The morning after our return from Myrtus City, the house feels different. No longer a permanent refuge but a temporary base before an uncertain journey. I wake early. My mind already racing with images of vast oceans and foreign lands. Ancient practitioners of dark magic. The slim possibility of freedom.
Frazier is already awake when I emerge from the bedroom. Moving with purposeful energy as he retrieves his collection of books from various shelves and cabinets. The precious volumes—including the Arcana Originis and other texts on magical theory—spread across the main table like pieces of a puzzle we need to solve.
"If we're going to do this," he tells me as I approach the table, "we need to understand exactly what we're dealing with. Eagor gave us a direction, but we need more specific information."
I approach the books with hope and trepidation. These texts represent knowledge that could free me. But also the accumulated wisdom of centuries of magical bondage. The irony isn't lost on me. I'm using the tools of my oppression to seek liberation.
The first book I open contains detailed diagrams of binding rituals. The magical formulae used to create slave contracts. Seeing the theoretical framework of my own enslavement laid out in clinical detail makes my skin crawl. But I force myself to read on.
"Here," I say, pointing to a passage. "This explains why the brand weakens us physically. It's not just a mark of ownership. It actively siphons our natural strength to maintain the binding."
Frazier leans over to read where I'm pointing. His shoulder brushes mine. "Which suggests that breaking the contract might restore your full strength. If we can find a way to break it."
If hangs between us like a sword.
The first two days pass in intensive study. Frazier guides me through the relevant texts. Teaching me to cross-reference different sources. Identify consistent patterns in the information. My literacy, once a source of pride in my village, now becomes a crucial tool in my quest for freedom.
We work side by side at the small table. Surrounded by open books, parchments, and Frazier's careful notes. The Arcana Originis provides the theoretical foundation. Other texts offer historical examples and practical applications. I prove to be an excellent research partner. My quick mind making connections that sometimes escape Frazier's more methodical approach.
"Look at this," I say on the second day, pointing to a passage in an ancient text. "This author mentions 'bonds of origin.' Could that be referring to the source rituals in Vaelthorne?"
Frazier examines the text. "Possibly. The terminology is archaic, but the context suggests..." He trails off, reading more carefully. "This is actually very helpful. It confirms that the original binding rituals were tied to specific locations."
I feel a surge of satisfaction at contributing meaningfully to our research. For too long, I've been passive in my own fate. Acted upon rather than acting. This feels like reclaiming some measure of control.
But as the hours pass and we delve deeper into the texts, my initial excitement fades. Each new piece of information makes our task seem more impossible rather than more achievable.
"The geomantic requirements," Frazier mutters, consulting a chart. "The binding magic draws power from specific locations where the barriers between realms are thin. According to this, most of those sites are in northern Seroven. Specifically in what the texts call 'Vaelthorne.' The ancient region where demons and elves first practiced binding magic."
I trace the locations on his maps. My heart sinking. "That's deep in contested territory. The maps show it as part of the Keldoran Kingdom, but the footnotes mention demon clans, Elven enclaves, and Dwarven holds all claiming parts of it."
"No central authority," Frazier agrees grimly. "No guarantee of safe passage. And that's assuming we can even reach Seroven in the first place."
The logistics alone are staggering. To reach Vaelthorne, we'd need to cross the Vast Ocean to reach Azumar port in the Calren Kingdom, travel north through desert regions to Aurelith, then somehow make it through the contested northern territories. The journey alone could take months, assuming we survive it.
By the third day, a clear but daunting picture emerges from our research. The slave contracts aren't just magical constructs. They're part of an ancient system of soul magic that requires specific conditions to break.
I read aloud from one particularly dense text: "The counter-rituals require geomantic alignment with the original binding sites, astronomical timing that occurs perhaps once every few decades, ritual components that include materials from the original creation, and practitioners with deep knowledge of soul magic."
"And that's just the beginning," Frazier adds, consulting another source. "Listen to this: 'The personal cost of breaking such bonds cannot be understated. The ritual requires not just external components but internal sacrifice. Prices paid in blood and spirit that may exceed the value of the freedom gained.'"
I set down the book I'm holding. My hands trembling slightly. "What does that mean? 'Prices paid in blood and spirit'?"
"I don't know," Frazier admits. "The texts are deliberately vague about the personal costs. But it suggests that even if we meet all the other requirements, the process itself might be worse than remaining enslaved."
The implications settle over me like a heavy shroud. We're not just talking about a difficult journey or finding the right practitioners. We're talking about potentially sacrificing everything. Possibly including our lives. For a chance at freedom that might not even work.
"The astronomical alignments," I say, consulting a chart with growing despair. "The next one isn't for another eight years."
Eight years. Eight more years of magical bondage. Of being property rather than a person. Of having my choices dictated by forces beyond my control. The thought is almost unbearable.
"We could search for practitioners in the meantime," Frazier suggests, but his voice lacks conviction. "Learn what we can, gather the necessary components."
"Assuming we can find practitioners willing to help," I reply. "Assuming they even exist. Assuming the knowledge we need hasn't been lost to time."
Too many assumptions. Too many unknowns. Too many ways for this desperate hope to prove meaningless.
The fourth day brings the most devastating revelation. In a particularly ancient text, we find a detailed account of an attempt to break a slave contract. The ritual was performed correctly. All requirements met. But the result was catastrophic.
I read the passage aloud, my voice growing smaller with each word: "The slave perished in agony as the magical bonds tore apart her soul, leaving naught but an empty shell. The master, too, was grievously damaged by the backlash, his mind shattered by the severing of bonds he had thought merely legal rather than spiritual."
The book falls from my hands, hitting the table with a dull thud. "This can't be the only way," I whisper. "There has to be another option."
But text after text confirms the same grim reality. The slave contracts were designed to be unbreakable. Their creators having learned from earlier, less permanent forms of magical bondage. Every safeguard they built into the system makes freedom more impossible.
Frazier watches my face as I continue reading. Seeing hope drain away with each page. I can tell he wants to lie. To minimize the dangers. To offer false comfort. But I deserve the truth, no matter how painful.
"The success rate," he says quietly, "seems to be less than one in ten. And that's assuming we can meet all the other requirements."
Less than one in ten. A ninety percent chance of death for the possibility of freedom. And that's only if we can accomplish the impossible task of reaching Vaelthorne. Finding practitioners who know the rituals. Gathering the required components. Waiting for the proper astronomical alignment.
As the weight of our research settles in, I begin to unravel emotionally. The combination of learning about my homeland's destruction, understanding the near-impossibility of my freedom, facing the reality that I may never see my brother again. It becomes too much to bear.
It starts with small signs. My hands shaking as I turn pages. My breathing becoming irregular. Tears I try to hide while reading accounts of failed attempts at freedom. But as we continue, finding more obstacles and fewer solutions, my composure finally breaks.
"I can't do this anymore," I say suddenly, pushing back from the table hard enough to knock over my chair. "I can't keep reading about how impossible this is. How I'm going to die if we try. How everything I've ever cared about is probably already gone."
The words come out in a rush. Months of suppressed desperation finally finding voice. I stand abruptly, pacing to the window as if movement might help me escape the crushing weight of what we've learned.
"I want to go home," I continue, my voice rising with each word. "I want to find Kyo. I want to see my father's grave and Kai's memorial stone. I want to go back to the forest and pretend none of this ever happened."
Frazier reaches for me, but I pull away. Unable to bear comfort when everything feels so hopeless.
"I know it's impossible," I continue, my voice cracking. "I know I can't go back. I know the forest might be ashes and my brother might be dead and even if he's alive, I'm still branded, still bound, still a slave who can never truly come home."
The truth of it hits me like a physical blow. Even if by some miracle we succeeded in breaking the contract, even if I survived the process, what would I return to? A homeland consumed by war, a family scattered or dead, a life that no longer exists?
Unable to contain my emotions any longer, I flee the house. My feet carry me automatically to the riverbank behind the house, the place where I've found some measure of peace during our time here. But now even this sanctuary feels tainted by the weight of impossible dreams.
I collapse on the soft grass, my body shaking with sobs that seem to come from my very soul. All the strength I've built up, all the walls I've constructed to survive my captivity, crumble at once. The grief I've been holding back—for my lost home, my missing brother, my dead lover, my stolen freedom—pours out of me in waves.
"I'm so tired," I whisper between sobs, my voice broken. "I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of hoping. I'm tired of pretending this might work out somehow."
I hear footsteps behind me and know it's Frazier, but I don't turn around. I can't bear to see pity in his eyes, or worse, the recognition that he's committed to an impossible task.
He approaches carefully, as if I'm a wounded animal that might flee or attack. When he sits beside me on the riverbank without speaking, just offering his presence, I find myself grateful for his restraint. I don't need words right now—I need someone to witness my breaking without trying to fix it.
"I keep thinking about Kai," I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. "He died protecting me, and for what? So I could end up branded and enslaved anyway? So I could spend my life dreaming of a freedom I'll never have?"
"He died because he loved you," Frazier says quietly. "Because protecting you mattered more to him than his own life. That doesn't become meaningless just because the outcome wasn't what he hoped for."
"But what's the point of surviving if I can never really live?"
It's the question that cuts to the heart of everything—the nature of hope, the value of struggle, the meaning of existence under impossible circumstances. I don't expect an answer, because I'm not sure there is one.
We sit in silence as my sobs gradually subside into exhausted quiet. The river flows past us, indifferent to human suffering, carrying its waters toward distant seas. Birds call from the trees, life continuing its ancient patterns regardless of our pain.
As the last of my tears dry on my cheeks, Frazier makes a decision that surprises even him.
"Look at me," he says gently. When I raise my tear-stained face, he continues with quiet intensity. "I will not let you remain a slave forever."
"You can't promise that," I whisper. "The research shows—"
"I don't care what the research shows," he interrupts, his voice growing stronger. "I don't care about the odds or the dangers or the costs. We'll find a way. If the counter-rituals are too dangerous, we'll find another path. If the practitioners in Seroven can't help, we'll look elsewhere. If it takes years or decades, if it requires traveling to the ends of the earth, if it costs everything I have—I will find a way to break that contract."
The promise hangs in the air between us. I stare at him, seeing something in his eyes I've never seen before. Not desire or possession or even affection. But genuine commitment to me as a person deserving of freedom.
"Why?" I ask. "Why would you risk so much for me?"
Frazier is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice carries a certainty that makes my breath catch.
"Because you're not property," he says simply. "You never were, despite what the law says, despite what the contract enforces."
He pauses, struggling with emotions he's not used to expressing. "And because somewhere along the way, your freedom became more important to me than keeping you."
The words hit me like a revelation. This isn't about romance or desire. It's about recognition of my fundamental humanity.
"You really mean it," I say, not quite a question.
"I really mean it."
We sit together by the river as the sun begins to set. Something has shifted between us. The research has shown us the magnitude of our task, but it has also clarified our commitment to each other and to the goal of my freedom.
As we walk back to the house, we begin to discuss practical matters. The research has given us a destination—Seroven, the northern continent where the slave contract magic originated.
"Seroven isn't like Okeon," Frazier explains. "The political situation is much more complex. The Calren Kingdom controls the southern desert regions, but they're constantly at odds with the Keldoran Kingdom in the north. The northern mountains where we need to go are nominally Keldoran territory, but demon clans, Elven enclaves, and Dwarven holds all claim parts of it."
"When do we leave?" I ask.
"Soon," Frazier replies. "The longer we wait, the more time we have to lose our nerve. And the more time the war has to destroy whatever might be left of your homeland."
Back at the house, we're surrounded by the books that have shown us both the impossibility and the necessity of our quest. The research phase is over; now comes the much more dangerous phase of actually attempting what we've learned.
"There's something else," I say as we begin organizing the books. "If we're going to do this, if we're going to risk everything on this journey, I want to know more about you. About your past, your military service, the things that shaped you into someone willing to make this commitment."
Frazier pauses in his organizing. I can see him weighing how much truth to share. "Some things are better left buried," he says finally.
"Maybe," I reply. "But if we're going to face impossible odds together, if we're going to trust each other with our lives, shouldn't we trust each other with our truths?"
It's a fair question, and we both know it. The man who taught me to read as a child, who bought me as a slave, who's now promising to risk everything for my freedom—he remains partly a mystery to me. And mysteries can be dangerous when your life depends on trust.
"Not tonight," he says, but there's something in his voice that suggests the conversation isn't over, just postponed. "Tonight, we plan. Tomorrow, we begin preparations. And when we're on the ship to Seroven, when we have long days with nothing to do but watch the ocean—then we'll have time for the full truth."
The weight of what we've learned settles over us both. The understanding that we're attempting something that has killed others, that will likely kill us, that might be impossible even under the best circumstances.
But knowledge, however heavy, is better than ignorance. And hope, however slim, is better than despair.
Tomorrow, we begin the quest that will either free me or destroy us both.
But tonight, for the first time since my capture, I'm not afraid of the future.
I'm ready to fight for it.