Dreamland

Ayra stood before the weathered wooden door, pausing for a moment. Inhaling deeply, she summoned all the courage she could find and rapped on the door.

"Come in!"

The voice of a bored old man resonated from within.

She cautiously entered the dimly lit room, struggling to see him as he sat at the table.

He glanced up at her, and she detected a glimmer of interest in his eyes. Maybe her fears were unfounded; perhaps he would be willing to assist her.

Despair had been gradually taking hold of her. The training was moving at a snail's pace, with numerous tasks taking precedence over actual training. She had pleaded multiple times to be transferred to the mage training camp. Recalling what Cala had said about Spartacius needing a mage, not an archer, she aspired to become one. While there was a mage training group available, it was pricier as it involved a hired mage from the Golden Empire.

She had even sought an audience with the superior mother, imploring for funds to cover the training expenses, but her pleas fell on deaf ears, even if she was speaking of her own money, the money that Cala had given her.

When she went for the third time, she ended up disciplined in front of her squad for her rudeness and stubbornness.

Afterward, rather than surrendering, she confronted the superior mother during one of her supervision rounds. She asserted her right to the funds and accused the superior mother of misappropriating her money. She even attempted to intimidate the superior mother.

"I'll report everything to Lady Cala!" she threatened.

The superior mother's face paled, but then she fixed her with a malevolent grin.

"Do you believe that Cala the Assassin will even care if she learns that you met an unfortunate accident?"

Cala the Assassin? Was that her nickname? She couldn't help but recall the horrifying memories of the slaver's raid, and the hair on her neck stood on end in fear.

The superior mother's grin widened as she observed her with calculating eyes. She kept talking, relishing every word.

"Yes, she's a footman of Tenebra's Black Temple, maybe even the chief footman. Do you really think she'd concern herself with someone as insignificant as you? If she ever did anything for you, it was probably on a whim or for some ulterior motive."

A chilling sensation sent shivers down Ayra's spine. The superior mother's words held an uncomfortable truth. There was something about Cala that resonated with Tenebra's dark influence, and Ayra had felt it. Cala had shown no willingness to act until Spartacius had pressed her to help. She might have left all those people to remain enslaved, Ayra included. Fear and panic tightened their grip on her heart, rendering her speechless, and she bowed her head in submission.

But that was not enough for the superior mother.

Afterward, she had been taken away. She had been bound to a pole, and her back and ass beaten with a thick wooden stick.

Ten times. Ten hard hits. She screamed after the first strike and started to cry after the second one.

Oh, how they laughed when the punisher hit her ass, and she yelled in pain. Not everybody laughed, but many did.

When the torment ended, and she had been unbound, she fell like a sack to the ground. As she lay there, the superior mother came near her and spoke in a low voice:

“If I ever hear another complaint about you, your next punishment will be one hundred strokes with the many-headed whip. A simple horsewhip would be too kind for you. Such insolence!”

After that ordeal, she received no healing, and the pain became her constant companion. Some of the girls, not all, joined the chorus of cruel laughter. They started to taunt her as Ayra-the-stick-mage.

The marks left by that cursed stick on her body remained visible and painful to the touch even a week later. She couldn't sit comfortably, and her nights were restless as she could only sleep on her belly, yet the demands of work pressed on.

Some of the girls would conveniently bump into her. "Oops, excuse me!" Their deliberate actions were met with laughter from the group, even as Ayra cried out in pain. The camp, once a refuge, had transformed into a prison day by day.

When Noviel came back, a glimmer of hope returned to Ayra. She yearned to hear news of Spartacius, but what Noviel told her was so astounding that it was hard to accept. She didn't want to believe it. No, it couldn't be true. Noviel's account must have been mistaken.

And now, Noviel was departing. Breaking her contract had marked her as an outcast. Despite pleas from her former mentor, Mother Anora, to the superior mother for a second chance, Noviel was exiled and had to leave without delay.

Observing Noviel getting ready to depart, Ayra made up her mind to have a conversation with the mage trainer. Although she felt sympathy for Noviel, a new realization hit her: Spartacius was without his mercenary once more.

She needed to expedite her training to become one herself because she knew that he would return to enlist a new mercenary!

Perhaps everything had unfolded this way for her to become his mercenary. She had an unshakable faith in destiny, convinced that this was her fated path.

The impatient voice snapped her back to the present.

“What do you want! I don't have time to waste!”

The mage briefly glanced at her before returning to his reading. As she ventured further into the room, he halted her with a gesture.

"Close the door," he ordered, "and speak."

She obeyed, securing the door behind her, then turned back to the mage and respectfully bowed before making her plea.

"Honored Master, I humbly request permission to join the mage training sessions."

A faint chuckle escaped the mage as he scrutinized her.

"Hm! You're that fool who received a flogging a week ago," he remarked, eliciting a blush from her.

She lowered her head in embarrassment.

"Yes, Master."

He grinned.

“Show me!”

She watched him for a couple of seconds, not understanding what he requested. He lost his patience.

“Undress!”

She took off her jacket and blouse with trembling hands. She stood there holding her clothes in front of her. He raised his eyes again, stood up, and came closer. He walked around her.

“And further? Drop them!”

“But...”

He had a magic staff in his hand and hit her over the back with it. It was not a hard hit, but enough to excise a pained yell from her.

“Do you want the training or not?”

“But...”

For her question, she received another hit over her back that met the blue marks from her last beating. She yelled in pain. She was perplexed and turned to talk to him.

He swatted her cheek with his hand so hard that she fell to the ground.

“I will take you, but you need to learn your place. You are to sleep in my laboratory and do everything I will ask of you without questions. After one year, if I am satisfied with you, you may try to learn the basics from that book.”

He pointed towards the book he was studying.

“That is the book to become an archmage. I will allow you to look into it, but I doubt you will be able to learn even a spell. If you ever question one word of what I say, if you ever do something a little different from what I say you should do, I will find ways to make you regret that."

He grinned, happy at the thought.

"Now, stay here as you are, and do not move until I return. Put your hands on the floor!! If I don't find you with your hands on the floor, I'll glue them there. I'm going to talk to the superior mother to let me discipline you. You'll be my personal assistant, and you'll learn to obey.”

The obscene explosion of pure hate and desire to dominate her made her shiver. She watched with horror as the door closed behind him, not understanding the world anymore.

She started to cry with her hands as if glued to the floor. She did not dare to wipe her tears.

This... this behavior was precisely what she had fled. And this madness had found her even here, in what was meant to be her sanctuary. Was this her destiny? To become enslaved?

The mage acted like a slave master, treating her with the same disdain. She inhaled deeply and shut her eyes.

No! Sir Spartacius had liberated her from the slavers. Should she undo what he had done?

She reopened her eyes and scanned her surroundings, then began to get dressed. Exhaling resolutely, she declared to herself, "Never a slave! I will escape."

Was this yet another trial? Why had fate led her to this place? She approached the door to exit the room, and as she was closing it, her eyes fell upon a book in its weighty leather binding.

She paused. The book seemed to beckon her.

Should she agree to become the apprentice of this crazy, eccentric mage just to gain knowledge from it?

NO!

She swiftly approached the table, shut the book, placed it into a sack, and then hurriedly left the room with the bag clutched under her arm.

She moved through the dimly lit corridors, attempting to draw as little attention as possible. Her goal was to escape the camp, but how could she achieve it? Carefully, she made her way toward the stables, but just as she approached, the blaring alarm horn startled her. In a panic, she sought refuge amidst the hay.

"What have you done now?" a voice inquired.

Ayra froze and turned to see Noviel saddling a horse. Noviel's gaze fell upon Ayra's red cheek, where five fingers could be seen, and sighed. Her eyes narrowed.

"Who did that?" - she asked.

Ayra trembled, her voice a mere whisper from her hiding place.

"Please, please, don't tell them you saw me!"

Noviel shook her head, her expression resolute. "Be silent. Do you truly believe you can evade them here?"

Ayra's fear was evident. She uttered softly, "They'll kill me if they catch me. The superior mother vowed to flog me one hundred times if I..."

Noviel tsked and cut her short:

“This cannot be!”

"She had already flogged me," Ayra confessed. "I told her I would tell Cala that she stole my money!"

"She stole your money?" Noviel inquired, glancing around cautiously.

Ayra confirmed, "The four gold that Cala had put in my..."

Noviel swiftly opened a sack. "Shh! Get in here!"

Ayra eyed the sack, then Noviel, and without hesitation, squeezed herself inside, making herself as small as possible. She tried to keep her own sack with the book in her arms, but Noviel took it from her.

"I'll keep it separate. Now, hush!"

Noviel pressed Ayra's head down and concealed her with hay to obscure her outline. Satisfied with her efforts, she closed the sack and secured it with leather straps alongside two other sacks containing her belongings. To maintain balance, she added a couple of stones on the opposite side. Then, with some effort, she lifted all three sacks and placed two on one side of her horse and the sack with Ayra on the other side. Above them, she added two smaller bags to further mask Ayra's presence. With her preparations complete, she led the horse out of the barn.

Within a couple of minutes, Noviel was riding beyond the camp's confines. The gate guards, familiar with her, bid her good luck as she passed.

Ayra was confined inside the sack, feeling almost suffocated, but she dared not make a sound. The hay clung to her skin, and she sensed the occasional movement, possibly a spider. She bit her trembling lip until it drew blood, all the while remaining still. Amid the camp's discussions and distant commotion, she pondered whether Noviel would deliver her to freedom or take another course of action.

Once Noviel disappeared from the guards' view, she urged her horse forward. After a time, she veered off the road and entered an abandoned farm. It was there that she finally released Ayra, who crumpled into her arms, overcome with tears.