Bonded

It’s so cold…”

A young man murmured, voice barely above a whisper, as he shifted in his soaked bed.

Rain dripped from the cracked ceiling, landing on his face, mat, and clothes. His blanket had given up days ago, and whatever warmth his body held was stolen by the stones beneath him.

The room was small — smaller than a coffin, if he were being honest.

No candle. No fire.

Only the occasional flash of lightning gave shape to the walls.

Not that he could afford a candle, anyway.

He rolled off the mat, muscles aching as pain rushed through every joint. His back screamed. His knees popped. His fingers, already stiff from cold, barely curled.

This was going to be the last time he got anything close to decent sleep for a while — not that this counted.

Because tomorrow…

He was heading to one of the major cities.

To be tested.

To see if his soul was finally hearing the Call.

“I don’t even know which is worse,” he muttered to himself. “Being sent to the military… or dying here in this cursed cathedral as a slave.”

Both guaranteed death.

One just happened to be slightly less painful.

He let out a crooked smile.

Not too bad for a slave, he thought grimly.

......

A sudden bang shattered the silence — three loud, aggressive strikes against his stone door.

“Brown slave. Come out.”

A harsh, guttural voice barked from the other side.

Just like that — sleep was over.

Not that he’d really had any.

He scrambled to open the door, limbs shaking, fear guiding him faster than strength ever could.

The last thing he needed was to anger whoever that voice belonged to.

Even pulling the heavy slab open made his shoulders ache.

His legs wobbled as he stepped into the hallway, each footstep a reminder of yesterday’s bruises.

A man stood before him, no taller than he was — dressed in worn leather armor, belly bulging against his straps, a crooked baton swinging at his hip.

The man met his eyes without emotion.

“Let’s go, slave,” he said, his tone dry and absolute. No room for questions. No room for hesitation.

The boy didn’t answer. He simply nodded.

I guess it’s time, he thought. This is going to be a long one… Damn, I didn’t even get to eat. Or greet High Priestess Lily… oh well. Not like she’d care if I died.

The two of them moved down the hall.

No words. Just footsteps echoing through the poorly lit corridor.

The slave quarters of the temple had never been built for beauty - bare walls, rusted torches, and floorstones that smelled like rot no matter how often they were scrubbed.

When they stepped out the back door, cold rain greeted them again.

The sky was still gray, spitting droplets down like spit from a god who’d long stopped caring.

A caged carriage sat just ahead

Rusted wheels, soul-muted beasts hitched to the front, steam rising from their nostrils.

He stepped through the puddles and mud, the brown fabric around his ankles already soaked through.

They could’ve at least pulled it closer, he thought, bitterness tasting like iron on his tongue.

Without a word, he climbed into the cage.

He didn’t resist. Didn’t complain.

He had done this last year too.

He sat in silence as the cage door slammed behind him, the iron lock clicking shut like a coffin seal.

The city was hours away.

So was the test.

So was whatever came next — life… or whatever was left of it.