like crazy.He could feel the wheels bumping beneath his feet. Cobblestones. The main road. They were moving downhill—west. He’d gambled right.They were leaving. He—he was leaving.His eyelids suddenly felt so heavy; his body was so limp. The scabbed-over welts on his back scratched against the rough wood of the wall, but he barely felt it.The adrenaline was crashing. That was fine. Inevitable. Better now than later. Suddenly a goofy smile broke out across his face, and he had to bury it in his cloak. The world zoomed out around him, making the wagon seem very far away.His entire body felt giddy—it was all so surreal. A bubble of laughter broke past his lips, and he breathed it out quietly, not quite able to stop his shoulders from shaking. How long had it been? He felt genuinely happy. Eight years in the Arena. Eight numb, pathetic years, spent like a dog in a kennel—most of his life, that he could remember. Watching the same scenes from the same windows. Patrollers weaving the streets, night after night. Tourists shopping the city, day after day after day.And Killua, all the while, wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt the wind brush through his hair—didn’t know if what he remembered was from a memory or a dream.He’d decided he was happy enough to know it as a dream. But then to suddenly… be outside again. The sun on his face. The birds—actual, living birds—chirping nearby. It was too much. If he’d thought about it, he never would have run. But he didn’t think—so he ran. The guards weren’t looking, and before he knew it, he’d squished himself into a hole in the wall of the fortress. And by then, it was too late. He’d have been treated as a runaway, either way.So he hid, and he escaped, without any idea of where he was going. He’d had to.At least his family had beaten his assassin training into him, before everything went to hell. At least his body had remembered how to run, how to hide.But he was still in Tar’Kosha, and everything in Tar’Kosha led back to the Arena. They paid fortunes for their missing slaves, and charged more for the theft of one. He wasn’t safe yet, had to make sure his training didn’t show. If he slipped up, if anyone found out—Master Feitan’s face suddenly took over his mind, and he froze—he would end up back there again, but this time it would be worse. It would be so much worse.His trainer’s eyes, slitted, pierced through him. He’d always said that Killua would be back. Why had Killua ever doubted that?The cold, pristine dungeon, too familiar with its rules. His trainer’s aura, too overwhelming, smothering him in despair. He tried to flee but he couldn’t move—his body wouldn’t move. The aura demanded he obey, so he would obey. He couldn’t think past his panic, didn’t know why he was here again, after he’d sworn up and down the last time that he’d learned, that he’d be good. He’d promised himself he’d never act out again. He—Something in front of him blurred and he flinched, shrinking. He tried to dodge but it was too late—no, it was a mistake to dodge, always a mistake. He waited for it to land.It… landed. Soft. Warm. A… person?The illusion shattered. Killua gasped, a hand flying up to his chest, heart trying to escape through his ribs. His whole body shook; he could barely stand straight. He was wet. Sticky. Covered in sweat.No. No, he wouldn’t end up back there. He would—his trainer would make him regret being alive.The border. He needed to cross the border—to go where they couldn’t find him. He had to.Something warm and shuddering bumped his shoulder again, pulling Killua reluctantly away from his thoughts. He wiped the drips of sweat off his chin with an unsteady hand, struggling to figure out what it was.A foreign man—tall, pale, black hair soaked in sweat—Wait, he recognized this man. This was the man who’d stirred up a bunch of trouble earlier.Youpi had called him… Le…something. Killua didn’t remember, and he didn’t care.He knew the type. They always thought they deserved better.More often than not, they were slaves because they were idiots. Told their name to some random Dominant on the streets, or something equally stupid. Le-something might as well have put a bow on top and called himself a present.He’d had a choice. It wasn’t like he hadn’t. It wasn’t like he’d just been dumped from one shitty situation to another, without ever knowing what it was to choose.Killua noticed a slight distance between themselves and the other slaves. They were subtly nudging the guy further in Killua’s direction—that wasn’t good.His eyes snapped to the man, quickly assessing the problem.Le-guy was shivering—badly. Breaths choppy. Face completely drained of colour. He looked worse than Killua felt.But it was the other symptoms that made his stomach drop. Unfocused eyes. Over-dilated pupils. Swaying. Vertigo.Killua laid a hand on the man’s arm. Cold. Clammy.Telltale signs of a subdrop.Killua’s eyes flicked around the wagon. The slaves closest to them looked ready to nudge the guy into the corner if he collapsed.But Killua was in the corner. He did not need this right now.“Hey, don’t drop here,” he said tersely, shaking the man’s shoulder to grab his attention. “Seriously. Hey, get a hold of yourself. You’re gonna collapse right on top of me.”Le-guy’s eyes snapped up to him, shocking Killua with the force of his anger—his indignation. The guy seemed to feel completely entitled to drop on top of an innocent stranger.“I was just fuckin’ ... kidnapped! You—you want me to just—c-calm down?! Wh—I don’t even know where—where am I? I can’t remem—what—what’s gonna happen to, to—”Frantic breathing. Incoherent thoughts. It wasn’t too late, but the drop was coming.Killua’s lips pressed in annoyance. He really didn’t want this man to spend the rest of the day on top of him.He shrugged off his cloak and draped it over Le-man’s shoulders. It barely covered him. But the man immediately reached up and grabbed the corners, pulling it close to hug himself.Killua realized he was crying, tears mixing with the sweat on his face.He was hit with a sudden pang of hurt. He had been there—God, he’d been there too many times. The Arena loved their low-effort training methods.He drew a breath and reached a hand out. It hovered awkwardly for a moment before he forced himself to go through with it, giving the man’s shoulder a stiff pat.Then another. …Three. Three felt like the right number of pats.He cringed at himself. He was the worst person for this.“Look, uh, Le… guy, you’re from the Free States, right? It’s honestly pretty obvious.”Le-guy swallowed and nodded. He looked up at Killua, but it made him sway on his feet. He crashed into a thin sliver of wall for support—almost, but not quite, right on top of Killua.Killua continued. “Yeah, look—” This shit is pretty common , he almost said, but he bit the words off just in time. Idiot. That wasn’t going to help.“—uhh.” Shit. What was he supposed to say in this situation? He looked around, but most of the others were too busy not-hearing the conversation. Nobody chimed in.That’s just great.“Look, uh… try to breathe deep, yeah? Deep breaths. You’re gonna drop without a Dom and that’s—” his voice cracked, and he cleared it. “It’s brutal. Seriously, try to avoid it. You’ll thank yourself later.”Le-man nodded absently, eyes distant, but he did start to slow down his breaths.“Cool. Yeah. Good, you’re doing great?” The last word somehow came out with an inflection, like he was asking a question. “Just keep breathing, and… uh, think about something different. Like…”Killua paused. He was suddenly genuinely curious.“What’s a Free States—” brat “—sub like you doing out here in the first place? Did they not tell you the north was dangerous in your training, guy?”“We don’t… train people , back home,” the man panted. Killua eyed him incredulously. A shaky hand rose to push his glasses up—but they weren’t on his face. He slumped in realization, the cuffs making a metallic clink .“But. Yes,” he muttered weakly, “I did know about the north.” Unsteady eyes wandered over each face in the wagon. “That’s,” he drew in a shaky breath, swallowing thickly. “That’s why we came—”Suddenly he was shaking again, his arms flexing against his cuffs, as though he could snap them with his rage alone.“Damn it, I wanted to help!” Killua quickly raised his hands. “Whao, hey, guy—”But the man didn’t even seem to hear him. His eyes were somewhere else.Crap, no.“I—I wanted to do something about this fucked up place and its fucked up rules—”“Le—Leyro, just calm—”“But I got fuckin’ —” A jerk of the chain. “—trapped in it.”The sporadic breathing came back worse. His face landed in his hands, and he bit back a sob. Then another.And then the bubble burst, and he was crying—genuine and raw.Killua’s chest twisted. His heart sank.Here it comes.“...I—I just—just landed,” he choked out. He drew in a deep, shaky breath—but it didn’t come out again.He started gasping—shuddering like crazy, struggling to breathe even as tears flew down his face.The wagon jolted—the man swayed.Killua caught him before he could fall.  It was nighttime when they eased to a stop. Le-guy—though apparently he preferred ‘Leorio’—seemed better now. He still quivered slightly, but he was making conversation well enough. The worst of it was over.The door opened, and a cool night breeze rolled into the interior. Killua shivered at the feel of it against his skin. He stepped unsteadily off the wagon, and found himself facing a picturesque sunset.They were almost at the Mimbo border. The towering wall loomed in the distance, at least half a mile tall at the gate and not much less beyond. It covered the western horizon, stretching as far as the eye could see. The sun had mostly dipped behind it now, casting everything below it in shadow.Killua couldn’t tear his eyes away. Sunlight splashed across the sky in strokes of orange and blue, making the grasslands look like an endless stretch of liquid gold. Something tight caught in his throat and he swallowed, painting the scene into his memory. Someone approached from his right—Palm, the one who’d caught him earlier. She was carrying a bundle of heavy chains in one hand, making it look surprisingly easy.“Here,” she said, tone commanding. She threw her bundle down onto the grass in front of the Dominant who’d opened their door. “Chain them up by their feet. Then they will be hitched to their cart. You will make a circle, with the other two.” Killua followed her finger to a patch of grass behind him, where two other wagons were being organized. There seemed to be a dozen slaves to each cart, his included.“Aye, boss,” the stocky slaver responded, promptly getting to work. Killua trudged toward the back of the line, but a strong hand hooked him by the neck of his shirt, and he almost stumbled.He turned, flicking his eyes up to judge Palm’s mood—neutral, slightly indulgent. Her aura was on him, focused. He quickly looked back down again. His knees found the grass before he fully processed it, and his heart skipped a beat when he almost moved into Arena Formal. Shit. Wake up, you idiot .He let his shoulders loosen, back slack, putting himself in a casual ‘relax’. Something any trained slave would know. No strong angles—just simple deference.“Ma’am?”Palm was silent for a moment. Her aura pooled over him. It was hot; all-encompassing, but more measured than before. Benign, but not weak, like a sharp knife wrapped in fleece. Restrained. Intuitive.Dangerous, but Killua could trick it—subvert it. That would come in handy.“Well, look at you, sweetling,” she cooed. “So well trained, are you not? If I did not know, I would think you are of the Arena.”Killua’s breath hitched but he promptly smoothed it out. He kept his face down; neutral. “Thank you, Ma’am. How may I serve?”Palm tutted. “Oh, you are too cute.” Killua felt her slender nails run lightly across his scalp, and it made him shudder. His brain tingled with it. Her will was so smooth, he barely noticed it prodding at his mind.He allowed it in.“You will go join the other two trained ones, it is time to prepare camp,” she instructed.Prepare the camp—yes, Killua wanted to be useful; he would help prepare the camp.“Yes, Ma’am. Tha—”He broke off with a whimper when she fisted his hair, pulling him around like a cat playing with its prey. He swayed with her, whining softly. He felt her will approve of his display, and his mind buzzed happily in response.“After you are done, you will come to me—oh, yes, after dinner. You will have your dinner first, with the other slaves. Then you will come to me.”“Of course, Ma’am, thank you,” he heard himself say.Then, with a degrading little pat on his head, she walked away.Killua stayed there for a moment, going through the familiar process of putting himself back together. He focused on the world around him. The dimming, evening light. The steady clinking of chain. The faint smell of earth, as a breeze swished through tall grass. Each gave him a little sense of place, anchoring his mind. It wasn’t long before he pushed to his feet, dusting off his knees.He turned back around to find Le-guy watching him with something like pity. Killua felt his lip twitch as their eyes met.“What?” he asked, a little more sharply than he’d intended. The man didn’t seem to take offense, simply shook his head with a little smile.“Nothing, Killu. Sorry. I, uh—” his eyes flicked to Killua’s arm—just a fleeting moment, but Killua still caught it. “I guess I just assumed you were like me.”Killua’s finger traced the familiar scar, mapping every twist and turn that had been added over the years. He froze when he caught himself doing it again, jerked his arm away, and stuffed his fist into a pocket.Some of the other slaves were giving him resentful glances. Jealousy. Disgust. Some, even awe. Those, he found amusing. He was used to those.Leorio’s eyes held something foreign, though. Something beyond simple pity, that Killua didn’t understand. It picked at his nerves, making him want to get away from the man and his eyes.“I’m one-of-a-kind, Loray. You’re centuries behind.”He turned and walked away, giving the slaves a dismissive wave over his shoulder.Behind him, after a brief pause, came the man’s indignant voice.“It’s Leorio , damn it! Le-o-ri-o!”Killua grinned.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

There were only two other trained slaves in this caravan group, which was about what he had expected for a small band of slavers. A willowy woman in her twenties—clearly a personal slave, all collared and clean—and a small brunette a bit younger than himself, also scraggly and unwashed. The brunette had some Arena patterns in the ink on her back, and Killua briefly wondered what her deal was. Then he realized that he didn't care.

They worked in relative silence, which was nice. That Leorio guy had been annoying. He'd actually made Killua smile again—that was dangerous. He didn’t want to get attached. Maybe labour slaves could enjoy what they called friendship, always holed up with the same people like they were. A trained slave had no stability. The only guarantee in his life was the leash around his neck.

So instead, he took advantage of the lull to let his mind rest, body moving on autopilot as it followed Palm's will.

As far as he could tell, these slavers were novices. They seemed clueless. Once they got him past the border, he would lose them before they blinked. The best play right now was to act valuable, but forgettable. Something around Arena Basic level, maybe a tad less.

After that, though?

If given the choice between the Arena and his family, Killua would rather take the emergency exit. Mimbo was safe from the Arena if he was careful, but his family had their fingers deep in that pie. He should probably go south. Kukan'yu? Or maybe even further south still, to the Free St…

Clack

. The dingy mallet in his hand made an impact, driving a stake further into the ground. Killua suddenly noticed the twilight breeze in his hair, making him smile. Insects were starting to wake up now, singing their little songs.

He listened to them for a while.

Wait, what had he been thinking about?

Fr… Hmm.

…Oh, right. Arena Basic. An easy act for now. Once he was past the border, he would be safe in Mimbo. Maybe he could even roam around the country a little.

Just as he was finishing up the last tent, a man’s gruff voice carried over from the slaves’ side of camp. He seemed to be begging.

“…have not eaten for days… Ple…” A choke, then a cough.

Killua looked up to find the owned slave making eye contact. She tilted her head for him to go there, and walked off towards the brunette girl.

Killua’s stomach clawed at him. Speaking of not eating in days.

“…said

beg

, you worthless slave!” came another man’s voice. As he rounded the corner he saw the speaker: that slim-faced slaver. He seemed to be enjoying himself—judging by the smirk on his face—as he kicked an older man.

Killua’s lip twitched in distaste as he flattened out a patch of grass for himself at the edge of the circle.

A loud clatter of chains, then someone else spoke up. Killua felt his stomach drop at the predictably familiar voice.

“Hey man, didn’t your mom teach you to respect your elders? The guy’s begging like you wanted. Give him his dinner.”

Killua closed his eyes slowly, then forced himself to look at the stupid man.

Of course, he was standing up, looking like the poster child for ‘reckless idiot’. The slaver rounded on him.

“You want to say that again, tourist mutt?” he growled, voice carrying a slight hint of

pull

. Leorio met his eyes.

“I said: didn’t your mom teach you manners? Or were you too stupid to—Unghhff—!”

And predictably, the slaver’s knee found his diaphragm.

The slaves chained to him looked terrified. Killua felt mortified for them.

What followed was a thoroughly scripted beating, with Leorio’s strikes halting inches from the slaver’s face, while the slaver used him as a punching bag. The Dominant had no martial training at all—but against a slave bound to obedience, he didn’t need any.

Killua shifted his attention to the grass. It felt soft beneath his touch. Real.

The beating ended with the slim-faced Dominant heaving for breath, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Leorio lay on the ground, coughing and sputtering.

Killua honestly wasn’t sure what the man had expected. Surely he wasn’t dumb enough to think he would have won that fight. At least the Dominant looked fully satisfied.

As he continued his slow circle distributing dinner to the slaves, Killua arranged himself into a basic supplicating position. Dinner was a few loaves of bread the man was actively slicing from, giving smaller or larger portions seemingly randomly. Killua soon had one dropped into his hands, a bit of a thicker chunk than most.

“Thank you kindly, Master,” he said quickly, trying to catch the man’s attention with his submissive display. He shifted his gaze and reached up further, putting his wrists within easy reach of the slaver.

“Master, Sir, if it pleases you, may this slave have another?”

He felt the man’s aura home in on him, and he immediately regretted provoking his attention. Shit. What was he thinking?

The slaver’s aura was raw, so raw it was nauseating. He had no control or finesse over his will, like Palm had. His was an aura of pure, unfiltered want. It pressed down on him, and Killua could feel the man eyeing every inch of him. It made his skin crawl.

Still, he stayed. Waited.

After a long, tense moment, another slice of bread dropped into his hands.

Killua quickly lowered himself to the ground, hands out, forehead touching the grass. A basic bow. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears.

“Thank you kindly, Master.”

Go away now, please

.

The Dominant grunted and mumbled something about good begging. Killua heard him shift his feet awkwardly, but he eventually walked away.

Once the Dominant was far enough Killua slapped the aura’s disgusting aftertaste out of his head, shuddering reflexively. He settled back down, nibbling at his bread.

It was stale; plain. But it smelled and tasted amazing. He had to force himself to eat it slowly to make sure he kept it down.

As he was finishing his first slice, a pained grunt drew his attention. Leorio was slowly picking himself back up, coughing and panting. Everyone around ignored him. Even the old farmhand he’d spoken up for was avoiding his eyes.

Killua looked down at the extra slice of bread in his hand.

He was already full, and eating too much would probably make him sick. He’d begged for it on an impulse, but…

He eyed Leorio again. The man was staring blankly off into the distance. He bled slightly from a cut on his lip.

Ah, damn it.

Killua stood up and walked toward him.

“Hey, Leroy,” he called when he got close. “What was your goal with that, exactly?” He motioned vaguely in the older slave’s direction.

Leorio glared up as he approached. “It’s Leorio,” he grunted. But then he huffed a sigh and deflated a little, looking off into the distance moodily. “Better me than some old man,” he mumbled. “Though I thought I’d actually be able to punch the bastard.”

Killua dropped down onto his butt beside him.

“You thought—” he began, but he cut himself off. Was this guy for real? Had he never been bound before? Killua could hardly process what that meant, and he didn’t want to get into it.

Instead, he prodded the man with his extra slice of bread. “Here.”

Leorio didn’t take it at first—just stared at it like an idiot. Killua felt his eye twitch.

“Take it,” he snapped, slapping it into the man’s hands. God, these Free States subs.

An annoying smile crossed the guy’s face. There was something like… genuine kindness in his eyes.

“Thanks, Killu. You’re a good guy.”

Killua felt himself cringe at the compliment, and he quickly got up and dusted himself off. He was already much dirtier than the grass. But still.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, guy. It was either going to you or the trash.”

The look in Leorio’s eyes only got more annoying at that. “Well, I’m glad you chose me then,” he said. His stomach growled loudly, and he finally had the decency to look embarrassed. He glanced down at the slice in his hands.

“Thanks. Really. I owe you twice, now.”

A little smile made the corner of Killua’s lip twitch, and he had to turn away. He waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Yeah, yeah. You can pay up later.”

When he was a fair distance away, he glanced back—and stopped in his tracks. Leorio was up on his feet, breaking the bread into chunks, giving his dinner to those who hadn’t gotten any. He smiled at the old farmhand, saying something Killua couldn’t hear as he pushed a large half into his hands. Whatever he’d said made the older slave wipe his eyes.

Something weird twisting in his chest made Killua frown, then smile, then frown again. He turned away.

He really couldn’t understand that man.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Killua took a roundabout route to the other side of camp, wanting to steal a quiet moment alone. He felt at peace for the first time in days, and the nighttime savanna took his breath away.For miles in every direction, rolling grass swayed in the wind. Individual blades formed dark waves, rippling toward an endless horizon. An ancient tree, its silhouette sharp and black, stretched its limbs tall against a sky of brilliant stars.Killua’s steps faltered and he slumped against a supply wagon, making the old wood creak a quiet complaint.How long had it been since he’d stood under the sky, nothing but empty space in between? He reached a hand toward it, marvelling at the cool breeze against his skin.His heart thumped in his chest.For the second time that day, the hand in front of him wasn’t his. It moved in the air, fingers curling, as though he might actually be able to reach one of the stars.He was outside—what a strange concept. A herd of thunder gazelles trudged by in the distance, their alpha wearing a crown of ethereal horns. They blinked in and out against the horizon, like purple fairies in the night.He could run to them now, if he liked. Join their ranks. Get lost in the endless plains.He could be free. He craved it so much it made his blood burn. He tried to imagine what it might feel like, to answer to no one but himself—to go where he pleased and do what he wanted—but he couldn’t. It slipped through his fingers like sand, skirted his awareness like a colour he couldn’t perceive.He tried putting himself into the scenario, but the more he focused, the more it evaded him. It felt like he was chasing his own tail—stuck in an endless loop of ‘almost there’. His brows knit in frustration. He didn’t feel right…The world spun and his face ended up in his hand. Killua fought the urge to throw up his dinner. He swallowed against the rising bile, grabbing for the wagon as gravity abandoned him. Thoughts leaked from his brain like slush, leaving only heavy deja vu.Wait, hold on—that was important. He was thinking about… about something important.There was a shuffle of grass to his left. Someone had approached him and he hadn’t noticed—wait, he hadn’t noticed?They picked something up from the wagon, making a quiet drag of wood-on-wood. He felt a hint of familiar aura—the aura he’d been under not ten minutes ago.Before he’d even looked up the figure was blurring—and then pain sent him tumbling, world spinning, ground rushing up to meet him. He tucked his chin before gravity caught him again, slamming into his back with a vindictive thud.He gasped for breath, confusion muddling his thoughts more than hurt. His senses had never been off before, and this man had no martial training. But Killua hadn’t seen him coming—he hadn’t seen him coming?The man’s shadow slid over him, covering up his view of the sky.He was wearing a wicked smile that over-stretched the thin skin on his face, expression half-obscured by the dark. A wooden stick—a club?—tapped gently against Killua’s cheek.Oh, Killua knew where this was going. As soon as the realization hit he felt his thoughts unlatch from the present, floating about outside his body in that in-between place he liked.He considered the situation idly as a heavy boot pressed down on him, squeezing his breath away.Hopefully it would be over quickly. The guy was a bully—he likely had something to prove. Killua would give him what he wanted. But what? Power? He was already a slave; he didn’t have much further down to go.The man was mumbling something, but Killua couldn’t hear it past the swirling lack of oxygen. Aura drenched every inch of his body, feeling him up and down, trying to drill into his mind. It was a petulant aura, insecure and uncontrolled. Killua let it in.Be pathetic for him, the aura screamed, at once too overwhelming. Be a good slave for him, beg pretty for him—you’re so good at begging. Call him Master again! Call him Master.He felt his mouth oblige, though his world was fuzzing at the edges. Killua wasn’t sure he’d even made any noise with no air left in his lungs.It continued like that for a while, the aura delighting each time a blow landed. Killua zoned out from the pain, letting his body do what it did. At some point his arms huddled up against his chest, and he felt the man’s aura swell with a gush of arousal. He dialed up the pathetic act after that.Eventually he was yanked up onto his knees, where the man commanded his mouth open. Killua desperately pulled air into his lungs, dizzy from so long without it—and then quickly realized his mistake. With a smirk the man shoved deep into him, and his air was taken away again.Killua gently chided himself; he told his body to accept the creeping asphyxia—forced his burning limbs to comply as the pull pinned them in place.
Should’ve known; should’ve kept it sneaky. They never take things away until they think you want it.
He would remember that the next time.Fortunately the slaver didn’t last long, and Killua swallowed eagerly when he felt the telltale signs. That quickly put an end to it—and then he was breathing again, face in the grass, coughing against the pain in his ribs.The first sound that returned to him was the zip of the man’s pants. Killua was kicked again and he curled in on himself, the very picture of a pathetic slave. The man said something—Killua didn’t care—but the pull drilled the message into him anyway: you will tell no one.Then the Dominant turned and walked away, leaving behind a satisfied grunt.It took Killua a while to fully land back in his body, aches and pains slowly becoming real. His throat burned and his ribs were worse—he’d definitely fractured something.Oh well.He flipped painfully onto his back, splayed his arms out, and stared up at the beautiful stars.

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It took him a while to process just how much his ribs hurt. With every breath pain stabbed him like a knife—a constant reminder of his place.

Not that humiliation and shame were new to him—if anything they were old friends. He’d been here enough to lose count: lying on the ground like some thrown-out toy, free for the taking by everyone but himself.

He was used to it. He was. But still, he seethed.

He’d been top of the Arena—treasured and adored. Patrons spent fortunes for a slice of his time. A regular Dom could live their whole life without meeting sub like him.

Yet, here he was, used and discarded like garbage.
And it rubbed Killua raw inside, like ripping himself out of his skin would help him feel alright again. If he didn’t move soon, he might actually try.So he flipped back to his feet, ignoring the pain that smothered him as he moved. Good; if he didn’t hurt, his mind was going to drift off again.His hands were unsteady, arms aching and weak, but he managed to yank his shirt off and toss it out of the way. A large patch of purple had overtaken his torso, seeping out around his ribs from a darker spot of blue. He ran his fingers over the bruise, feeling no bumps or edges. His breaths were also normal, so it was nothing but a fracture. He could just ignore the pain.As he bent to retrieve his shirt, he was struck by a sudden thought. He slowly straightened back up and took another look at his body.Even in the dim moonlight, his bruises were stark on his skin. There were plenty of them sprawled across his torso, but they could all be hidden by his shirt.Interesting.Hadn’t Palm specifically asked for Youpi’s permission to use him? What was this slaver’s excuse, then, for damaging his boss’ property?He eyed the direction of the tents. The night air had gotten cold against his clammy skin, making the warm glow of the campfire look inviting. He walked towards it, his tattered shirt abandoned in the dirt.The slim-faced Dominant’s pull immediately started niggling against his brain like a worm, compelling him to pause. DO NOT TELL ANYONE, it screamed at him.Killua’s fists clenched and he focused on the thing, pushing it out of his mind and scrubbing himself clean of its influence. He shuddered in relief as it released its hold on his body.Sure, he wouldn’t tell anyone. He wouldn’t say a word.Before he walked into the clearing, Killua took a moment to put his emotions out of mind. He would go in there and be the broken slave they expected, beg for forgiveness, and trust that he’d read the situation right. It was all he could do.If Youpi were Master Feitan, sitting there waiting on a tardy slave… his breaths picked up and he was suddenly rushing into the clearing, steps unsteady.
Aaand… action.
There was stew bubbling in a large pot above the fire, wafting smells of spice and meat. The brunette slave was running bowls of it to a table of slavers playing cards. She stalled when she caught sight of Killua, but quickly snapped out of it and hurried back to work.The slim-faced Dom glanced up from their game—and froze. Killua felt a flash of satisfaction watching his smug expression morph into one of horror—but he pushed it away and focused on the act at hand.Palm and Youpi broke off their conversation as he approached. The collared slave, who’d been resting her head on Youpi’s lap, stared up at him with saucer-wide eyes.His knees hit the grass before he fully processed he was kneeling, and he had to break character to make sure he didn’t go into Arena Formal. A simple kneel, an apology, and then a polite, but basic bow.“I’m sorry for being late, Ma’am,” he said. His voice was hoarse in his aching throat. That was a nice touch. “Please forgive this slave for its failings.”The pain in his side ripped him apart from inside as he bent his torso, putting his forehead to the grass. Killua forced himself not to disassociate it away. He had to look convincing.Some soft, half-muted grunts of pain, and fast, shallow breaths. He was a normal trained slave—ordinary pain tolerance, but doing his best to stay quiet. A little bit of pained panting would be expected.God, did it hurt, though. The position was not ideal for a fractured rib.He tried to focus on his surroundings—the grass beneath him smelled like earth, with a hint of sweetness from the midday sun. It was nice.The brunette slave’s feet shuffled against the grass as she continued her task. Her movements and Killua’s erratic breaths were the only sounds in the suddenly quiet campsite. A bowl made a dull clack as she served another slaver. The quietly burning logs suddenly spit out a loud crack . And then Palm was on him, yanking him up by his hair, bending his neck back painfully as she forced him to meet her eyes. Her face was close—too close—and her eyes were dark, pupils blown, gaze wild.“Who was it?” she asked in an eerily calm voice. But the pull that accompanied her words was anything but calm. Finally released from its sheath, it poured like wildfire into Killua’s brain. It scorched him with its rage, sending his heart fluttering frantically in his chest, demanding to be let in. He carefully allowed it in. “Who touched you? WHO?!” Suddenly, she was yelling, breath sour with booze, spittle hitting his nose. Killua flinched, the aura burning through his thoughts.
Tell her, tell her, tell her, tell her, tell her, tell her NOW.
“Rannick,” Palm was saying—and just as quickly she was calm again. “I think it was Rannick, yes?”
Tell her, tell her, tell her, TELL HER, GIVE HER WHAT SHE WANTS, NOW.
Palm’s aura was potent, but not nearly strong enough to truly make Killua obey. He held it off, even as it sent his adrenaline into overdrive. He didn’t need to fake his trembling, pinned in place and forced to meet her eyes.He waited.If Killua didn’t have his family’s training, Palm’s pull would be fighting with his assaulter’s, right now. He’d only experienced it a handful of times, but having conflicting orders was paralyzing.Palm would win, of course. Based on Killua’s gauge of these two Doms, it wouldn’t take more than a minute or two.But then her aura flared in his brain, and Killua gasped, caught off guard by the sudden intensity. Oh, Palm was mad. Furious. He tried to keep the schadenfreude off his face.That would probably do it. He licked his lips. His tongue felt stiff when he spoke. “I– I d-don’t know his name, Ma’a–”Before he knew it Palm was moving, dragging him by the hair with a painfully strong grip. He scrambled to his feet, forced to keep up, gritting his teeth through waves of pain as he was hauled over to the table of slavers. “Point,” she said matter of factly, heedless of his ragged pants. Killua could feel beads of sweat cooling his brow in the chilly air. He tried to drop to his knees but she kept him too high up, stuck between standing and kneeling in a position that made his lungs burn.She twisted her wrist and his face was yanked up, making him look directly at the faces around the table.It was a small band of slavers, only seven Doms in total. The five around the table were all shooting nervous glances between Palm and each other.
Point him out, POINT HIM OUT NOW.
Of them all, only the slaver in question wore a petrified expression, face pallid as he tried to hide his fear. It was an awful attempt and overtly obvious—it may as well have been a confession.Still, Killua pointed, finally feeling the rush of relief that came with obeying Palm’s command. He heard a little sigh escape his lips.The man started, seeming to snap back to reality. He tensed and leaned backwards, as though he could run from the accusation.“N-no, no, I did not—” he stammered. He turned hot, bewildered eyes onto Killua. “Y-you worthless s-sl— h-how dare you—”Palm’s other hand darted out in a blur, snatching the man’s collar and pulling him half over the table with one swift movement. His words broke off into a shocked yelp as he scrabbled to support his weight.Palm pulled Killua closer to the man’s face.“This one?” she asked. She clearly knew the answer.“Y-yes, Ma’am.”“Rannick,” she purred, her tone suddenly tender, like she was a mother scolding her misbehaving son. She released his shirt and gently moved to cup his cheek, a delicate thumb stroking softly against his skin. The man just stood there, breathing unevenly as he frantically shook his head. “That was strike three, darling.”Rannick opened his mouth and tried to say something, but Palm shoved his chest and he fell back into his seat. Youpi was right behind him. The rest of the slavers leaned away in their seats at his calm approach.“Rannick,” Youpi repeated in his deep, measured voice. Large hands covered Rannick’s shoulders as Youpi leaned in, small eyes locked onto his subordinate’s. “I think you and me, we go to somewhere quiet, yes? Have a talk. About rules. And respect .”The last word was emphasized with a slow squeeze of his hands, fingertips digging deep into soft tissue. Palm chose this moment to pull Killua a few paces away from the scene, finally deciding to release her possessive grip on his hair. He collapsed quietly back onto his knees in relief, scalp now aching alongside the rest of him.“You will go join the other slaves now,” she said cooly, lifting his chin up with a precise touch. “You will rest now. You do not need to see this thing.” Good job , her pull hummed, gently caressing his mind, sending relief coursing through his veins.“Th-thank you, Ma’am,” Killua panted, sounding faint to his own ears. Still, he put his hands on the ground and forced himself into a bow, listening as she walked away. He had to fight the urge to collapse in exhaustion as soon as her aura left him. Instead, he pushed unsteadily back to his feet.It was by sheer force of will that he managed to start walking toward the other side of camp, world spinning and surreal. He was suddenly reminded that he hadn’t slept a wink in days. But he couldn’t help but smirk, finally having the privacy to celebrate his spectacular display. He listened as Rannick stammered poor excuses behind him, slowly growing faint as he moved away. Good show, he congratulated himself.

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The slaves’ side of the camp was hushed, but pleasant. Their murmured conversations were peaceful and soothing. Combined with the chirping insects and the swaying grass in the breeze, they all conspired to put Killua to sleep.He was more strung out than he could remember, and the events of the night hadn’t helped. Even the pulsing pain bleeding all over his body couldn’t keep him awake for much longer.Leorio was still in his usual spot— obviously, he’s chained, idiot . The man was sitting quietly, a contemplative look on his face that suited him. Killua had expected him to be crying—scared—but there were no tears on the man’s face.By the time he realized, he was already halfway around the circle. His steps faltered. Why was he walking towards the guy? He meant to ditch this caravan before the week was up, and he wasn’t bringing any baggage. But…Leorio had an air of calm about him that Killua found comforting. He sighed, and kept walking—whatever. He was too tired to give a damn. Leorio was quiet as Killua settled down beside him. Most of their neighbours were already lying down, some breathing deeply in their sleep.Killua decided to copy them, putting his back against the cool grass, and found himself groaning as his body melted into it. He stared up at the swirling nebulae. It still felt so surreal. After a while Leorio dropped down beside him, chains clinking as he put his hands behind his head.“They seem happy,” he started tentatively, like he didn’t know what he was saying. “Most of them, anyway. Everyone here is a slave, but they seem happy.”It wasn’t really a question, but Killua answered it anyway.“It’s not such a bad thing,” he said, though he knew his tone wasn’t all that convincing. “You get used to it. Plus, not everyone is unwilling, like you.” He paused. Or me. He didn’t voice that thought. “Sometimes you get disowned and end up on the streets. How are you gonna survive if you’ve got no Dom?”Leorio was silent for a moment. Then, he asked in a soft voice, “So… you’d rather be a slave?”Killua gave him some side-eye, incredulous. The man didn’t seem to notice.“Me? No.” Killua scoffed. “But most people? Yeah. You think you would choose to starve if you can work and be fed? Don’t kid yourself.”Silence, for a long moment. Killua didn’t mind. He was about to close his eyes and go to sleep when Leorio finally responded.“You live in a fucked up world, huh?” He sounded shaken.Killua snorted, and then gasped at the way it shook his side. “Don’t count yourself out, Mr. Free States. Now you do, too.”Leorio shifted beside him. “Killu, your ribs…” He sounded concerned, and now he was hovering over Killua and trying to touch his injury. “Let me have a look at it. Hopefully it’s not seriou—”Killua slapped his hand away. “I’m fine,” he said. Surprise flashed across the man’s face, and then annoyance. “Look, I’m not gonna ask you what happened, but—” he pointed at the bruise, “—this is new. You wanna end up with a punctured lung? Take a deep breath. Let me hear it.”“I’m fine ,” Killua repeated. He met the man’s determined eyes, and he pressed his lips together. Leorio wasn’t going to drop it. He relented—a little. “Look, I already checked it,” he mumbled, uncomfortable. “‘s nothing—” Leorio’s mouth opened, and Killua hurried to add, “—just a fracture, no displacement, okay? It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ll be fine in a few days.”“No, you won’t,” Leorio grumbled, but he made no more moves to touch the bruise. Killua looked away to avoid his intense scrutiny.What was it with this guy and his eyes that kept grating on his nerves?Eventually, Leorio lay back down with a huff. “Geez. You’re like my other friend. You guys both try to do everything on your own. Idiots, both of you. You need to learn how to lean on people.”Killua felt his brows furrow, but he almost smiled. The guy considered him a friend, huh? He didn’t know how to feel abou—A man’s panicked voice caught his attention from the other side of camp, sounding incoherent and desperate. Killua tilted his head to hear it better. Was that a note of snottiness from crying?He almost laughed, but his ribs hurt too much. He settled for the big grin that broke out across his face as Rannick’s pleas grew louder. Then, just as quickly, they choked off with a gurgle.Apparently Leorio heard that one, because he suddenly bolted up with a loud clatter of chains and snapped his gaze towards it. A slave beside him groaned and rolled over, going back to sleep.“What the hell was that?” Leorio hissed. “Hey, did you hear that?”Killua made an affirmative noise, still shamelessly grinning. “Yep. Pretty sure that’s what karma sounds like.”Leorio looked at him, looked down at his ribs, then sighed.“Just like Kurapika,” he grumbled, shuffling to lie back down more quietly this time. He was trying to sound tough, but Killua caught the way his voice wavered when he spoke his friend’s name.  “Listen, I owe you twice and I don’t like being in debt. So you better come find me next time you need something. You hear?”Killua hummed noncommittally, closing his eyes. No one was ever actually there when you needed them. Still, it was a nice thought.They lapsed into companionable silence, and Killua quickly drifted off after that.  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been dozing when a hand on his shoulder woke him up. Killua opened his eyes groggily to the blurry shape of Palm standing over him. “Rise and shine, sweetling,” she purred in her lyrical accent. She looked exuberant, which was jarring against the blood splatters covering her body—they were still damp on her clothes.“Ma’am,” Killua responded automatically, slowly remembering where he was. He carefully picked himself up and settled on his knees. “I’m sorry for making you wait, Ma’am. How may I be of use?”The moon was still high in the sky but the night was now quiet, soft snores drifting around the campsite. Killua guessed he’d been out for at least a couple of hours.Palm giggled, the sound airy and melodic. Killua found it completely at odds with the terrifying woman he’d come to know.“Oh sweetling, you have not a thing to be sorry for,” she chirped. “Thanks to you, I have had a wonderful night. It has been so long since I have had such fun.”She looked at her hand wistfully. Killua noticed streaks of blood covering her arms, hastily wiped but still smearing her skin.Shit, Rannick must have been hit worse than he’d expected. The satisfaction she showed after handing out such a brutal beating reminded Killua of his brother—the memory traced a chill down his spine.Palm snapped out of it after a moment, her aura shifting back to him. “Oh yes, little one. You will go back to Youpi now.” She gave him a once-over and wrinkled her nose. “And wash yourself. You are filthy. I have told the other girl to find you new clothes.” She gave him a dismissive wave in the slavers’ direction, then turned and walked away.Killua watched her settle languidly at the head of one of the wagons. She pulled a cigarette out of her pocket and lit it with a match, taking a slow, indulgent drag. The puff of smoke looked milky in the night.“Hey, uh,” Leorio murmured. Killua turned to find a worried look on his face. “She’s not gonna… you know.” He cleared his throat, eyeing the woman. “I can make a distraction, stir up some noise or somethin’. Make sure she doesn’t, uh… have time for you. Man,” he dragged a manacled hand through his hair, “I promised to help but I feel so useless.”An incredulous laugh escaped Killua and he immediately cringed from it, gently touching his side. Leorio looked so concerned, like Killua was about to go through something terrible. Honestly, Palm was the least of his problems. It was a nice thought, though. Leorio looked like he was about to say something more, so he quickly put a hand on the guy’s shoulder to shut him up. He used the leverage to push himself to his feet. “Relax, Leyro. I mean, look at me.” He gestured to his bruised body. “You think they make labour slaves this handsome?”He walked away before the man could formulate a response.“It’s—hey, you’re definitely doing that on purpose, damn it!”  The spread around the fire was packed up when he returned. Of the slavers, only Youpi still sat there, his slave gently massaging his legs as he watched the dying flames. Killua caught a slight shift in the man’s posture as he approached, a subtle relaxing of the shoulders that seemed to suggest Youpi had been waiting for him.He dismissed it. Killua was a slave. A Dom like Youpi did not wait on a slave.The man’s small eyes tracked him across the entire camp, and something about it made his skin break out in goosebumps. Youpi’s aura felt odd—it was extremely muted; purposefully restrained. Had Rannick done something else to piss him off?He quickly tried to get down to his knees, but a harsh “No” had him flinching back up again. It put him on edge to be in the man’s presence and not feel his intentions in his aura. Doms usually enjoyed pooling their aura—Oh fuck, no no no .A jolt of pain snapped him back to reality, his shoulder pulling at his ribs as he clasped his arms behind his back. He’d settled into a Formal wait without realizing it, his posture too proper, the angles too precise. In the corner of his vision, Youpi's slave paused her massage to look up at him. Shit shit shit , how could he let himself be caught so off-guard?His heart kicked up a notch as he slowly, carefully relaxed each of his muscles, distorting the position into something more casual. It was already too late to revert into Basic. If he could have, he would’ve slapped himself.A small-time slaver wouldn’t know, right? No, a small-time Dom would never have seen Arena Formal in his life—he couldn’t know. This was still fine—he could do damage control. He could work with it.
He’d been tired from his too-short nap and half-asleep, but the mistake jolted him awake like ice water. He needed to keep himself alert. This couldn’t happen a second time.
Youpi was quiet for a long moment, the sputters of low-burning logs creeping in to fill the silence. Killua could hear his own heartbeat, gradually slowing down as he focused on it.Finally, the large man pointed to a pile of supplies by the fire.“Soap,” he said simply. “Go wash at the horse trough. Then you come back.”“Yes, Master Youpi,” Killua replied quickly, glad to have an excuse to finally get away from the man. He wanted nothing to do with this slaver and whatever was putting him in a mood.The horse trough had been set up at the edge of camp, a few paces away from the fire. Killua relaxed a little as he stepped into the thicker shadows, though he could still see Youpi’s hulking form through a gap in the tents.He tried to put it out of his mind, dipping a rag into the tepid water and starting the process of cleaning himself. Whatever the Dom’s issue was, it would have nothing to do with him once he was past the gate. Maybe he could sweet-talk Palm into letting him ride free with the slavers tomorrow; he could slip away at the first opportunity.A shuffle of grass caught his attention, and he looked up to find the brunette slave rounding a tent, a bundle of clothes clutched protectively against her chest. He gave her a small nod in greeting, and she gave him a strange look in response.Killua frowned as he quickly rinsed off, the cool breeze making him shiver. Something landed on his head—a towel—and he turned to see the girl looking at him with a mix of worry and annoyance.No—that was fear she was masking. Killua knew that look.“I missed something,” he concluded as he dried off, tone flat. “What happened with Rannick?”Her lips pressed thin, every line of her body bleeding tension. Instead of answering, she snatched the towel back from him and started stuffing him with his new outfit.It was a baggy grey t-shirt and dark shorts, simple and soft. It covered him up with no extra frills—covered him up and nothing more. Killua traced the lines of his mark, now hidden underneath the soft cloth. A little smile crept onto his lips.“…Thanks,” he said to the slave. The girl’s gaze softened a little. She opened her mouth to say something, then shook her head and bit her lips tight. She gave him a pointed look and glanced over her shoulder.Killua followed her gaze to a supply cart parked a little distance away. He could see nothing unusual about it, except that it was the same one he’d hidden behind earlier.The slave’s footsteps retreated, and Killua looked back to find her running into the light, like the darkness might eat her alive.He couldn’t suppress his curiosity as he watched her go, and his eyes flicked over to the Dom waiting for him. Youpi was still sitting by the fire, but his line of sight was broken by the tents. Surely he wouldn’t miss Killua for an extra minute or two.He slipped deeper into the shadows, keeping his steps light as he carefully picked his way toward the innocuous supply cart. “...’s fucked up, man,” came a whisper from a nearby tent. Killua’s steps faltered. The guy sounded shaken. “T-the two of us had to—to hold ‘im down, and then P-Palm, s-she f–f… she f-ff—”He broke off into ragged breathing, and a woman spoke up in his place. “C’mon Rah, spit it out! Also where’s Garrin?”A third voice—Killua recognized it as the man who’d loaded their wagon. “Garrin is busy puking his guts out. I tried to talk to him but he was completely out of it.”The woman continued her urgent prodding, but the conversation went in circles. Killua tuned them out and hurried on towards the wagon.It was in the same spot as before, its wheels wedged into place by angled stones arranged in the grass. Through the gaps in the awning Killua could make out crates and boxes, their contents undisturbed. Nothing unusual—He did a double-take.He could see past the awning into the interior of the wagon—that wasn’t normal at all. The heavy canvas tarp was pulled too taut, skewed to the other side. The bows supporting it were also strained, bent off-kilter by something too heavy for their skinny frame.Killua realized that the tang in the air was the smell of blood.He slowly rounded the corner, already suspecting what he would find. What he saw there made his blood run cold.Rannick, strung up to the wagon by his wrists, hung inches off the ground. His body was limp and his lead lolled.His eyes, wide and unblinking, stared out at nothing. His expression was frozen in terror.He had not just been beaten; he had been killed.The man’s cheeks had been sliced away and his jaw hung limp, exposing the bloody stump of a tongue. Countless tiny cuts covered his naked body, forming arrows that led to his mutilated groin. Where the man’s sex had been, only thin strips of flesh remained.A wave of nausea made his stomach flip, and Killua had to look away from the dark chunks littering the grass. Just another dead body, he reminded himself. He took a steadying breath and looked back.Across the body’s torso, a bold word was carved out with flayed skin. The crisp, clinical cuts stretched from right hip to left breast. A bloodied hunting knife punctuated it like a period, its blade buried directly in the man’s heart.RESPECT.This wasn’t just a killing. This was a lesson. Killua suddenly remembered that voice he’d heard earlier, cut off by a choked gurgle. A flash of understanding made him creep forward and take a closer look.There was a large bruise covering the corpse’s entire neck, his larynx misshapen and swollen. That was precise work—enough pressure to mute his voice, but not enough to suffocate.These were trained killers. Killua felt a shiver pass through him. Youpi’s large, muscular hands came to mind. Palm had been covered in splatters of blood.His mind started racing. Were these guys syndicate? Padokean mercenaries? Why would they be trafficking slaves in Tar’Kosha?His options weren’t good. He could either stay with them until Mimbo, or ditch them now and loop back to Tamaran on foot. He wasn’t sure he could cross the dozens of miles with a broken rib and almost no sleep. And if he didn’t make it back by daybreak, he’d stick out like a sore thumb in the savanna. He swallowed a knot of dread. No, it would be fine. He would lay low and slip away as soon as possible.A sudden thought struck him and he picked his way to the corpse. Everything was wet with blood. He crouched to take a look at— The pull hit him moments before the voice did, crashing through him like a wave.  RETURN. RETURN NOW. It tried to pull him through Youpi’s half-formed bond.“KILLU,” Youpi boomed. “COME TO ME. NOW.”He was out of time. He hastily pulled out his false molar and threw some bloodied soil into it. He could deal with it later, in private.Trying not to think about it he snapped his tooth back in place, took a quick look at himself to make sure he was clean, and ran carefully back to the horses, where he would be expected to reappear.  His heart was pounding and his mind swirled, but he made himself focus—whoever these guys were, they would soon be none of his business.Just one more day.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The flap of the tent swooshed shut with a dull, echoing fwump , and the soft night breeze it fanned chilled him to the bone. Killua shivered, suddenly at a loss in the quiet. Privacy—for the first time that day. But it didn’t make him calm. His heart pounded in random ways that made his limbs feel weak. His stomach flipped with a wave of nausea.The world did a twirl and before he caught up he was falling, like his bones had decided to leave his body. His back hit the pole—the metal was so cold—and his shirt was somehow too rough against his skin, dragging like sandpaper as he slid toward the ground. His ankle fought against the manacle—not enough slack—but he couldn’t control the sinking, and he ended up sitting on the taut chain, yanking his knee askew. It barely hurt.Gravity became arbitrary, dancing around him tauntingly. His face found something soft.Oh. He was crashing.It came to him with idle disinterest, like it didn’t really matter that his body had failed him. The furs under his body were warm and spongy. They tickled at his nose. He gave in to the urge to melt … and somehow ended up on his back, staring at the pointed canvas ceiling.It swirled—it was pretty. Like a kaleidoscope covered in heavy cloth, hiding everything in darkness. Killua chuckled at the thought, though it made the air stab his lungs. Kaleidoscopes were for kids. He was a kid—wait, no, he wasn’t. He hadn’t been for a while now—wait, since when? He didn’t … Whatever.Rannick had been murdered. Killua felt like he should care about that, but he didn’t. His death had been weird, though. There was something there that Killua wanted to think about, but he didn’t … remember. The guy’s larynx had been smushed so he couldn’t scream—Killua giggled. Smushed. That was funny.… Wait … no it wasn’t.He squeezed his eyes shut, and then … pried them back open at some point. A slap on his cheek felt numb and far away. Shit, he needed to wake up.He struggled for a moment to push himself upright. The sweat on his back turned cold where he leaned against the pole.He was at his limit. Killua knew it. He’d wanted to think about something. Something about … something. Why couldn’t he remember?He should sleep, and deal with it tomorrow, but … his gut pulled at him at the thought. Something was … off. Probably. He needed to think about it.He pulled a deep breath into his lungs, taking the motion past the point of hurt—and then some more—trying to kickstart his brain. He forced himself to sit up—and then blinked. Wait, had he already been sitting? No, focus, focus. He could do this. He could do this and then he’d go to sleep.Rannick was dead. Dead for … his throat … his throat was professional. Professional … throat? Youpi was … his throat. That meant … something.His screaming ankle finally convinced him to shift his weight off it.Right, chains! Youpi had chained him. That was … bad. Right? Because he was a slave … wait, why was it—because … but he was a slave, so …Killua rubbed his face. His stomach clawed at him again. Hadn’t he just eaten? No, he hadn’t eaten in—no, that wasn’t right either. It didn’t matter.What was … Youpi? Right, Youpi … had professional … big hands. He had …His head dipped and he started, gasping. The canvas looked like it was melting, like wax. Insects were screaming outside, needling their way into his brain. It was almost soothing.He couldn’t think. He was getting nowhere.Did he need to? He was … tomorrow … leaving. So … it didn’t matter? Right. One more day. These slavers weren’t his problem.He should sleep … Rannick was asleep, that was nice. … Wait, no, he was dead. Tortured. Not nice. Reminded Killua of his training … painful death. Blood everywhere—Shit—With a jolt, the world snapped into focus.—The corpse spores.He reached into his mouth and fumbled around, fingers slipping, until he finally found his molar.Bloody soil. Painful death. Savanna meant … spores. He needed … he shook his head and the world spun. He needed a catalytic agent.He tried to scan Palm’s tent as he unburied his knowledge on neurotoxins.Acid … or alcohol. He had acid, but … His stomach turned at the thought and he barely swallowed down a wave of nausea. He wouldn’t be able to hide the mess.Liquor, though—Palm drank a lot. Would she have anything in her tent? Everything was dark, the only light coming from the dying fire outside, and he could barely see past the wax. 
Please please please. 
A flask? A bottle? Anything.Something metallic caught his eye … half-buried in a rug, right at the foot of the cot—he shuffled closer to take a look, world lurching.A little silver flask.He picked it up—did he? His hand was … no, he was holding it—and then he was hitting the ground, side stabbed by invisible knives, fire rippling through his nerves before he could work through what happened.Good— stay awake, stay awake. Everything was sore as he pushed himself up. He felt sweat beading on his brow, dripping down his face.
Focus.
Slowly, with fumbling fingers, he uncapped the lid of the flask and took a sniff of what was inside.It was … whiskey? Or rum. Whatever, it didn’t matter; it smelled strong, so it would work.Footsteps outside made him freeze. Palm? How long had it been? He quickly screwed the cap back on and got ready to throw it back.The footsteps muted, then stopped. Turned back the other way … and then she … started dancing? Wait, why was Palm dancing? The wind picked up—oh, the wind. That was just the wind.He let out a shaky breath and unscrewed the cap again.
Focus focus focus. 
He poured a little of the liquor into the cap of the flask, then dumped the entire contents of his false tooth into it. It settled into the alcohol, dark and muddy.He splashed a little liquor onto his fingers—no, no, into his tooth—and dumped that into the lid, too.Then … Wait, corpse spores—how long did it take … Twenty minutes? Killua’s world wobbled and he almost dropped the flask, jerking awake, heart racing. He bit his cheek, hard. Focus—didn’t matter. He probably couldn’t track the time properly, anyway.Agitate. Keep it moving. He started swirling the lid, the motion taking too much effort. His nerves were shot with fatigue, twitching randomly. Still, any attention he could find, he put toward staying steady.Seconds stretched like hours … or did hours stretch like seconds? The world snapped in and out of reality. He was idly thinking he’d failed and was about to pour the whole thing out when he saw it. A tiny, faint speck of red. Then another. And another.Tiny dots of red started lighting up inside the liquid, glowing faintly like little spirits in the dark.He blinked hard.Wait, wait, wait—tiny dots of light with no form, crimson like fresh blood. Those were … definitely corpse spores.Activated. Potent.He needed to—he carefully poured the specks onto a shaking palm. Each bright little dot danced and flew as they followed the liquid, slowly settling and drifting up to the top. There were … he couldn’t count right now. A lot. There were a lot of spores. Enough for a single use? … Definitely.Killua was suddenly terrified he would spill it. The hand cupping them suddenly felt like an enemy.This was … his . He could … he could use it. If he had to. A choice. He had a choice now.He watched his own unsteady hand set the flask down and fumble for his false molar. One-by-one, he scooped up every little speck of light. He had barely any control. Sometimes he caught too much liquid—sometimes he tipped some back out. He barely dared to breathe, scared of the extra movement. His vision pulsed in sync with his heart, threatening his awareness with every beat.… And then, he found that he’d finished, all of a sudden—and he was shoving the tooth back into his mouth. Next thing he knew, his palm was tipping right onto his clothes, and he jerked his arm erratically—and the liquid flew off somewhere else. Killua sagged. Had he made sure the tooth was airtight?… Hopefully. He didn’t taste any alcohol—well, he couldn’t taste anything, really. So … it was fine. The wind started talking to him again. Swish-swish. Swish-swish. Swish …  A pause. Then, it got closer. Swish-swish. He idly wondered what it was trying to say.Palm’s voice drifted over from a few tents down. She was talking to someone, but she didn’t make as much sense as the wind …Hmm. Wait—He bolted up, heart suddenly kicking into overdrive.
Shit shit shit.
He grabbed blindly for the flask—almost spilling everything—hastily dumped a capful into the sludge, and rinsed it out.No, muddy. Not enough, still—Palm laughed, the giggle bouncing around inside his skull. Real. That was—too real. Everything … was real, though. Why did even the fabric of his clothes sound so loud?More liquid in the cap—had he poured it?—he was trying to scrub it clean with a finger, but his finger was too fat for some reason.
Swish-swish. Swish.
A shadow at the door. Slender fingers, parting the gap. A cold breeze pierced him. The smell of burnt logs.Killua frantically tried to put the cap back on, suddenly forgetting how it worked, his fingers weren’t listening, but he tossed— Too late. Palm was already there, her footsteps—… No, wait, no she wasn’t … He tossed … he—when? … His hands were empty. Empty. When had he—Palm’s face dipped into view, smiling. No, she was frowning? He couldn’t tell anymore, everything looked the same.His breaths were too fast—shaky. That was probably … not good …Oh well. He should … probably get on his knees. Was he … ?He looked down. Oh, he was already on his knees. When had he … no, that was good, so whatever.
Breathe.
She stepped in, letting the flap block out the light behind her.Killua pulled a deep breath, and lowered his eyes.