Chapter Text
Kakavasha laid motionless on the hard concrete flooring of a small cell. Manacles sat heavy on his wrists, cold metal biting painfully into his skin. It was an agonising pain that he couldn’t escape, a pain that didn’t fade no matter how long he tried to endure it.
But even that didn’t compare to everything else he had been forced to endure. Unending suffering that tormented his every unbearable second of consciousness.
Witnessing the slaughter of his people.
The death of his family.
Being taken by vile monsters that were disguised as human.
Being sold and traded as if he was nothing more than mere livestock. No, not even livestock. He was even less than that to them.
His life was worth next to nothing to these moneyed snobs who found pleasure in the depraved control they had. He was just a means of entertainment to them.
To know he meant so little filled him with so much anguish and unfathomable anger that he could barely stomach it. His once bright and innocent self, tainted and defiled for the amusement of others.
Kakavasha swore to himself, he would take back his power. He would get his revenge and make the world burn for the way it had made him suffer.
“Number 35.”
The gruff voice instantly sent Kakavasha’s senses into overdrive. He hurt everywhere, and he was exhausted, but he still forced his body upright to bravely glare into the eyes of the man who had been the most recent to purchase him.
“Good. You’re awake,” the man said, sending fear coursing through his entire body.
Kakavasha already had the urge to back away into the corner, to try hide from his inescapable fate, but he couldn’t let the man have that satisfaction, no matter how frightened he was.
“…My name is Kakava—”
“You do not have a name. You are just a slave. Your only means of individuality are your number, 35… and that pretty face of yours. You definitely stand out the most out of all my slaves. Especially with those eyes of yours. I wonder how much they’d sell for.”
He grit his teeth. They took every opportunity they could to dehumanise him, but he would never forget the precious name that he had been given.
He was Kakavasha. They would never take that away from him.
“Though, being pretty doesn’t really increase your value. At the end of the day, you’re just another slave to use and discard as I please. If anything, being pretty is just unlucky for you.”
Retrieving a set of keys from his pocket, the man began to unlock the cage. Kakavasha immediately retreated back as far as he could go. If the cage was being opened, it meant they wanted to use him for something. Whether that be cruel games with the other slaves, being beaten and tortured simply for entertainment, or….
He felt himself trembling more. No. He couldn’t bear that.
“Men,” the man said, signalling off to the side.
In an instant, multiple other men had flooded the tiny cell. Kakavasha tried to protect himself but he couldn’t accomplish much in his current state. He was malnourished, exhausted and simply outnumbered.
He was grabbed by multiple strong hands that held each of his limbs with an iron grasp. Rather than fighting, he quickly resigned. Resisting when it was futile just further humiliated him. Gave them more of an excuse to hurt him further.
“Good slave,” the man praised him in a condescending manner, as if talking to a pet. “But good behaviour won’t make me forget your transgression: speaking without permission. Not only that, you tried imply that you have a name. I hope a nice punishment will be enough to get it through that pretty little head of yours that you’re nothing more than a slave.”
Despite Kakavasha’s attempts to appear unfazed, anxiety coursed through his body like an electric current that left him taut with tension.
They dragged him into an unfamiliar room that had a foul, stale stench. The walls of the room were ominously lined with various tools, which only served to further fuel his fear. Worse, in the centre of the room was a wooden table that was stained with dry blood and other unknown fluids.
The man ordered his subordinates to restrain him on the table, and they promptly complied, mercilessly pressing him face down against the hard wood with no regard for his comfort.
“Here, have a look at this.”
One of the men grabbed a rough handful of his messy blond hair and turned his head, forcing him to look at what the man was holding. It was some sort of strange, handheld device that he had never seen before.
“This…” the man ran his calloused finger along the top of the device. “Is a special laser. To put it simply for you since you’re probably not educated, it’s gonna burn the design of my choice into your skin,” he explained, and Kakavasha’s eyes widened with a newfound fear. “I was delighted when I found out that you hadn’t been branded yet, because that meant that I would be the first one to do it.”
“…You can’t be serious…” Kakavasha’s voice trembled.
The man laughed and shook his head. “Slave, you’ve done it again. If I wasn’t serious before, then I’m definitely serious now,” he sneered, showing off his twisted grin as he stepped closer to the table Kakavasha was being pinned to.
“Please… I-I’m sorry,” Kakavasha tried to apologise as he squirmed under the hold of the men, not caring about the humiliation he felt anymore. Anything to just get out of this.
“I think the design will suit you well. It’ll be a permanent way to remind you of your place as my property, even if I decide to sell you off.” The man stood right beside the table now. “Hold him tight. I don’t want him to flail around and ruin it.”
He was openly crying now as he struggled with all his might, begging with no regard to his pride. “Please, please don’t… I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll do anything. I can do anything,” he desperately begged but it fell on deaf ears.
His head that was harshly being pressed into the table was yanked to an uncomfortable angle that exposed his neck. His breath hitched and a small shriek escaped him as the device was pressed against his neck, but there wasn’t any pain yet.
“Ready and—”
The screams that left him were raw and guttural. He could barely process anything through the haze of extreme agony.
He had never felt anything more painful in his life. Not even the accumulative sum of all his past sufferings could compare to the mind-numbing agony he was experiencing in that moment.
Even when the device was no longer pressed against his neck, the pain didn’t fade. It lingered behind as if it was still being pressed against his neck, still burning his skin.
He was sobbing uncontrollably, struggling to breathe as tears and snot ran down his face. Even then, he was still being held down without mercy, giving him no way to try alleviate the pain.
“Hah. It suits you well, slave. I trust now you’ll remember your place.”
Kakavasha could only breathlessly sob in response. His hands kept opening and closing, his mind and body confused on how to process this seething pain that had been cruelly inflicted onto him.
“Anyway, the smell of his flesh burning made me hungry,” the man snickered and carelessly threw the device onto a nearby bench.
It was true that the smell of his burnt flesh filled the room, but it was anything but appetising to Kakavasha, who hadn’t even eaten in days.
“I’m gonna go eat, so feel free to do what you want with the slave before returning it to the cell.”
Kakavasha could barely see through the blur of his tear-filled eyes as the man left the room. He felt so nauseous and despair clouded his mind, leaving him unable to form any coherent thoughts.
For a brief moment, he thought he was finally going to be given the mercy of slipping away from consciousness, but that false hope was cruelly snatched away from him when he was flipped onto his back, bringing him back to his harsh reality.
The disgusting men surrounded him, gazing at him hungrily as if he were a freshly made meal.
His legs were grabbed and pushed apart, and a hand painfully yanked at his hair. All he could react with was a pitiful whimper.
“No…”
He knew what they wanted from him. He couldn’t bear it.
________________________
Aventurine came to with an abrupt jolt, horror etched across his face.
His eyes darted to his trembling hands and a wave of relief washed over him when he saw his usual attire rather than the torn, dirt-stained clothes he’d worn during the time of his confinement.
He was safe.
He was in control.
Years had passed since then.
So why?
Then he remembered he wasn’t alone.
Slowly, he lifted his head and looked across the table, meeting the gaze of the person who had been silently watching him.
Sunday.
Aventurine pressed a hand to his forehead. That’s right. He was in a meeting with Sunday, so why had a memory from that time surfaced so suddenly?
Ah right. The Harmony. Sunday had been interrogating him. He sighed. The vividness of the memory had shaken him more than he cared to admit. All he wanted now was to be alone.
Sunday quietly watched him for a moment longer before he finally broke the silence. “I apologise, Mr. Aventurine. Perhaps my questions were too invasive.”
Aventurine smiled and rubbed his forehead. “No, no. You see, I’m just not used to having my mind so rudely probed,” he said with a light tone, though it was laced with a not so subtle irritation.
They had been having a meeting about the IPC and Penacony. Aventurine had been sent to discuss negotiations, his goal essentially being to get Sunday to agree on giving the IPC authority within the dreamscape, opening a door to further opportunities.
However it had been clear Sunday didn’t trust him. The Family had always been steadfast in their rejection to the IPC, so Aventurine had expected a challenge, but he hadn’t expected Sunday to question him while under the Harmony’s gaze.
At first, the questions focused on the IPC and his cornerstone. Then, he began to ask more personal questions, ones that Aventurine hadn’t anticipated. About his origins. About his feelings. His family.
It was around then when Aventurine had zoned out and drifted into a flashback so vivid it felt real.
Beneath Aventurine’s lighthearted smile, tension wound tight in his chest. He couldn’t help but wonder, what if Sunday had seen it too?
What if he had seen—
His trembling fist clenched under the table.
Aventurine studied Sunday’s impassive face, searching for any sign that he had witnessed the depraved truth of his past, but his features remained an unreadable mask.
“Again, I apologise, but I’m sure you understand why it was necessary for me to take such measures.” Sunday rose from his chair and walked around the table until he stood in front of Aventurine.
Aventurine tilted his head to look up at Sunday, feeling uncomfortable beneath his gaze. More than anything, he despised feeling vulnerable.
Over the years, he had mastered the art of concealing his emotions, ensuring no one could even catch the slightest glimpse of his true feelings unless he allowed it. It was a skill he had been forced to develop at a young age, and by now, he had well over a decade of practice.
However as Sunday’s gaze bore into him, Aventurine felt as though every layer of false confidence and carefully constructed charm that he hid behind had become transparent.
He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but the truth was undeniable: it terrified him.
Still, Aventurine smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. But you know, you could’ve at least taken me on a date first,” he joked. “You know, before doing something so intimate.”
As expected, Sunday reacted with indifference. “Mr. Aventurine.” He paused. “May I ask you one more question?”
Aventurine grinned and leaned his elbows on the table. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re actually about to ask me out on a date?”
Sunday raised an eyebrow, giving him a questioning look.
Aventurine sighed and leaned back in the chair, folding his arms. “You’re no fun. Alright. Since you’ve already interrogated me this much, might as well. What else do you want to know?”
Sunday didn’t hesitate to ask his next question. “Do you desire freedom?”
The question caused Aventurine’s smile to briefly falter before it returned with a sarcastic edge. “What kind of question is that? Am I unaware that you’re actually holding me hostage, Mr. Sunday?” He grinned as he rose to his feet, spreading his arms wide like a peacock showing off its feathers. “I’m as free as a bird. I can go wherever I want and do whatever I please.” He stepped closer to Sunday, his vivid eyes boring into the Halovian’s. “What about you, Mr. Sunday? Are you free? Or are you confined within Penacony, forced to carry out duties for the Family?”
At first Sunday kept his lips pressed together in a straight line. Then, unexpectedly to Aventurine, he simply smiled and placed a hand behind his back. “Perhaps that may be the case,” he mused. “But you are also in a similar position, are you not?”
There was a silence between the two that stretched on far longer than Aventurine liked. He couldn’t exactly deny what Sunday was suggesting.
Sunday closed his eyes and gently shook his head. “It was merely a jest. Of course you are free, as am I. Neither of us are bound by shackles.” He gestured toward the door, signalling that their meeting had come to an end.
Aventurine’s usual smile returned and he rested a hand on his hip. “A jest? Now I understand why you’re not the type to joke around. You seriously need to work on your delivery,” he said as he walked toward the door.
Sunday hummed. “You’re probably right about that.”
Aventurine gripped the door handle, but rather than turning the knob, he turned back to face Sunday. “Why did you ask me that?”
Sunday’s head tilted to the side. “Ask you what? I’ve asked you quite a few questions.”
Aventurine almost rolled his eyes. “Why ask me if I desire freedom? And those other questions—about my origins.” He paused. “I don’t even know why you know about that… it has nothing to do with our business.” After another pause, a grin spread across Aventurine’s lips. “If I weren’t mistaken, I would think that it’s me personally that you’re interested in.”
Rather than giving an answer right away, Sunday stood silently, one hand still behind his back. Aventurine waited patiently, hoping that the prolonged silence would make Sunday uncomfortable enough to prompt a more hasty and less thought-out response to fill it.
That was a tactic Aventurine often used to extract information from others, but it seemed to have little effect on Sunday. If anything, Aventurine himself was the one who grew more uncomfortable with each passing second.
Sunday, who still hadn’t answered, began to approach him once more, stopping directly in front of him. Aventurine struggled to keep a neutral expression. Sunday was too unreadable, and with his back almost pressed against the door, Aventurine felt somewhat trapped, especially with Sunday looming over him.
“You look pale, Mr. Aventurine,” Sunday said as he reached out a hand, gently touching Aventurine’s cheek.
He flinched at the unexpected contact. Even though it was just the tips of Sunday’s gloved hand, his senses were acutely aware of their presence against his skin.
After a long moment, Sunday let his hand drop back to his side. “Please make sure to get some rest, Mr. Aventurine.” He reached past Aventurine and gripped the doorknob, smiling politely as he opened the door for him.
“Right, now you’re basically kicking me out… you’re so charming,” Aventurine remarked sarcastically as he walked out of the room.
Sunday merely gave him a clearly faked smile before practically closing the door in his face.
“Hmph. Dipping your hands into my pockets and then kicking me out,” Aventurine grumbled, turning on his heel and beginning his walk out of the building. “Seriously… talk about lacking finesse.”
He came to a sudden stop, staring down at his feet. Worry continued to weigh on his mind. What if Sunday really had seen the memory from his past?
Aventurine closed his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets. “What a shitty day,” he mumbled under his breath.
He retrieved his sunglasses from his pocket, slipping them on before he exited the building.