The harsh clang of metal rang out, shattering the morning silence as a voice barked, "Oi!" The sound was followed by a sharp bang against Yomi’s cage. Inside, Yomi remained motionless, his body exhausted from the night’s ordeal, still seated in a lotus position. Unconscious yet serene, his breathing was steady, a stark contrast to the chaos outside his mind.
Thanir, the ever-cruel overseer, scowled at the lack of response. With a sly grin, he grabbed a mug of icy water, tossing its contents directly onto Yomi. The frigid splash sent a jolt through Yomi’s system, pulling him abruptly from his meditative state. His eyes shot open, alert and unyielding, meeting Thanir’s gaze without flinching.
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Thanir sneered, his voice dripping with mockery as he kicked the cage’s bars for emphasis. "Those coins that paid for your sorry hide aren’t going to waste themselves."
He leaned closer, his grin widening as his imagination ran wild with the countless ways he could break the new Dra’kesh slave. The thought was intoxicating to him, but Yomi remained unnervingly calm. His ashen blue hair, damp from the water, clung to his face as he pushed it back with deliberate nonchalance, refusing to rise to the bait.
"Oh, I see," Thanir chuckled darkly, a malicious gleam lighting up his eyes. "The strong, silent type, huh?" His tone took on a sinister edge as his hand drifted to his belt, where a whip hung like a serpent coiled and ready to strike. With theatrical flair, he removed the whip and ran his tongue disturbingly along its length, his twisted grin widening.
The old man in the neighboring cage visibly recoiled, while the young beast girl whimpered, shrinking back into the shadows of her enclosure. Both bore scars—physical and emotional—from Thanir’s sadistic tendencies, and the mere sight of the whip was enough to send shivers down their spines.
Yet Yomi remained unmoved. His steady gaze and composed demeanor seemed to sap Thanir of the satisfaction he craved. Yomi’s silence wasn’t defiance—it was indifference, a cold dismissal of Thanir’s entire existence.
"Good, good," Thanir hissed, his voice low and guttural. "I do love breaking the proud ones in the dungeon." His eyes darkened with anticipation, the promise of pain fueling his cruel delight.
Before he could act, a sharp voice interrupted his twisted reverie.
"Thanir!" Lirien’s commanding tone cut through the air, drawing his attention away from Yomi. She stood at the doorway, arms crossed, her expression stern. "Boss wants you in his room. Now."
Thanir’s lip curled in frustration, but he knew better than to ignore an order from Raiven. "Lucky scum," he muttered under his breath, casting a venomous glare at Yomi before storming off, the whip slapping against his thigh as he walked away.
Yomi exhaled slowly, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His tormentor was gone, at least for now. The air around him settled into uneasy quiet, broken only by the distant sounds of the bustling morning. The old man and beast girl exchanged cautious glances, relief softening their features as they realized that, for a moment, Thanir’s sadistic games were postponed.
Lirien approached the beast girl’s cage with a grace that belied the grim surroundings. She leaned in, her hand slipping through the bars to gently pat the panda-like child on the head. "Good morning," she greeted softly, her voice carrying a rare warmth. From her pouch, she produced a stale loaf of bread, handing it to the girl, who eagerly began to devour it with small, hungry bites.
Turning to the adjacent cage, Lirien pulled out two more loaves. She extended one toward the old man, his frail hands trembling as he accepted it. "Thank you, miss," he said, his gratitude evident in the reverence of his voice.
Lirien then approached Yomi’s cage, holding out the final loaf. But Yomi was different. He made no move to accept it. Instead, his piercing storm-gray eyes locked onto hers, unblinking and unnervingly intense. It was as though he were peering through her, unraveling her very essence.
Annoyed by his ungrateful attitude, Lirien snapped, "That attitude will get you killed, you know that, right?" Her tone was sharp, but Yomi’s response was unexpectedly calm, his voice smooth yet commanding.
"Where is your honor?" he asked, his gaze unwavering.
The question struck a nerve. Lirien’s heart skipped a beat, though she quickly masked it with a scoff. "Honor? Honor?" she repeated mockingly.
Yomi’s voice grew colder, more cutting. "You are a blade specialist, aren’t you?" he pressed.
Lirien crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "What a strange way to address an Aura user," she replied. "Yes, I fight with a sword. What of it?"
"Pathetic," Yomi spat, his tone laced with disdain. "You have no right to wield a sword."
The words hit harder than she expected, their weight amplified by the steady conviction in his voice. Lirien’s irritation flared, her pride bruised. "Wow," she retorted sarcastically, stepping closer. "What hit you in the head, Dra’kesh? Tough talk coming from behind a cage."
Yomi’s lips curled into a malicious smile. "Cage?" he echoed softly. Then, without breaking eye contact, he raised a finger and pressed it against one of the bars. With a faint creak, the steel bent slightly under the pressure.
Lirien’s eyes widened in disbelief. Her instincts screamed at her as she expanded her Aura, scanning him to confirm her suspicions. What she sensed sent a chill down her spine.
"Impossible," she breathed, backing away cautiously. The Dra’kesh had no detectable mana within him—none of the power that normally accompanied such feats. Yet he bent steel as though it were no more than soft clay.
Yomi tilted his head, his gaze mocking. "What’s wrong,Aura user?" he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.
Lirien struggled to compose herself, the certainty she once carried now rattled. This was no ordinary slave. Whatever game Yomi was playing, it was clear he wasn’t biding time out of fear. No—he was waiting. Watching. Calculating.