Abu Khalid dragged me forcefully inside the house, pulling my arm so violently that I was certain it would break. He shoved me forward so hard that I nearly lost my balance, but I managed to stay on my feet.
He stood before me, towering over me like something immense in my eyes. His hand gripped my face harshly, almost leaving marks, and he spoke in a tone that carried no trace of mercy.
"You belong to me now. I am your master… and you are nothing but a miserable slave."
I looked back at him with anger and defiance—far from what he had expected—and replied in a low but clear voice.
"I am not miserable."
My defiant tone displeased him.
His hand rose and came down hard across my face. The sound of the strike echoed against the walls. My cheek burned red, yet I did not cry, nor did I show surprise. My expression remained steady, still challenging him.
He stared at me for a long moment with cold eyes… then he smiled.
It was a smile that made the skin crawl—one that never reached his eyes.
I was trapped between the wall and his body, his gaze wrapping around me like suffocating chains. He leaned closer and wiped the blood from my lip with his fingers. My heart pounded violently against my ribs as his hot breath brushed my face while he whispered in a disturbing tone.
"I like slaves who resist… breaking them is far more enjoyable."
I frowned, but before I could react he grabbed my clothes and lifted me as though I weighed nothing. He carried me outside the house to the horse stable and threw me onto a pile of hay.
My head struck a thick wooden post, and dizziness overwhelmed me.
Calmly, he fetched some ropes and tied my hands to the post to make sure I wouldn't escape. Then he looked at me with a terrifying calm.
He took out a pair of scissors.
I had no idea what he intended to do.
He leaned close and began cutting my hair—lock after lock—until it gathered on the ground beneath me.
He looked at me with a victorious smile, as if he had just won a battle.
Then he left, shutting the large stable doors behind him.
Only moonlight slipped through the cracks in the wood. The strong smell of manure filled my nostrils, and the quiet sounds of horses surrounded me.
I looked down at my hands tied by rope. I pressed my lips together as though I were about to surrender to fate.
All I could do was sigh and lean back against the wooden post, my hands raised and bound. I stared tiredly at the stable doors while my mind struggled to understand what was happening… struggled to accept that I needed to survive.
My eyes slowly closed as dizziness finally defeated me.
My hands hung limp against the cold rope.
The world around me faded until I heard nothing at all.
The creaking of the stable door and the restless sounds of horses returned.
I opened my eyes as sunlight struck my face.
A large shadow stood before me.
When I raised my head, I saw Abu Khalid again—wearing that same sickening smile.
He grabbed my neck, not to strangle me but to hold me still. Then he untied the rope around my wrists and threw a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of long trousers at me.
His cold eyes fixed on mine as he whispered.
"Take off your clothes and put these on. Here."
I frowned in confusion.
"Step away."
He stared at me deeply, as though he were trying to peer straight into my soul. Then he smiled in a way that made my skin crawl.
"I won't move. And you have no right to object… do it in front of me."
Shock flashed across my face.
But I grabbed the trousers and pulled them on over my robe, lifting the garment so that not a single inch of my body was revealed.
That seemed to irritate him.
He grabbed my head roughly and forced it upward, my neck aching under the pressure. Then I felt something cold and heavy clasp around my neck.
A metal collar.
He dragged me outside toward the fields.
My bare feet burned as they stepped across the ground heated mercilessly by the sun.
When we reached the field, every gaze turned toward me for a brief moment.
Some quickly looked away in fear of punishment.
Others ignored me completely—clearly used to witnessing suffering.
And then there were the looks of pity.
Those looks cut deeper than knives.
Abu Khalid raised his voice—not shouting, but announcing.
"This one will work twice as hard as all of you. And make sure he knows what happens to those who stop."
He threw a pickaxe toward me.
Then he chained my hands and fastened the chains to the collar around my neck before shoving me forward.
The pickaxe was bigger than me.
And clearly heavier.
I knelt down, unable to reach it properly because of the chains, but I managed to lift it.
I didn't even know how to hold it correctly.
Still, I raised it and watched the others around me until I understood the proper way.
The wooden handle was rough, scraping my palms until they began to blister.
I lifted the tool high and slammed it into the earth… then dragged it back.
My back screamed in pain.
My hands trembled.
This was labor meant for grown men—not a child.
The sun punished us with merciless heat, and the chains restricted my movements. I nearly collapsed several times, but each time I forced myself back up and whispered quietly to myself.
"I must not show him my weakness… that is what he wants."
An elderly slave passed beside me. His hair was white with age, and there was something wise in his appearance.
He spoke quietly, just loud enough for me to hear.
"Stop for a moment… take a breath without anyone noticing."
I looked at him with my good eye and followed his advice. I took the breaths I had nearly lost and glanced down at my hands.
Blisters had formed—no blood yet, but painful. Slight swelling too.
He stood beside me for a moment, showing me how to work without exhausting myself completely.
The sun remained high above us, towering like a tyrant in the sky.
From the window of his house, Abu Khalid watched me—waiting for me to fall.
But I would not fall.
At least not in front of him.
Eventually the old slave walked away to continue his work.
The pickaxe struck the earth again and again as I gathered my breath and wiped sweat from my brow.
Soon the sun began to set.
The moon rose to replace it.
One by one, the slaves picked up their tools and left the field.
I tried to lift the pickaxe again, but hunger and thirst had drained all strength from my body.
It was too heavy.
A strong hand suddenly appeared beside me and lifted the pickaxe, intending to carry it for me.
But the man noticed Abu Khalid watching us from afar.
He sighed sadly, handed the tool back to me, and apologized quietly before walking toward the wooden shack ahead.
I carried the pickaxe myself and followed the others.
The shack was old and crumbling. Its wooden planks barely held together.
Inside, Abu Khalid stood in the center of the room.
The slaves formed a single line before him after tossing their tools aside. I stood among them, realizing I was the youngest.
That realization did not comfort me.
And those looks…
Abu Khalid stared at me as if I were a trophy won from a war he had never fought.
The others' eyes centered on me as though trying to strip away the last remnants of confidence in my heart.
I could not lift my gaze.
My mind screamed for me to raise my head—but fear was louder.
My hands trembled.
Silence filled the room.
Then something slammed onto the table.
I looked up to see a basket filled with old bread.
Abu Khalid pointed directly at me and spoke loudly.
"Come here. Kneel… and kiss my foot."
Kiss his foot?
Kneel to him?
Did he even hear himself?
I frowned in anger and disbelief before replying in a clear voice despite the tremor in my heart.
"No."
Abu Khalid's expression darkened.
"What did you say, slave?"
My voice grew louder and firmer.
"I said no."
I refused to humiliate myself before someone like him—even if it meant starving.
So he made me watch.
One by one, the slaves knelt and kissed his sandal before receiving a piece of stale bread.
Old and young alike.
When they finished, they stood to the side and ate their bread.
I remained alone.
Chains on my hands… yet my spirit remained free.
Abu Khalid approached me slowly.
His eyes were empty of mercy.
"You have one last chance to eat."
His voice was colder than winter.
But I would not submit.
"I will not kneel to you. And I will not kiss your foot."
His expression did not change.
He grabbed the chain around my neck, unlocked the chains from my hands, and dragged me like an animal back to the stable.
He threw me onto the ground and fastened the chain to a lock. Then he tied my right hand with rope so I could not move.
He gave me one final cold look before slamming the stable door shut.
I remained sitting on the ground.
I stared at my hands—scratched by the pickaxe and stained with dirt from the stable floor. My wrists were bruised and wounded from the restraints.
I gripped my shirt tightly, holding back the pain and sorrow inside me.
Then I heard soft footsteps approaching.
A horse walked toward me and gently rubbed its head against my face—as if comforting me for what my own kind had done to me.
I smiled faintly and stroked its head.
Its coat was black like the night. Its hair was soft beneath my fingers, and its breath warm against the cold air.
I yawned and leaned my head back against the wooden post while the horse lay beside me.
Slowly… sleep began to claim me.
The night was quiet and cold.
Then footsteps approached.
I opened my eyes.
A tall shadow stood before me.
As he stepped closer, I recognized him.
It was the same old slave who had tried to help me earlier.
He smiled kindly, his silver eyes studying me as though I were something precious.
He gently moved the horse aside and tied it to another post before sitting down in front of me.
Still smiling, he asked softly:
"Where are your parents? They didn't abandon you… did they?"
I sighed.
"I am an orphan now."
His brow furrowed sadly.
"What about your uncles? Your mother's family?"
I frowned at the pity in his eyes.
"I have no uncles here. And my father's brothers disowned me… and stop looking at me like that. I hate those eyes."
He smiled with understanding.
"So… no one would know what might happen to you here?"
I frowned in confusion.
"Excuse me… what did you just say?"
His smile slowly changed.
Something disturbing crept into it.
He leaned closer, trapping my body between the wooden post and his large frame.
His hand reached to my side and grabbed me firmly.
Then he whispered:
"I want to spend the night with you."