Chapter 6 10 years later

The  sound of a metal bell rang through the slave quarters before Day Break.

A guard kicked the wooden door open with a loud bang. "Get up! If I catch anyone still sleeping, you will  be severely punished!"

The room instantly came alive as men, women, and children hurried off their thin beds. Some rubbed the sleep from their eyes while others moved slowly, their tired bodies long used to the daily ache of hard labor.

Akira sat up quietly in the dim light. She neatly folded the old blanket she slept with and slipped on her worn shoes without saying a word.

Faith Morgan looked over from the next bed and smiled weakly. "Did you sleep at all?"

Akira gave a small nod as she tied her shoes. "A little."

Faith chuckles softly. "That is more than I did."

Before either of them could say another word, a second guard walked into the quarters. "What are you waiting for? Move!"

Everyone hurried outside into the yard. The cold morning air brushed against their faces as they quickly formed lines.

Dimitri Volkov stood on the stone steps in front of the large mansion with his hands resting behind his back. Even after all these years, every slave automatically lowered their head the moment they saw him. He slowly walked down the steps, looking at each person like they were animals being inspected for market.

When he reached the front of the line, he stopped and looked over the crowd. "Listen carefully. You are not guests here. You are not family. You are not people. You belong to me. If one of you breaks a plate, you will be punished. If one of you wastes food, you will be punished. If one of you talks back, you already know what happens."

No one answered him, and no one even breathed too loudly in the quiet yard.

Dimitri nodded, satisfied with the silence. "Good. Thank the moon goddess You all remember your place. Now Take them away."

The guards barked orders, and the slaves quickly scattered toward their daily jobs.

Akira picked up two empty wooden buckets and walked toward the water well. Nearby, an older slave man struggled to lift his own heavy buckets because his hands were shaking badly.

Akira quietly placed one of her buckets down on the sand and reached for his. "I will help."

The old man smiled weakly at her. "Thank you, child."

Before she could lift the heavy bucket, a long leather whip cracked through the air and landed across the old man's back. He cried out in pain and stumbled. Akira froze in place as a guard stepped forward, glaring at them.

"Did I tell you to help him?" the guard yelled.

"No," Akira answered softly, keeping her eyes down.

"Then mind your own work," the guard said. He roughly shoved the old man down onto the hard sand. "If he cannot carry water anymore, then maybe we should just stop feeding him."

The old man slowly pushed himself back up from the ground without saying a single word. Akira looked away, swallowing the anger that rose in her chest. She wanted to help him up, and she wanted to fight back, but she had learned long ago that showing anger only made things worse for everyone. She picked up her water buckets and kept walking toward her station.

After filling the buckets to the brim, she carried them over to the stables. The horses whinnied softly as she stepped into the dark building. She emptied the old water troughs, filled them with fresh water, swept away the dirty piles of dried grass, and cleaned every single stall until the floor looked completely spotless.

A stable guard walked past her and frowned, pointing a finger toward the corner. "You missed a spot."

Akira looked where he was pointing and saw a single piece of yellow grass lying near the wall. She walked over, picked it up with her fingers, and looked at him. "I am sorry."

The boy rolled his eyes in disgust. "You slaves are completely useless." He turned around and walked away.

Akira simply ignored the comment and continued working until the stables were finished.

She hurried directly to the mansion next. Large baskets of dirty clothes were waiting in stacks outside the back door. She lifted one heavy basket onto her shoulder, balancing the weight.

Another guard pointed toward an even bigger pile near the door. "Those need to be washed too."

Akira nodded her head. "Yes, I will get them."

By the time she reached the washing area near the river, her arms already hurt from the heavy lifting. She knelt beside the cold water and began scrubbing the thick clothes one by one. Her fingers were rough and red from years of this work, and the freezing water quickly soaked through her sleeves.

A young slave girl kneeling beside her let out a deep sigh. "I am so tired."

An older woman working nearby quickly whispered, "Keep your voice down. Do you want the guards to hear you?"

"I cannot feel my hands anymore," the little girl complained quietly.

"Do you want to get whipped?" the woman asked sternly. "Keep working."

The little girl lowered her head and wiped a tear from her cheek. "I am sorry."

Akira quietly finished scrubbing a heavy shirt and placed it into the clean basket. She remembered when she used to complain about the cold and the pain, but that little girl had disappeared years ago. Now, she just kept her mouth shut and worked.

After the clothes were washed and hung up to dry, she helped carry heavy baskets of vegetables into the hot kitchen. The busy cooks barely even looked at the slaves as they moved around the stoves.

"You," one cook pointed a large spoon at Akira. "Sit down and peel those potatoes."

She sat on a small stool and began peeling the dirty skins off the potatoes.

Across the room, another cook tasted a large pot of boiling soup and immediately spit it out. "Too much salt!" He turned around fiercely toward a young slave boy. "You made this?"

The boy nodded nervously, backing away. "I thought it needed"

The cook slapped him across the face before he could even finish his sentence. "You thought? You do not get paid to think!"

The boy held his burning, red cheek as tears filled his eyes. "I am sorry."

"Start over from the beginning," the cook ordered. He grabbed the heavy pot and dumped the hot soup directly onto the kitchen floor. "Clean this mess up right now."

The boy quietly dropped to his knees to clean the floor before starting the soup again. Akira watched the entire scene from her stool, keeping her expression perfectly blank as she peeled another potato.

By the late afternoon, Akira was assigned to carry heavy bags of grain across the wide yard. Sweat ran down her face, and thick mud clung to the bottom of her shoes after she crossed the wet path near the storage barns.

Two guards standing by the fence laughed as she passed by them.

"Look at Slave Seventeen," one guard said, pointing at her. "She is still alive."

The other guard smirked. "I am actually surprised. I thought Dimitri would have killed her years ago."

The first guard shrugged his shoulders. " she is just too useful to get rid of, even with those clothes on I can still see those fat ass."

"Yes, that's why she is used for entertainment" They continued to laugh loudly, but Akira acted as though she had not heard a single word. Inside her mind, however, she remembered a very different voice from her past. She remembered her father's steady voice telling her, "Never let your enemy decide who you are."

She tightened her grip on the heavy bag of grain and kept walking through the mud.