"I get it. I knew from the beginning that one day or another we'd have to make that decision. But don't you think it's too early?" Ritso's voice was tight, her gaze fixed on the rough cobblestones beneath their feet.
"We already have three halls with two floors each. Each floor can comfortably hold at least twenty people. If we wait any longer," Ash countered, his tone pragmatic, "I don't think we'll be able to transport them safely. The numbers are growing too quickly."
Ritso stopped abruptly, her gaze dropping to her worn sneakers as if seeking answers in the scuffed leather. "I get it, okay? I get it. But can't we stop totally importing slaves into the underpaths?" It was a plea more then a question.
Ash shook his head. "No, we can't. I've read about it; there are countless places these slaves come from. We don't have the resources, the manpower, to stop it all. It's not easy, Ritso. Not by a long shot."
She reached out, her fingers clutching at the fabric of his jacket. Her voice trembled as she continued, "But Ash… what about all the others? The ones still suffering the same fate?"
"It—it's not our responsibility," Ash said, the words clipped and firm, though a flicker of something unreadable crossed his eyes.
Something snapped within Ritso. Her grip on his jacket tightened, her knuckles turning white. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'RE SAYING?" She bit back the rest of her enraged retort, the faces of the rescued slaves flashing through her mind – their hopeful eyes, their tentative smiles when they understood they were finally safe.
Ash gently but firmly dislodged her hand, his gaze locking onto hers, his reddish-orange eyes filled with a stark determination. "You need to learn, Ritso, that we can't save everyone. We can only save the people we can, with the resources we have. Are you suggesting we endanger the people we've already rescued because there are more we wish we could help? It's not like I don't want to help others, but we don't have the space, the hands. It's just you, me, kelly and a few trusted individuals outside. And even with the plan I'm suggesting, you'll need to make three separate trips from each hall to the gate."
A single tear escaped Ritso's eye, tracing a hot path down her cheek, quickly followed by another. Desperate to regain control, she pressed her lips together, but the dam had broken. Soon, sobs wracked her body, each one a silent scream against the injustice of their world.
Ash watched her, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He saw her pain, her fierce empathy, the raw frustration of their limitations. Finally, he spoke, the words coming out in a low, earnest rush. "I try my best… to make sure the people we have will live to see the light of the shining sun."
She nodded, her sobs gradually subsiding, understanding the stark reality of their situation. "Th-thank you, Ash…"
She buried her face in his chest, her shoulders still trembling. Memories of the slaves and her own past before their rescue flooded her mind – their hollow eyes, their emaciated bodies, the heavy chains that had bound them. In the darkest corner of the cell counting days.
"You know how hard it is," she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest, "knowing that someone, somewhere, is being chained and tortured for nothing but someone's pleasure and greed. I saw the horror, Ash. I saw their naked, skinny bodies, heavily chained and locked in cells that weren't fit for animals. That sight… it still makes me tremble."
Ash looked down at her, his expression still composed, but a deep understanding etched in his sharp features. "I know." He wrapped his arms around her, a silent embrace offering what little comfort he could against the overwhelming darkness.
.
The weight of the gold coins felt substantial in the knight's worn leather bag. Sir Barnen turned his gaze towards the village, a vibrant scene of life unfolding under the afternoon sun. Dwarves with their broad shoulders worked alongside graceful dark elves, their laughter a melodic counterpoint to the chirping of birds. Human farmers guided their sturdy oxen through the fields, while a family of the furry Sylvani bartered animatedly at a bustling market stall. It was a tableau of peaceful coexistence, a testament to the unexpected harmony of this fantastical kingdom.
As they walked through the bustling marketplace, the sights and sounds of the Southern Province washed over Ash and Ritso. The air was a vibrant mix of earthy smells from the produce stalls, the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread, and the metallic tang of the dwarves' smithies. The chatter of bartering merchants, the laughter of children chasing stray chickens, and the rhythmic clang of hammers created a lively symphony.
Ritso, still somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer openness and sunlight after the perpetual gloom of the underpaths, kept close to Ash, her senses on high alert. Her eyes darted from the intricate carvings on the dwarven tools to the flowing silks displayed by human vendors, taking in the vibrant tapestry of life with a mixture of awe and apprehension. She instinctively reached for the familiar weight of a hidden dagger at her hip, a habit hard to break even in this seemingly peaceful place.
Ash, on the other hand, observed the scene with a more calculating gaze. He noted the easy camaraderie between the different races, the lack of overt tension or prejudice. It was a stark contrast to the hierarchies of the underpaths, where survival often depended on exploiting weakness and enforcing dominance. He saw a potential here, a foundation upon which a different kind of society could be built for those they rescued.
A group of Sylvani children, their ears twitching with curiosity, stopped their game of tag to stare at Ash's unusual appearance. Their large, innocent eyes lingered on the faint remnants of scales on his hands and the subtle, almost imperceptible flick of his tail beneath his jeans. One brave little Sylvan, no older than five, tugged on his mother's skirt and whispered something, pointing at Ash. The mother, a kind-faced Sylvan with warm brown fur, smiled apologetically at Ash and gently steered her child away.
Ritso nudged Ash with her elbow, a small, almost shy smile on her face. "They've probably never seen anyone like you before… or me, for that matter." Her own horns, usually a source of fear and prejudice in the underpaths, seemed to elicit only mild curiosity here.
Ash met her gaze, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. "It's… different. In a good way, I think."
They passed a group of dwarves loudly haggling over the price of artifacts, their booming voices echoing through the square. One particularly stout dwarf with a magnificent braided beard noticed Ash and gave him a curt nod, his eyes lingering on Ash's build with a hint of professional appraisal.
"Strong-looking guy," the dwarf grumbled to his companion, "good for the mines, that one."
Ritso bristled slightly, her protective instincts kicking in, but Ash placed a calming hand on her arm. "It's alright," he murmured. "Just an observation."
As they continued towards the Citadel, the architecture shifted from the more organic, interwoven structures favored by the elves and Sylvani to the solid, imposing stonework of human and dwarven craftsmanship. The buildings grew taller, the streets wider, leading towards the grand structure that dominated the skyline.
"House of Lionheart, one of most powerful noble house on the enter kingdom." Sir Barnen said, gesturing towards the imposing fortress ahead. "Seat of Count Lionheart. A place of power, but also of justice… or so we strive." A hint of weariness laced his tone.
Ritso stared up at the towering walls, a sense of awe mixed with a prickle of unease. It felt like stepping into a different world, one with rules and hierarchies she didn't yet understand.
Ash, ever observant, noticed the subtle shift in Barnen's demeanor. "The Count… is he a fair man?"
Barnen hesitated for a moment before answering. "Count Lionheart… They values order and prosperity above all else. The can be… stern. But that is just, in their own way. The understands the importance of balance in the kingdom. And do not judge."
His words did little to ease the apprehension that had begun to settle in Ritso's stomach. The world outside the underpaths was proving to be far more complex and nuanced than she had ever imagined. The easy harmony she had witnessed in the marketplace might not extend to the halls of power within the imposing Citadel. As they approached the massive gates, the weight of their mission, and the potential consequences of their actions, pressed down on them with increasing intensity.
"Okay, Mister Ash," Sir Barnen replied, his voice gruff but softened with a newfound respect. His gaze flickered to Ritso, who stood slightly behind Ash, her hand shielding her eyes from the unfamiliar brightness of the open sky. "We will take these people into the village and teach them the ways of our life, ensuring this harmony endures. And before you return to the underpaths, please meet with Count Lionheart. Sire expecting you."
Ash nodded, a quiet satisfaction gleaming in his reddish-orange eyes. "Sure, Sir Barnen, lead the way."
He turned, the weight of his clandestine responsibility settling comfortably upon his broad shoulders, and began to walk towards the Citadel. The villagers, a diverse mix of dwarves, elves, humans, and the nimble Sylvani, watched their approach with a blend of curiosity and apprehension. Whispers of the Citadel, a place of learning and order, had reached their ears, a symbol of both hope and the unknown. Ritso and Barnen followed him, their expressions mirroring the villagers' intrigued uncertainty.
After a short walk through the lively marketplace, Sir Barnen stopped in the center of the village, his voice carrying a note of authority. "This is the Southern Province of the Sangrael Kingdom. The Count is expecting you in the main hall of the Citadel. Just follow this path; it will lead you directly there." He gestured down a cobblestone street that branched off from the bustling market square. "Once you've spoken with the Count, return here, and we'll begin the preparations for the journey."
Ash touched the hilt of Barnen's sword in a gesture of acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between them.
[Books are useful, Respectful gestures way of many species. My strong memory is useful in this life.]
Ash and Ritso walked towards the imposing Citadel of Count Lionheart, its ancient stones looming against the clear sky. The weathered walls, etched with intricate runes that seemed to hum with a latent power, spoke of centuries past. Flags bearing the Lionheart sigil – a golden lion rampant on a field of crimson – snapped proudly in the gentle breeze, a clear declaration of the Count's authority and noble lineage. The path leading to the massive iron gates was paved with smooth, grey stones, worn smooth by the countless feet that had trod it over the ages. As they approached the formidable gates, guarded by two stoic sentinels clad in gleaming armor, the heavy barriers swung inward silently, as if anticipating their arrival. The air within the Citadel walls felt different, charged with a palpable sense of history and unwavering purpose.
Across the vast, smoky hall, Ash's gaze locked with a woman seated on a raised dais. A jolt of raw tension, sharp and undeniable, sparked between them. She was a striking figure in severe black and vibrant red, her stark white hair framing a face of cold, regal authority. Her crimson eyes, sharp and intelligent, assessed him with an unnerving intensity, radiating an unspoken command that made him feel exposed, vulnerable. Her presence was like the hush before a storm, a chilling promise of complexities and potential conflict that lay ahead.
[What?]