The first thing Eídal wondered when he woke was: Where am I?
As consciousness returned, he felt a sharp pain running through his elbows and knees. His throat was raw with the sourness left behind by vomit. It was unpleasant, to say the least. There was also something deeply ironic about the fact that today was his birthday. At ten years old, nostalgia and pain conspired to moisten the corners of his eyes.
But... he thought again. What is this thing?
When he touched his face, he realized that something was covering his nose and mouth.
A muzzle.
Made of black leather with careless stitching, the contraption prevented him from parting his lips. When Eídal tried to remove it, he felt the thick thread sewn behind his neck.
Impossible! I-It's sewn shut.
Without further thought, he gave up.
Contrary to what one might expect, the muzzle did not prevent him from breathing, since there was a large opening where his nose was. Because speaking was impossible, the only way Eídal could express himself was through his thoughts.
Again, where am I?
Paying closer attention, he realized that he was inside an enormous room. Both the floor and ceiling were white. Several black leather furnishings with gilded edges were scattered here and there. Paintings of landscapes adorned the walls, leaving hardly a corner undecorated.
There were no windows. Instead, a single chandelier illuminated the center of the room. The furnishings, with their elaborate finishes and meticulous embroidery, made the place feel less like a room and more like part of a palace.
Eídal, meanwhile, was dressed in a long, thin black tunic that reached his knees. Even so, vertical slits in the fabric exposed his thighs. The garment was rather simple, decorated only with a few buttons and silver patterns.
To make matters worse, he had been chained beside a shelf containing numerous crystal figurines of amorphous creatures. They kept him muzzled for most of the day atop a litter box, like some kind of pet.
Sweaty, damp, and aching, he began to feel an intense chill.
When he realized he could neither free himself from the chains nor loosen the muzzle, a feeling of emptiness seized his throat.
And yet...
Ah! Remember, he thought. You promised you wouldn't cry.
In this uncertain state, there was no way for him to contain his despair. Even so, he tried to calm himself by clutching a small pendant tightly against his chest.
This time, I have to be brave and act like someone cool. You can't keep being pathetic, even... if this is only a dream.
Only minutes earlier, he had been used as cannon fodder by the people from his village. Then he had awakened in this strange place, under these even stranger conditions.
And yet...
It has to be a dream.
His heart still refused to believe that they had thrown him away. He simply wanted to keep denying it.
Pushing his numb muscles to their limit, he tried to get onto his knees. But he lacked the strength and fell onto his backside.
Just as sadness began to moisten the corners of his eyes, Eídal shook his head.
Enough.
I mustn't cry. I promised.
That promise was a vow binding him to one of the three most important people in his world.
A girl he considered family.
I-I... I promised Íngrid.
For a brief moment, the image of a cream-haired girl appeared in his mind, her cold gaze illuminated by a faint trace of irritation.
Then Eídal remembered what had happened before the invasion.
...
Days earlier, after helping the villagers with their chores, he had gone to confide in the person he trusted most.
An ingenious little girl.
In the middle of their idle conversation, Eídal had told her that he wanted to become a great man, someone so remarkable that he would one day become a legend.
That was when his friend, a girl named Íngrid, made him a rather strange request:
"If you're going to be a great man, promise me that from now on, you won't cry."
At first, Eídal had taken Íngrid's words as nothing more than a slip of the tongue. But after seeing the seriousness in his friend's expression, he decided to keep the promise with all his heart.
He was far too sentimental and shed tears with ease. Perhaps his friend believed this would be a good way to make him grow up.
She was always so clever and considerate, Eídal had concluded that day.
...
Back in reality, perhaps it was because of the circumstances, but now, trapped inside this luxurious room, that promise felt more important than ever.
That was why he did everything in his power to hold back his tears.
Not even in a dream did Eídal want his friend to end up calling him useless.
It was unfortunate that she was not here to see him, but once Eídal woke up, he would boast to her about how he had kept his promise and hadn't cried.
Something Íngrid would surely never understand.
Having reached his own conclusion, he tried to fall asleep inside that luxurious room.
Deep down, Eídal believed that once he opened his eyes again, everything would be over.
He would return to his little village.
He would see the young laborers again.
He would hear the whispers of the women washing clothes by hand in the river.
He would be scolded by the elders, Eduardo and Ricardo, who stopped by his gate to drink.
The same children he was always fighting with would shove him around and drag him along as they fought over a piece of firewood.
Yes.
Once he woke up, he could return to that life.
And he would be with his best friend again, with his strict mentor, and with a clever little girl.
Elsewhere, the abduction of the village became a subject of discussion among the surrounding settlements. The few survivors gave accounts of a bloody night. The entire affair was handed over to the kingdom's ministers and, mysteriously, vanished into a mountain of paperwork forever.
Though that is a story for another time.