Soulbound

The cloth was removed from Zamos's cage as familiar voice spoke, "yes, this one." the sudden flood of light blinded him, forcing his eyes to struggle to adjust.

"It was in the newest shipment,” a trapper remarked, gesturing to one of the men with clipboards. “Gave us quite the chase, but based on its current condition, it should fetch us a handsome amount of coin.” The trapper’s hand rested casually atop Zamos’s cage.

Lifting his gaze, a sickening twist gripped Zamos’s stomach as he locked eyes with his doctor. “I can’t believe this thing was hiding under our noses all this time,” the trapper remarked, peering down at Zamos’s eyes, undoubtedly studying the golden flecks that now dominated them.

Zamos felt the weight of the word “it” like a heavy chain dragging him down. With each utterance, it was as if they stripped away another layer of his humanity, reducing him to an object, devoid of dignity or worth. The term echoed around him, a hammer pounding against his mind, splintering his thoughts into jagged shards of doubt.

He could feel the sting of tears threatening to surface, but he clenched his jaw, refusing to show any more fear in front of his captors. Yet, the ache in his chest only grew as each moment ticked by, the quick swipes of the clipboard-wielding men tearing into his nerves.

Their shoes were caked in dirt—such a tiny detail, yet it held his mind captive, a small anchor that kept him from breaking down. It kept him from listening to the cries of the newest shipment, tossed to the side for sorting, traded and bartered like livestock. The laughter of the trappers was bitter, they were callously condemning countless creatures to a fate that turned death from a right into a privilege. It was a wound more painful than the relentless itching that stretched over his scaled skin. 

Exhausted and defeated, Zamos curled into the corner of his cage. The air around him cooled with the fading light of the setting sun, and the sounds of nightlife began their serenade. The camp began to light up with the flickering glow of standing torches and candles, casting long shadows over the cages. Heated debates among the camp masters rose over the quiet sounds of the night as they slammed cards down on the table they sat at, punctuated by the soft, disgruntled noises of the creatures. The arguments disrupted what little chance of comfortable sleep their captives had, their cages marked for sale like forgotten trinkets in the dark.

The weight of the amulet around his neck grew heavier, pressing closer to his chest as a gentle voice began to speak. “Hello, darling,” the disembodied voice crooned, “What desires are we indulging today?” The boredom was evident beneath the rehearsed flirtation. Zamos could almost picture the unseen speaker perched provocatively, lounging with an air of mischief that nobody could resist, his head cradled in his hands as he playfully swayed his legs back and forth like a cat flicking its tail.

“Who said that?” Zamos whispered, twisting around, but he saw no one. A few nearby creatures lifted their heads, giving him an annoyed look.

“My name is Zepar. As for where I am, I’m stuck in the amulet,” the voice replied, sounding distinctly irritated.

Zamos blinked, disbelief flickering in his eyes. “Stuck in the amulet?” he repeated, his voice barely audible as he tried to grasp the situation. “How is that even possible?”

Zepar sighed, the sound laced with frustration and resignation. “I’m a demi-god,” he said, the word carrying a certain regal flair. But before Zamos could respond, Zepar’s presence seemed to waver as a team of men approached, their footsteps heavy, faces grim.

Zamos tensed, squeezing his eyes shut as the metal door clanged against the bars of the cage. He braced himself to be dragged away, but when nothing happened, he cautiously opened his eyes. The men were taking the creature from the cage next to him, dragging it off while Zamos watched, still shaken by the close call.

One of the camp masters walked up to them, greeting them loudly as he clapped them on the back. The camp master was a large man with a booming voice and an easy smile, but something in his eyes made Zamos uneasy. Or was it just his fear playing tricks on him? The man’s gaze seemed to linger too long, his grin too wide, but Zamos couldn’t be sure if it was real or imagined. His mind was a swirl of confusion and dread.

Zamos tried to take his mind off what was happening by reaching out to Zepar, hoping the demi-god would distract him from the horrifying sights and his own spiraling thoughts. But Zepar didn’t answer. Was he still there? Could he still hear him? 

As the night dragged on, the once comforting sounds of the campfire crackling and the distant hum of voices turned into a twisted symphony of chaos. The flames cast dancing shadows, their shapes contorting into monstrous figures that seemed to mock Zamos’s helplessness. The cries of creatures being dragged away pierced the air, each one more harrowing than the last.

Finally, it was his turn.

Zamos shrank back in his cage as a team of men approached. Their footsteps were heavy, their faces grim. He knew what was coming. He had seen it happen to others, and he knew that he was next.

The door swung open with a loud clang, the metal colliding with the bars of his cage. Zamos winced at the sound, his heart racing in his chest. He tried to make himself as small as possible, but it was no use. The men grabbed him roughly, their hands bruising his skin.

They dragged him out into the open, the rough ground beneath his feet, the rocks and pebbles biting through his clothes. Dust and dirt coated his skin. Zamos stumbled as he was dragged along, his legs weak from days of disuse in the cramped cage. He could hear the voices of the camp masters, their words loud and angry. He knew they were discussing him, deciding his fate. He prayed for a miracle, his thoughts turning inward. Countless creatures were dragged off just like the first one.

But as he was pulled closer to the tent, a strange sense of calm washed over him. The shouts, the cries—they seemed distant, as if happening in another world. He watched the camp’s workers begin to light the torches again as dusk settled over the camp. The fire took hold easily as Zamos’s eyes drifted to the tree line, imagining an escape attempt. It would only go poorly; the shadows in the forest seemed to writhe and come to life, a reflection of his own fear.

Then, in the midst of his dread, he felt Zepar resurface as if standing right beside him. The presence was stronger now, responding to something familiar, something dark. As the cries of another creature rang through his ears, Zamos watched in disbelief as the poor beast grabbed hold of one of the torches. Its eyes were wild, as if controlled by some unseen influence.

The creature, who moments ago had been dragged through the dirt and dust, was now holding a torch, its eyes glinting with fierce determination. The tent was suddenly filled with a bright orange glow as the creature held the flame high, the fire casting eerie shadows across the camp.

The camp’s workers shouted, trying to put out the fire, but it was too late. The flames licked at the tent’s fabric, spreading rapidly as if fueled by an unseen force. Zamos watched in awe as the creature, still holding the torch, began to wildly free the others.

As chaos unfolded, Zamos felt the grip of the hands holding him loosen. He glanced down and saw that the men who had been dragging him had dropped him, their heavy footsteps rushing to help get control of the camp.

Zamos scrambled away from the tent as fast as he could. The sounds of screams and shouts filled the air as he ran, the ground slick with blood and water. The creatures were now freed. They were wild with rage, their eyes filled with a fire that matched the flames consuming the camp. They attacked their captors with a ferocity that Zamos had never seen before, their anger and pain pouring out of them in waves.

He could hear the sound of the fighting behind him as he ran. He didn’t dare to look back, focusing solely on putting as much distance between himself and the camp as possible. The cries of battle and pain echoed through the forest, accompanied by the shrill cry of horses, their soft noises a distant memory from the camp.

Tripping over roots and ducking under the forest’s branches, Zamos pushed himself to run faster, the shouts of pursuit driving him onward. The pounding of footsteps seemed to double, urging him to push away the burning feeling in his legs as his muscles strained to carry him further.

Then, stumbling, Zamos nearly collapsed, his breath ragged, his heart pounding in his ears. His eyes darted around frantically for an escape route as the pounding sounds of feet behind him transformed into thunderous hoofbeats.

Looking up, Zamos studied the branches, the leaves, and the overgrowth surrounding him as he forced himself to stand. The heavy scent of moss and damp earth filled his nose as he dragged himself up, bracing his feet on the wood. His breath hitched with every motion, but he managed to find a perch.

He watched, trembling, as the camp’s men barreled past him, crashing through the undergrowth. The hoofbeats eventually faded into the distance, leaving only the sound of the wind rustling the leaves. Zamos slumped against the trunk, his body shivering with relief. He let his head fall back, trying to catch his breath.

Yet, even in this moment of apparent safety, a whisper of doubt lingered in his mind. Was he truly free, or was this just another cruel trick? The forest felt too quiet, too empty, as if holding its breath. The darkness pressed in from all sides, suffocating, and the brief respite of safety began to erode under the weight of Zamos’s paranoia, as he sat there, waiting for his heartbeat to slow.