Burden

The blare of horns startled me awake. My thoughts blurred as I sat up and the memories of the invasion clawing at the edge of my mind.

I’d tried to forget the fire, the chaos, the screams that seemed to echo even now in this silent space. But it was impossible to ignore.

“Up! Outside! Move!”, the Crimson Soldier barked, setting the other villagers into motion.

The sound of boots on stone followed a cadence that brooked no hesitation. We shuffled silently toward the door, a sea of bowed heads and broken spirits. No chains bound us, but they didn’t need them. 

The morning air slapped against my face as I stepped into the courtyard. It was colder than I expected, and the sun barely crested the towering walls. Around us, workers moved like shadows, hauling stones and dragging timber. Crimson banners hung from spires and parapets, the black rose emblem stark against the blood-red fabric.

“Group five, you’re on the wall!” a soldier shouted.

A rough shove from behind sent me stumbling forward, and I joined the line heading toward the massive structure in the distance. The wall dominated the horizon, a sprawling construction of stone and timber stretching endlessly. Workers dotted its surface like ants and their movements were almost hypnotic in their monotony.

“Work until the horn sounds!” another soldier yelled, his tone as sharp as the whip hanging from his belt. “No slacking. No excuses.”

I bent to lift a stone, the rough surface biting into my palms. My arms trembled as I hoisted it, the weight a cruel reminder of how weak I’d become. The rhythm of labor surrounded me—grunts, the scrape of stone. The noise was oppressive, drowning out my thoughts. Maybe that was the point.

“Kaelan, wasn’t it?”

The voice startled me. I turned to see Darrek, the man from the cart. He was hunched over a timber bundle, his face pale but alert.

“Darrek,” I said, stepping closer.

“Just made it,” he muttered, dropping the timber with a grunt. “Thought my legs would give out before we even got here.”

We worked side by side, the silence between us heavy but not uncomfortable. The relentless rhythm of stones hitting stones filled the air, and I let myself get lost in it, my body moving on instinct. After a while, Darrek spoke again.

“This isn’t what I expected,” he said, his voice low.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The Crimson Dynasty,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the workers around us. “The stories I’ve heard—they don’t line up with this. I expected chains, whips, starvation. But this... it’s not what I imagined.”

He wasn’t wrong. The quarters we’d been given were sparse but clean, the food meager but enough. It was more than I’d expected after the weeks of hunger and terror that had come before.

“I don’t trust it,” I said finally. “It feels... wrong.”

Darrek nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “Maybe. Or maybe the stories were just that—stories.”

“Stories don’t start themselves,” another voice interrupted.

We turned to see a man standing nearby, his face gaunt and weathered. He leaned against a pile of timber, his sharp eyes scanning the workers. When he spoke, his voice was steady but heavy, as though he carried the weight of years in every word.

“The stories aren’t false. Not a word of them.”

Darrek frowned. “What are you talking about?”

The man glanced toward the soldiers patrolling nearby, his gaze calculating. “The Crimson Dynasty burned villages to the ground for decades. Enslaved thousands. Tortured anyone who resisted, sometimes for sport. These aren’t just stories.”

A chill crawled up my spine. “Then why...” I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. “Why aren’t they doing that now? Why take us here? Why give us food and shelter?”

The man’s expression darkened. “Because things are different now. The Dynasty wasn’t always like this. Twenty years ago, it was ruled by nobles—powerful lords who each controlled their territories. They ruled through fear and cruelty, always fighting among themselves. But then came Theron.”

The name floated in the air, sharp as a dagger. Even without knowing much about him, the weight of it was undeniable.

He crushed the nobles one by one, destroyed their armies, and declared himself king. The Crimson Dynasty isn’t ruled by many anymore. It’s ruled by him. And his control is absolute.”

“If Theron’s in control, why still attack villages?” Darrek asked, his voice cautious. “What more could he want?”

The man shook his head, his gaze shifting to the towering wall. “They’re looking for something. Something important. They won’t stop until they find it. And this?” He gestured to the massive structure. “This wall isn’t just a defense or a prison. It’s tied to whatever they’re after. Mark my words—they’re not building it to keep people out. They’re building it to hold something in.”

His words settled over me, heavy and suffocating. I wanted to ask more, but a sharp voice cut through the air.

“You!”

I flinched as a soldier marched toward us, his crimson armor catching the light as his gaze swept over the three of us.

“Get back to work!” he barked, jabbing a finger at the older man. “Or do you need a personal escort to remind you how to lift your hands?”

The man ducked his head, muttering a quiet, “No, sir,” before shuffling back to his station.

Darrek exhaled slowly. “Whatever they’re looking for,” he muttered, “it’s bad news.”

I didn’t respond. My mind raced with the man’s words, with the image of Theron’s shadow stretching over everything around us. Something tied to whatever we were building. Something so important that entire villages had been destroyed to find it.

I shifted the stone in my arms, the weight pressing into my skin, and forced myself to keep moving. Whatever it was, I wasn’t planning to stay long enough to find out.

The sun climbed higher, turning the cool air heavy. Darrek worked quietly beside me with an expression unreadable. Now and then, I caught him glancing toward the soldiers, his mouth set in a grim line.

I didn’t know what he was thinking, but my thoughts refused to settle. The older man’s words about Theron echoed in my mind. He’d sounded so sure, so certain. But there was something he wasn’t saying. Something that made me wonder if even he didn’t know the whole truth.

“Kaelan.”

The voice came from behind me. I turned sharply, my heart skipping, and felt a rush of relief so strong it nearly staggered me.

“Rikuto...”  His face was streaked with dirt, his clothes torn, but it was him.

“You’re alive,” he said, “I didn’t know if...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Me neither,” I admitted.  We just stood there, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us. Then a soldier’s shout snapped us back to reality.

“Keep working!”

We fell into step beside each other, heaving stones up the ramp. My arms screamed in agony, but the pain was easier to bear with Rikuto next to me.

Rikuto broke the silence first. “Do you think Renjiro made it?”

I hesitated, the memory of him flashing in my mind. The way he’d fought, the way his eyes had glowed—a wild, electric blue.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I keep thinking about him back in the village. When he fought Jorin and those guys—”

Rikuto cut in, his tone sharp. “Did you see his eyes? They didn’t look... normal. They looked like wild animals. And then he just ran off.”

I nodded, the image seared into my memory. “Yeah. It wasn’t just his eyes, though. He moved differently. Like he wasn’t even... himself.”

Rikuto frowned,  “Do you think that was... something he always could do? Or—”

“I’m not sure,” I said, cutting him off. But something about the memory tugged at me, pulling me back to a different moment. “I just remember... it wasn’t long before that when we found the cave.”

Rikuto turned to me, “What cave?”

“There was one outside the village,” I said, my voice dropping. “Renjiro had been trying to get in there for weeks. He kept talking about a crack and markings—something important. When we finally got in... I lost him.”

“You lost him?” Rikuto asked, his brow furrowed.

“When I found him again, he was... He wasn’t quite the same. It was like he’d... changed.”

Rikuto stared at me, “Changed how?”

“I don’t know. But when they attacked the village, I saw him again. We met up, and we headed toward Satoshi, and then...”

I trailed off, my chest tightening as another memory surfaced—one I didn’t want to face.

“And then?” Rikuto prompted, his voice low.

I hesitated, my mind flashing to the chaos of the attack, to what had happened to someone else. Someone I couldn’t bring myself to mention. The words stuck in my throat.

Rikuto must have seen the struggle on my face because he didn’t press me. Instead, he asked quietly, “Have you seen Kaito?”

The village burning. Renjiro and I ran through the chaos, the air thick with smoke and screams. Kaito is ahead of us, struggling to climb over the rubble. The explosion. The dust cleared to reveal his lifeless body, half-buried.

“Rikuto...” I swallowed hard, my voice quiet. “He didn’t make it.”

Rikuto froze mid-step, staring at me.

“There was an explosion,” I continued, “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His hands tightened around the stone he was carrying, his knuckles white.

Then Rikuto spoke, his voice trembling with anger and despair. “Why... why would they do this? What did we do to them to make them destroy everything?” His voice grew louder and sharper, the weight of his words cutting the air like a knife. “We lived in that village isolated from the world. We never bothered anyone! And they came, and they took it all away!”

“Rikuto...” 

He spun to face me, “What could we have possibly done to them to deserve this?” His voice cracked as it rose. “They’re monsters, Kaelan! Monsters!”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have an answer. I reached out, my hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “Rikuto...”

He pulled away as he turned back to the stones. He grabbed one roughly, hauling it onto the stack without a word.

For the rest of the morning, he didn’t speak again.

Time continued to pass as the sun rose even higher. My hands were raw, my arms trembling with each stone I lifted. 

I wiped the sweat from my face, glancing around as I adjusted the stone in my grip. That’s when I saw her.

An elderly woman a few paces away stumbled under the weight of her load, the stones in her arms slipping to the ground with a dull thud. She swayed on her feet.

My stomach twisted as I watched her take a shaky step, only for her legs to buckle. She collapsed onto her knees as the remaining stones scattered around her.

A younger man—barely older than me—rushed to her side.  

“She needs a break,” he said, his voice loud enough to catch the attention of those nearby. “She can’t—”

The shadow of a crimson soldier fell over them, silencing him.

The soldier stared down at the pair, his expression hard and unyielding.

“There’s no place for the weak here,” the soldier said flatly.

“Please,” the younger man begged, his voice trembling. “Just give her a moment. She needs to rest.”

The soldier remained silent and didn't say a word. I thought he might strike him. But instead, he grabbed the woman by the arm and hauled her to her feet. She gasped, her legs trembling as he shoved her toward a shaded area near the wall.

“Take her to the side,” the soldier said, his tone clipped. “She can rest there.”

Relief flashed across the young man’s face, but it was short-lived.

“You’ll work double to make up for it,” the soldier added, his eyes narrowing. “Failure will result in punishment.”

The younger man’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded. The soldier turned and stalked away, leaving the pair to their fate.

I let out a slow breath, my hands tightening around the stone in my arms. Around me, the other workers glanced at each other uneasily before resuming their labor.

Rikuto leaned closer to me, “You see what I mean? They’re not going to let us go, Kaelan. We’re just tools to them. And when we break, they’ll toss us aside.”

I didn’t answer. His words lingered in my mind as I forced myself to keep moving.

I glanced at him now and then, trying to read the storm simmering just beneath his calm exterior. I wanted to say something—to acknowledge what he’d lost, what we’d both lost—but the words wouldn’t come.

Around us, the other workers moved in the same mechanical rhythm, their faces pale and blank. The soldiers’ gazes swept over us like hawks, but they didn’t need to say anything. The threat of their presence was enough to keep everyone in line.

Or almost everyone.

I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye first—a group of boys near one of the timber stacks. At first, I thought they were just resting, taking a moment to catch their breath. But their postures were too deliberate.

And then I saw him.

Jorin.

Even here, in this place where everything had been stripped away, he still carried himself like he owned the world. His smirk was as sharp as ever, and his eyes swept over the workers with a cruel sort of satisfaction. His gang flanked him, their movements casual but watchful, like predators circling prey.

“Rikuto,” I said quietly, nudging him with my shoulder.

“What?” he muttered, not looking up.

I nodded toward the timber stacks. “Jorin’s here.”

Rikuto’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he followed my gaze. His jaw clenched, and I saw his grip tighten around the stone he was carrying.

“Great,” he muttered. “Just what we need.”

Before I could respond, Jorin spotted us. His smirk widened, and he started toward us, his gang trailing close behind.

“Well, well,” Jorin said, stopping a few paces away. “Look who it is. Kaelan and another blacksmith buddy.”

“Leave us alone Jorin,” Rikuto said, his voice low but sharp.

“Why should I?” Jorin’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was something sharper in his eyes. “You think I’ve forgotten? You still owe me, Kaelan. That gold you stole—what was it, three coins? Four? Doesn’t matter. You were supposed to pay it back.” He stepped closer, his smirk twisting into a sneer. “You think you’d get away with that forever?”

I stiffened, the memory flashing in my mind. Jorin had tried to shake me down for months back in the village, claiming I owed him for some fabricated debt. When I didn’t have enough to satisfy him, I’d taken the gold from his stash and left him fuming.

“I don’t owe you anything,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Don’t you?” Jorin’s tone was mocking, but his smirk faltered slightly. “You think I forgot how Renjiro knocked me out in front of everyone? If you think I’m letting that slide, you’re even dumber than you look.”

“You brought that on yourself,” Rikuto snapped. “You were harassing a kid half your size.”

Jorin’s expression darkened, his smirk vanishing. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is payback. And I’m going to get it, one way or another.”

Jorin’s gaze flicked between us, his smirk returning, colder now.  “Where’s Renjiro, anyway? Did he make it here? Or maybe he didn’t.”

“Maybe he died back in the village,” Jorin said, “Too weak to do anything about it. That would be fitting, wouldn’t it?”

The words hit harder than a punch. I saw Rikuto’s hand tighten around the stone.

“Shut your mouth!”

Jorin ignored him, stepping closer. “What’s the matter? Don’t like hearing the truth?”

Before I could react, Rikuto dropped the stone and lunged at him, his fist slamming into Jorin’s jaw.

The fight broke out before I even realized what was happening.

Rikuto lunged at Jorin, his fist connecting with his jaw in a solid crack that echoed across the courtyard. Jorin staggered back, his smirk replaced by a flash of rage.

“You’ll regret that,” he snarled, wiping his mouth as his gang closed in.

I barely had time to brace myself before they were on us. Fists flew, feet lashed out, and the world became a blur of pain and chaos. Rikuto fought landing blows that sent one boy reeling, but there were too many of them.

The crimson soldiers just watched us from a distance unfazed.

I felt a fist slam into my ribs, the air rushing from my lungs as I stumbled. Another hit clipped my jaw, and I tasted blood.

Through the haze, I saw Rikuto get shoved to the ground, his arms raised to shield himself as two boys kicked at him mercilessly. I tried to push through, to reach him, but Jorin blocked my path, his smirk back in full force.

I swung at him, but he caught my wrist easily, twisting it until I cried out.

The chaos peaked, the sounds of grunts and jeers filling the air—and then everything stopped.

A shadow fell over us, colder than the sharpest wind.

The first thing I noticed was the silence. It was sudden and absolute as if the air itself had frozen.

I looked up, and my blood ran cold.

General Zira stood behind Jorin and his gang, her crimson armor gleaming in the harsh sunlight. She hadn’t made a sound, but her presence was suffocating, filling the space around her with an unspoken command.

Jorin froze, his grip on my wrist loosening as he turned slowly to face her. 

Zira tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “I wasn’t aware the Crimson Dynasty had sanctioned brawling as part of your duties.”

Jorin opened his mouth, his voice trembling. “They—”

Without a word, Zira grabbed his arm, her grip unyielding.

The snap of bone was loud and final, Jorin’s scream piercing the silence sharply. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his broken arm, his body trembling.

Zira released him and stepped back, her gaze sweeping over the rest of us.

“Let this be a reminder, as promised, so long as you do your work, no harm will come to you. But failure to act in order will result in your undoing. You are here to be a part of and to serve the Crimson Dynasty.”

She lingered for a moment longer, her eyes locking onto mine briefly before she turned and walked away. The sound of her boots echoed in the silence, each step driving her authority deeper into the air around us.

Jorin lay on the ground, whimpering softly, his gang frozen in place. No one moved to help him.

The workers around us resumed their tasks, their gazes carefully averted. The lesson was clear: defiance wasn’t just punished—it was crushed.