Chapter 4: The Alistair Estate
807 Words
The carriage rumbled to a halt. Chains clinked as Yuta was yanked to his feet, forced out into sunlight.
The world that greeted him was a stark contrast to the dungeon’s darkness. Before him loomed the Alistair estate, sprawling like a fortress wrapped in wealth. High stone walls crowned with iron spikes rose around manicured gardens. Beyond them, towers of pale marble reached toward the sky, their windows glinting like eyes that watched everything below.
The gates creaked open. Guards in polished armor, bearing the lion crest of Leon, stood at attention. Their expressions betrayed nothing, but their eyes lingered on Yuta’s chains with practiced indifference. He wasn’t the first slave to be dragged through these gates, nor would he be the last.
Ashford hopped lightly from the carriage, his boots never touching the dust of the road. “Finally,” he muttered, stretching. “Home.”
Marthius followed, a silent shadow. He turned to the guards. “Inform the steward. Tell him Lord Ashford has returned.”
Yuta was shoved forward again. The chains around his wrists rattled as he stumbled across polished stone tiles leading into the estate’s courtyard. Everything here was pristine: trimmed hedges, fountains spilling crystal water, and statues of lions carved with frightening detail.
It felt less like a home and more like a reminder of power.
Inside, the air was cooler, perfumed faintly with incense. Servants lined the grand hall, bowing deeply as Ashford strode past. Not one dared to lift their eyes.
“Welcome back, young master,” murmured an elderly steward, stooping low. His eyes flickered to Yuta, but he quickly looked away. “Shall I prepare your chambers?”
“Yes. And have this one,” Ashford jerked his chin at Yuta, “sent to the slave quarters. He’ll need chains until I decide otherwise.”
“As you command.”
Two guards stepped forward, gripping Yuta by the arms. Their gauntlets dug into his thin frame, but he didn’t resist. He scanned everything as they dragged him along corridors hung with silk tapestries, chandeliers casting warm golden light, and rows of doors that promised secrets behind them.
Finally, they pushed him through a heavy wooden door into a darker, plainer wing of the estate. The smell here was different: sweat, straw, and iron.
The slave quarters.
The room was dim, lit by a few oil lamps. Straw mats lined the floor, and iron rings were set into the walls. Several pairs of eyes turned toward him, other slaves, young and old. Some were gaunt and hollow like those in the dungeon, others stronger, their muscles hardened by labor. None spoke. Silence here seemed ingrained, as natural as breathing.
The guards shackled Yuta’s chains to one of the wall rings before leaving. The door slammed shut, plunging the room into uneasy quiet.
For a moment, Yuta only listened to the shallow breathing of those around him, the rustle of straw, the distant clang of steel from somewhere deeper in the estate.
So this is where I begin… he thought.
A boy not much older than him shuffled closer, his face pale beneath the grime. His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “New, aren’t you?”
Yuta nodded.
“Don’t draw attention,” the boy warned. “The young master… he doesn’t like it when slaves speak without permission.” His gaze darted toward the door, fear etched in every line of his face. “And his father is worse.”
Ashford’s father.
Yuta felt his stomach tighten. He remembered Ashford’s casual cruelty, the way he’d spoken of Koel’s death as if it were nothing. If that was the son, then what kind of man was the father?
Yuta clenched his fists against the chains. No matter who they are, I won’t let them break me. Not again.
He leaned back against the cold stone wall, his mind sharpening. His first priority was survival. His second was strength. Whatever power this world held, whether sword or sorcery, he would grasp it with both hands.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed outside. The door creaked open.
Marthius stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a shadow swallowing flame. The slaves stiffened instantly.
His gaze settled on Yuta. “You. The young master wants to test you tomorrow.”
Yuta’s pulse quickened, but he forced his expression still. “Test me?”
Marthius’s lips twitched; whether in amusement or disdain, Yuta couldn’t tell. “You’ll find out soon enough. Rest while you can, tomorrow decides if you live as a toy… or die as trash.”
The door shut again.
Yuta sat in silence, the weight of his chains heavy but not unbearable. His resolve, however, only grew sharper.
Tomorrow would decide nothing but his first step. His fate would not be left in their hands.
Not this time.
- Writer
