1 Chapter 1: The Slave

"Cruel is what they say I am, but what I am is a reflection of them." — Nine, the Healer, Year 423 AR.

It was 420 years ago now, that the door that connected the Earth and the Phantom World was forever closed by the Healer, a title and responsibility randomly passed down through generations from time primordial.

But ages before then, Earth and the Phantom World lived in harmony, with the Healer serving as their bridge. But the years have been unkind; the humans evolved…

…and the peace they held with their mystical counterparts turned into war.

With all the violence, death, the tarnish — Jenova, the current Healer of the said time, made the ultimate decision to separate the two worlds, once again bringing peace to the two worlds. For that was her role, after all — to mend, to heal the broken world and its people, and restore... order After the Rift.

"And now, my classmates, with the threat of war past us, we as a people, have begun to advance at a rate faster than anyone could have imagined.

The Kuruk Tribe of the South, dark savages they may be, have learned to open their shores to the world. It is said that their people could lift ships, but who knows if they are true… I personally don't think so.

The Hana Kingdom, becoming even more peaceful than they already were before the war. But make no mistake, they are collaborators of the beasts from the Phantom World; tamers and summoners of the spirits, they call themselves, I think not!

And then, the Republic of Maize… traitors. Once part of a greater kingdom, but have separated due to their innate greed. Boo hoo. Their ability to control objects with their minds is but a weaker version of something more grand. And finally…

…The Gilmark Nation! Our nation! The greatest continent on Earth, the chosen nation. Our people are capable of bending the elements, the very earth itself and command it to our will.

The Will of the Healer has been passed down through our great people for 3 generations because we are the chosen. Even now, the great Healer rests only an island away from us, sick… weak, ill. Able to heal the sick, the wounded, even the very Earth itself… but unable to heal himself. But we're not worried, because we know…

…we know the next Healer will still be one of us, specifically me!"

"That is good and all, Master Iain… but you were given the task to report about Soldierborns and their importance to Grimalk."

In a small and very private classroom, a boy, Iain, was standing in front of his classmates as he gave a great and prideful speech. Unfortunately for him, with the teacher reprimanding him, his fellow classmates burst out in a fit of laughter; enough to cause the fires in the lamps that lit up their room to dance wildly.

"I… I was getting to that…" Iain could really only stutter in embarrassment as everyone continued to laugh. But as he heard a whisper of a breath touching his ear, he suddenly slammed his fist on the head of the person beside him, hard.

Hard enough that the boy he hit staggered and almost dropped to the ground. This violent and impulsive act, however, was not reprimanded by the teacher at all, and even escalated the laughter of Iain's classmates.

"Were you also laughing at me!?" Iain bellowed as he looked at the boy, much smaller than he was, standing up and collecting himself. The boy's eyes; even with blood dripping from his nose, were completely still and emotionless. He was dirty; his clothes, seemingly unwashed since the day it was sewed.

"Master Iain, that's enough," the teacher raised his hand, "The boy was not laughing at all, he is not capable of doing so — which is something that I shouldn't be explaining…

…because that is your task."

"Of course, teacher," Iain breathed in as he clasped his fist and nodded to his teacher before facing his classmates again, "The great nation of Gilmark has—"

"Get to the point, Master Iain."

"This is Nine," Iain turned to look at the dirty boy, Nine, "He is my family's slave, and a Soldierborn."

And as soon as Iain said those words, his classmates let out a collective breath of gasp; their eyes, not knowing whether to stare or stray their eyes away from Nine.

"Unlike the rest of the other nations, Grimalk is not complaisant enough to believe that the threat of the Demon World has passed," Iain then began explaining as he started walking around the emotionless Nine. Their teacher, giving a nod of approval as Iain finally started taking things seriously,

"And so, we created an army. Giving those who are powerless amongst us to fight for our great nation, the Soldierborns. Emotionless, devoid of any empathy, but most importantly… obedient to their masters…

…Nine, punch yourself."

Most of the female students quickly covered their eyes as soon as they heard Iain's orders.

A second.

A few more.

And an entire minute had passed, however, but Nine did absolutely nothing at all.

"N…Nine," Iain could not help but stutter as he was once again embarrassed in front of his classmates, "I order you to punch yourself."

Nine, however, just shook his head, "I only follow the Master's command," he then said. His voice, almost hoarse and deep, unbefitting for someone his age.

"I am your Master!" Iain stomped his foot on the floor as a violent gust of wind wrapped around his fist.

"No."

"Wh—"

And before Iain could even express his anger, his classmates once again started to laugh; even their teacher joined subtly.

Suffice it to say, Iain was no longer able to continue his report and just ran out of the classroom.

"Master Iain!" The teacher screamed and gestured to Iain to come back. But alas, the only thing he and the students could do was watch as Iain left the room, followed by his slave who just calmly walked after bowing toward them.

"Well then, young masters…" The teacher let out a short but very deep breath a few seconds after as he looked at his students,

"...who is next?"

***

"You. Humiliated. Me!"

Iain was back in his marbled home, on a large estate that a normal man would usually use for a farm; but for Iain and his family, it was a garden for leisure. He was at the back of their mansion, with their otherwise kept and verdant garden now littered with blood.

There were other people there, but the only thing most of them could do was just stand in a line and look away as one of them was being beaten and flogged. Nine was planted on the ground with his face buried in the grass; his body flinching violently each time Iain strikes him with a thick, iron staff. The smell of burnt flesh was evident in the air as well, as Iain was heating up the staff with his hands.

"Master Iain, please stop! He's going to die!" One of the people stepped forward as he could no longer bear to see the small boy being beaten.

"Did I order you to speak!?" Iain quickly pointed his staff at the old man, "You overstep yourself, Slave!"

"I… I apologize, Master Iain," the old man could really only lower his head and kneel down, "But if… if it pleases you, then please just beat me. The boy will die if you continue."

"You dare!?" Iain's voice almost cracked as he rushed toward the old slave, "This little runt disobeys me, and now you!? Just how many—"

"Now, now, dear Iain. Pay respect to your elders."

Iain was about to hit the old man right in the face, but a middle-aged woman grabbed his staff and took it away from him.

"Mother, I—"

"Morys has been in our family even before I was born — you have no right to treat him as such," Iain's mother did not let him talk as she placed the staff on his shoulder, "Iain, apologize to Mister Morys."

"No!" Iain screamed as he just walked away. Of course, not forgetting to kick the almost unconscious Nine before leaving.

"Huh, then I apologize for my son's behaviour, Morys."

"It… it is not needed, Madam Eryn."

Eryn was beautiful, her age not obvious at all as there was not even a single fold present on her beautiful fair face. The smile on her face was as gentle as it could be. And yet, the old slave, Morys, could not help but flinch with every bit of movement she made; his legs, even trembling very subtly as he tried his best to avoid her bright amber eyes.

"Hm," Eryn shrugged before turning to look at Nine, "My husband bought that boy for a very high price, if I remember. He is a Soldierboy, no?"

"A... Soldierborn, Madam Eryn."

"Huh, well..." Eryn let out a small sigh as she shook her head, "We can't have him dying just like that without being of use to us, no? Bring him to my chambers, Mister Morys...

...I'll tend to him myself."

"Madam…" Not only Morys, but all the other slaves lined up could not help but hold their breaths as they heard Eryn's words, "But-"

"Now, Morys."

Morys took in another deep breath before bowing his head and making his way to Nine, carefully and gently lifting up his battered body.

"I'm…" And as Morys started to follow Eryn, he whispered into his ear,

"...I'm sorry… I'm really sorry, boy."