Here we are. This is my house," the old man said.
It was a hut—a large one, though barely holding together. The roof sagged in places, the stone walls patched with mud and straw.
Beside it, a woman was cooking over a crude stove. She wore a long, brown dress, tattered and worn, hanging off her thin frame like forgotten cloth. Two more women sat at the door, dressed the same. Their heads were lowered, backs straight.
As the old man approached, both women at the door bowed in unison.
"You're home, Tuan."
"Yes, I am," he said.
Their eyes flicked toward the boys. "Who are they? Who's that boy with you, Tuan?"
"You already know that muddy brat," he said, waving lazily at Lars. "The other one's our guest. Treat him well, you hear?"
His eyes shifted toward Alex as if testing something.
Lars' stomach growled. He bowed his head slightly. "Ah, I'm sorry, sir…"
The old man laughed. "Don't worry. Give him water, Sigil. Dotha, take some pigs and make something good."
"Yes, Tuan," the two women replied, almost robotic.
The old man's tone shifted. "And where's that bitch Freya? Still doesn't know what manners are?"
"We'll teach her," Dotha said quickly. "She's new, you know that."
"Yeah, yeah…"
He turned toward the boys. "Come. Both of you. Let's eat."
It was dim and dusty. A stove, a few cracked lamps, stones set around for sitting. The bed was just a pile of black marbles—cold and uneven.
"Sit," the old man said. "Go ahead."
He looked at Alex. "What's your name, boy? I know this muddy brat already."
Alex swallowed. "My name is Erik."
"Good name," the old man said with a grin.
Lars shifted awkwardly. "What were you doing alone in the forest?"
Alex paused. "I had a fight with my parents… I came here to hunt."
"Tough life," the old man chuckled. "Still, you've got a strong body. That's something."
There was something wrong in his voice. Alex noticed.
Alex asked, "What about you, old man? Who are these women?"
"Ha! You're a curious little bastard," the old man laughed. "They're slaves. Human ones."
Alex didn't flinch. He already knew. He'd seen it in their eyes.
But Lars clenched his fists. "What the hell are you saying? Slavery's illegal in every kingdom. Don't you know that?"
The old man shrugged. "Illegal? Sure. But I like them. Even my father kept slaves. I feed them, they live here peacefully. What's the problem, muddy boy?"
"It's still wrong," Lars said, jaw clenched.
The old man just grinned. "Ask them. Ask if they want freedom in this kind of world."
Lars scoffed. "Tch. Yeah. Yeah."
The old man raised his hands. "Forget it. Let's eat."
Sigil and Dotha returned, balancing plates of pork on cracked utensils. As they placed the food and got back outside, a sharp slap echoed from outside.
Alex didn't react. Lars flinched.
The old man just smiled.
"They're giving that bitch Freya a lesson," he said. "Anyway… eat. Drink. Erik, you want some booze?"
Alex smiled faintly. "Yeah. Why not."
They drank in silence for a while.
Then the old man leaned forward, voice lowered.
"You boys want to fuck? Any of my slaves—you can choose."
Lars jerked up. "I don't."
The pork was greasy, overly salty—too rich for how poorly it was cooked. Minutes later, Alex felt a creeping numbness in his limbs, like his bones were falling asleep.
Alex, eyes half-lidded, nodded. "Yes, I do."
"Good," the old man said. "Take the new one. She's unused."
Dinner ended. The old man pointed to a narrow open space beside the hut. There was a lean-to with a broken roof but some protection from wind.
"You'll sleep there, Erik. And you," he sneered, "bitch—sleep with him."
He walked away, the door closing behind him.
Lars sat near the entrance, face turned, fists clenched. Something about Erik disgusted him now.
The girl had long black hair. Her skin, pale as snow, was ruined by scars—old burns, whiplines, bruises. Her eyes were dry, but her silence was louder than tears.
Alex sat down slowly. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't rape you."
She didn't move.
"I just have two questions. Answer with 'yes' or 'no.' Got it?"
She stared at him. Still silent.
Alex's voice lowered. "Do you want to be free?"
She hesitated, lips trembling. He repeated, firmer, "Do you want to be free?"
She nodded—slow, uncertain, but real. A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Good," Alex said. "Second question—did they do this to you? The scars… the burns. Did they rape you?"
Her body shook. More tears. Then—she nodded again.
"…Alright."
Alex leaned back, eyes closed, face calm.
"From tomorrow, you'll be free."
He exhaled. "That fat bastard laced my food. He's planning to come tonight—he thinks he'll get himself a new plaything named Erik."
Alex smirked. "But Erik? Who the hell is that?"
He leaned his head back against the wall, letting the moonlight touch his face.
"I'm not disgusted by slavery, nor am I anyone's savior. I'm just here for my plan."
"But that fat bastard… ruling over people with no power, simply because he can? That angers me."
"Slavery is normal for him. And that idiot Lars—he's fine with killing pigs, but flinches at rape? Hypocrite."
"They're both violations. Both ugly. If he's truly disgusted, he should be disgusted by all of it."
"But what pisses me off the most… is cruelty without purpose."
"That kind of creature—who harms for pleasure, without gain, without reason… I hate that more than anything."
He closed his eyes. The girl stared at him, unsure if she was sitting beside a savior or a nightmare.