"Well, you little bastard, are you finally ready to talk? What happened during the walk? Speak up!" the head warden barked when he realized the brat was barely reacting to his latest blows.
He never received an answer.
Grey's eyes were wide open, but his gaze seemed empty and unseeing. His breathing was shallow and ragged.
Long ago, he had collapsed to his knees. His torso was kept upright only by his head, which rested against the wall. His arms hung limply. His ears rang, and a state of total chaos reigned in his head.
He had gone numb and stopped perceiving the world around him. It was a natural reaction of the body, a final attempt to protect itself from the sharp pain. He was in a strange state between consciousness and oblivion, unable to fully black out or return to reality.
Finally, both personalities fell silent, having reached a common conclusion.
"Enough, Quintilian, you'll kill him. While I don't care about a slave's death, I don't want to reimburse Harmon's costs," Gracchus barked.
"Fine, fine. What are you shouting for? It's no great loss, only 25 coppers," Quintilian dismissed him.
"To hell with that! I hoped you would help me, not satisfy your own urges."
"Do I look like a doctor? Throw him back to those two whores. If he doesn't come to his senses within the next three days, I'll reimburse Harmon the full amount myself. Satisfied?" the head warden snapped back.
Hearing the chief's final words, Gracchus couldn't hide a sly smile.
Noticing his smug expression, the head warden couldn't stop his lip from twitching.
"You planned this from the start?! You damn bastard!"
"Hahah, who isn't familiar with your strange tastes, Quintilian?" the warden chuckled. "I didn't force your hand, you promised it yourself."
Gracchus and Quintilian finished their conversation, exchanging a few more barbs.
They didn't look the least bit regretful. They simply didn't care. Whether the brat died or not didn't concern them at all. It was far more important to decide who would reimburse Harmon those twenty coppers.
The guard scooped up Grey's limp body and dragged him back. The boy didn't make a sound or offer any resistance.
When they reached the cell, Gracchus unceremoniously threw Grey onto the floor and walked away, whistling a cheerful tune. After waiting for the warden's footsteps to fade, Sheryl and Lily cautiously approached the boy to check on his condition.
The sight before them was terrifying.
Grey's back was a mess of bloody welts. His lowered shirt had been stained red. His breathing was uneven and quiet.
If his chest hadn't been rising every now and then, he could have been mistaken for a corpse.
"Grey... Grey... Are you still alive?" Sheryl asked in a trembling voice.
After waiting for half a minute without getting an answer, the girls exchanged worried glances.
Stammering, Lily broke the long silence: "W-what should we do?"
"Leave him be," a raspy voice drifted from the old man in the neighboring cage. "This is what always happens when a slave doesn't know how to keep his head down. The little one should have listened to my good advice. Now, his life depends on himself and the goddess of luck."
Lily wanted to protest: "But... Surely... can we really leave him in this state?"
The old man sighed heavily and shook his head, looking at the girl with a sad wisdom in his eyes.
"Child, I understand your desire to help, but sometimes the best help is not to interfere. The boy brought this trouble upon himself. Now he is paying the price for his disobedience."
The old man paused, as if gathering his thoughts, then continued:
"If you touch him now or try to care for him, the wardens might punish you as well. Do you think they care about our well-being? They are only looking for an excuse to teach you a lesson. Don't think for a second that you hold any value!"
He looked around, as if checking if anyone was eavesdropping, and added more quietly:
"Besides, who knows what is going on in the boy's head right now? You saw how he acted before. What if he suddenly turns violent? You might get hurt trying to help..."
"Leave him alone. Let him come to his senses on his own. If the gods prove favorable, he will pull through. And if not... well, such is the will of fate. We all live on the edge here. It is better to look after yourself than to risk it for others. Get some proper rest. We have a lot of work waiting for us tomorrow," the old man continued his lecture.
The girls, taking his wise advice to heart, decided to leave Grey lying where he was.
His condition continued to worsen. His chest rose less and less frequently.
The current situation in the small cage of the slave camp was nothing unheard of. Every day, dozens, if not hundreds of prisoners died here for various reasons. Why would a child without kin or clan be an exception?
Grey had become just another insignificant grain of sand in the vast desert of human fates, ruthlessly ground down by the millstones of time and circumstance.
The world continued its steady movement.
No one cared about the tragedy of a little person who had fallen victim to his own recklessness. Only the strong had the right and the time to contemplate morals and ethics. The weak had to look out for themselves.
One person cannot disrupt the order of things. His disappearance would be a blow only to a small group of loved ones, who would eventually settle down and continue living their own lives.
Is the existence of one person truly worth anything in the eyes of the whole world? If this person suddenly vanished tomorrow, would the world even notice his absence? Perhaps the belief in one's own significance is nothing more than a beautiful fairy tale used to comfort children. Is the universe not simply an indifferent and cold place?
While Grey balanced on the brink of life and death, the world around him remained just that indifferent. Yet, perhaps at this very moment, a small spark of compassion was being born somewhere, capable of changing the fate not only of a dying boy, but of the entire universe.
Lingering in a dark space, Grey felt something cold press against his back.
The sensation was far from pleasant, but it pulled him out of his stupor. He struggled to focus his gaze in a weak attempt to reconnect with reality.
Everything seemed split in two.
On one side, he saw a little girl leaning over him. Her face appeared to him as a beautiful angelic vision, the only bright ray of light in a ruthless, dark world. Her eyes looked at him tenderly, as if trying to soothe his pain.
On the other side, a different picture opened up before him.
A little devil with horns was whispering something softly into the child's ear. The devil looked haggard and fragile. Her cheeks seemed sunken, and her lips were dry. Her skin was covered in bruises and abrasions, and a deep exhaustion and apprehension could be read in her eyes. A tattered dress barely covered her gaunt body, and the hands holding a wet rag were covered in calluses and scratches.
The two images turned out to be one and the same person.
Lily noticed Grey staring at her. His gaze was strange—one eye seemed grateful, while the other remained detached and indifferent.
The girl leaned closer and whispered a few words to him very, very quietly:
"Be quiet. Just be quiet. I knew you'd kill me sooner or later." Though her whisper was full of accusation and irritation, she didn't slow the work of her hands in the slightest. "I've washed the wounds on your back; they shouldn't fester. Here, drink some water. Just save some for me. This is all I've kept since evening."
Grey wanted to answer, but his lips refused to move.
He continued to look at Lily with two different eyes, as if two parts of his consciousness were reacting to what was happening in different ways.
Pressing a bowl with the remains of the liquid to his lips, Lily waited for the sound of a swallow and carefully placed her hand on his forehead, checking his temperature.
"You're still too hot," she whispered. "You need to sleep."
He tried to focus his gaze on his savior, but his vision played a cruel trick on him. In the pitch darkness, barely dispelled by the dim moonlight filtering through a crack in the wall, the girl's outlines seemed blurred and fuzzy.
The boy desperately wanted to see the expression on her face, to remember the color of her eyes. But all he saw was a dark silhouette with small horns and a long, thin tail—the distinctive features of succubi, devilish spawn.
Why is she helping me? Don't I seem like a thorn in her side? We haven't even spoken properly since I ended up here. Damn, I can't even remember what she looks like. Did I really care that little about her existence until this moment?
Wait, she's a succubus, that's obvious. But aren't all demons evil? Stop. How did she even end up on Pratos, and as a slave on the outskirts of the Magic Empire at that? I didn't think demons took part in the battle against the barbarians. How could the human empires have allowed such a thing?
As if hearing his unspoken questions, Lily began to speak softly. It seemed she wasn't even addressing him, but simply pouring out her bottled-up feelings.
"You know, I really do hate you. Why did they have to put you in our cage? I wanted to be alone after parting with my mother. She always insisted that I had to play the role of a good person to survive. That is exactly what I am doing right now. It is definitely not...
...it is definitely not because you remind me of someone...
No, don't go thinking that I see a brother in you. It's not like that at all.
My brother... he is completely different. Mother always said he was a handsome, noble, and brave warrior, followed by millions of soldiers, and everyone sincerely respected him.
But... he died in the war, staying behind so that we could escape. At least, that's what Mother said.
You know, sometimes I think: what if she was wrong? What if he's still alive? How would he react if he saw me right now? Would he spoil me with sweets? Or would he turn away, seeing what I've become?
But you... you are nothing like him. You're weak; you're barely clinging to life. What kind of warrior gives up so easily?
I just don't want a person to die in the place where I live. That's all.
And yes, I still hate you.
For forcing us into trouble on the very first day. For making me remember my brother. For not being able to take responsibility for your own actions."
Changing the wet rags one after another, Lily continued her monologue in a low, practically silent voice.
Grey didn't notice when her voice began to sound different. It seemed rhythmic, almost hypnotic.
The boy's diverging eyes began to close as if to a lullaby.
Finally, his breathing became steady, and he fell asleep.
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