Shade and Faylen walked silently next to each other down the dirt path that led to the town of Fleetwood. Shade had flown the two of them over the woods that surrounded his cabin. This time, after a request by Faylen, he had carried her in his arms rather than wrapped up in his tail. After he had landed by the road, he transformed into his human form, then changed into his human clothes, throwing on the basic tunic and pants Faylen had gotten for him, then putting his long black cloak over both.

  They had been walking for close to two hours now, having not said a single word to each other. Faylen, being a slave, had been trained to only talk when spoken to. She had broken that already a few times, and he hadn’t cared, but she was still trying to figure out what his ultimate plan was, what this trip was for, and if she, dare she think it, could be free. Shade on the other hand, like usual, wasn’t quite sure how to hold a conversation with a slave. Two hours of awkward walking was more than enough for him though, so while he figured reliving her past wasn’t something she would want to do, it would at least break the silence, and maybe lend him some answers on why she had such a large amount of echos, yet couldn't use any. “Sorry if this brings up some things you don’t want to think about.” He said, as he looked over to her and she met his gaze. “But I was just wondering, do you know who your parents are?”

  She shook her head. “You don’t need to worry about my feelings, master, you may ask me anything.” She replied, though internally she did indeed not want to think about her past. “Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer for you, I don’t know who my parents were.”

  “Nobody ever told you?” He said.

  She shook her head again. “I was apparently given away to an orphanage when I was a baby. Apparently, a priest had told my parents that I was cursed by the devil, that I needed to be killed. My parents though went against the order and brought me to an orphanage in secrecy. As it was a secret, they didn’t tell the orphanage who they were, or who I was. Just my name, Faylen, and for some reason, that I was cursed by the devil. I guess they thought that the orphanage would try to cure me, but the orphanage was backed by the same church that had doomed me to be killed. When I was about to be killed again, one of the nuns at the orphanage snuck me to another orphanage not backed by any religion, but apparently also told them of my situation. Eventually, after a few years of no one wanting to adopt a cursed, weak child, that orphanage, being rather poor for having no backer, kicked me out. Then slavers picked me up when I was 7 or 8, and well, I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”

  Shade grimaced. 7 or 8? That was…. wow. If this was his past self, he would move mountains to find this slaver and end him. Even now he somewhat wanted to. “Sorry.” He said again. “I knew slavers were shitty, but that’s rather young even for them.”

  She raised an eyebrow at his response. For one, a master never apologized to their slaves. But that wasn't what caught her ears. He had said slavers as if he wasn't one, which was once again suggesting to her that if she wanted it, she could be free. But she still wasn't ready to take that leap of faith, and ask him for her freedom. If he pulled that rug out from under her like she still thought he would, she would feel like a naive moron. So she decided to keep poking and prodding. “Slavers are shitty?” She asked. “Aren’t you a slaver though?”

  He looked to the ground, shoulders slumped. “I guess technically I am now. I’ve also been pretty shitty in the past myself.” He then looked back to her. “Quite the hypocrite I am, huh?”

  As she looked at him, she found his sorrow at buying her seemed genuine. Could she actually ask for her freedom? But before she took that leap though, there was one more thing that had been eating at her. “May I ask you something master?”

  “Shoot.” He replied, but before she could speak, he kept going. “But when we get to town, stop calling me master, slavery is rather looked down upon, illegal in fact, and I’m not trying to get into any trouble.” He then paused for a beat. “Actually, just stop calling me master altogether, it makes me feel rather gross, and slimy.”

  “As you wish ma…” She began, but paused. “Sir…” She said, unsure of what to call him. He smiled, but didn’t say anything, so she continued. “Well, sir, I was wondering why you transform into a human? Why don’t you just stay as a dragon?”

  His smile somewhat wavered, but then came back, though a little forced. “A couple reasons. I’m going to answer your question partly with a question. This might sound rhetorical, but it’s not. You’re quite weak, when you look at me, I’m sure you see someone whose overwhelmingly strong. Do you ever dream of being as strong as I am?”

  She didn’t answer immediately, not entirely sure what he was getting at, but after a moment, nodded. “Of course. All the time.”

  He nodded himself. “Would you believe I sometimes dream of being weak like you?” He then paused. “Well, maybe not as weak as you, no offense, but as weak as your average elf or wolf.”

  “Why would you ever want that?” She asked, genuinely confused at the proposition.

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  “When I transformed into a dragon for the first time by you, you were terrified, right?” He asked, and she nodded, still not sure where he was going with this. “That’s not that strange. I’m a lucifer dragon, probably the most powerful species on the planet. Everyone is terrified of me. Everyone. Power might be good for getting shit done, but it’s not great for holding friendships. Everywhere I went, people would stare at me with fear, jealousy, or anger. I could never have real conversations, people would force laughs at jokes that weren’t funny, force themselves to tell me my plans or ideas that were horrible were great, tell me that everything I did was right and righteous, even it wasn’t. All because they were scared of making me mad. I’ve had very few people throughout my life who were willing to be themselves around me. I know playing the whole ‘woe is me’ thing around a slave is bit ridiculous, but it is quite the lonely life. Anyway, with that in mind, if I were to walk into a human village in dragon form, what do you think their reactions would be? They would all be absolutely terrified. And for good reason. I could blow up that village in a snap, before any of them even knew what happened. That’s a rather scary thing to think of while someone walks through your town. I’m not trying to intimidate anyone with this trip, we’re just buying a few things. So, it makes more sense to go around as one of them, a human, as to not bring them any undue stress. Make sense?”

  She once again didn’t know what to think. If true, that was…. rather considerate of him. And the whole power being lonely thing wasn’t something she had ever thought of. Though she knew both she and him would take that loneliness over her life of slavery and weakness 100 times out of 100. Either way, what he had said did make him seem like the type of man who would let her go if she so wanted. She then remembered though he had said there were a couple reasons he did it. If that was one, then there was at least one other. “What’s the other reason then?” She asked.

  “Simple, I don’t want people to know its me.” He replied.

  “Why not?” She asked.

  He furrowed his brow at her question, then stopped walking, which caused her to as well, and they stared at each other for moment, her confused, and him with narrowed eyes. Finally, he spoke up. “Do you not know who I am?”

  She didn’t know what to say, how would she know? “A lucifer dragon of some sort?”

  “Yes, obviously.” He replied, rolling his eyes. “But there’s not that many of us around anymore. Most of us died, including me.”

  She raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re dead?” She asked, thinking it was some odd joke.

  “Yep.” He replied, serious as ever.

  She looked around for a moment, running through her mind for dead lucifers. “How long have you been dead for?”

  He shrugged. “Not sure. A few years at least. Maybe 7 or 8? I don’t know. I was drunk in a bar one night, I know, shocking, when I overheard a couple talking about going to Alessandria to visit the statue in honor of my death. I was pretty shocked to find out I was dead, and even more shocked to find out there was a statue in honor of it. Apparently, some merchant in Merellien claimed to have killed me. Not sure how he convinced everyone with no body, but apparently, he did, as he rose to king.”

  She pursed her lips as she continued to ponder who this man was. She had heard of the statue, and the king in Merellien, but being a slave in a cage for most of her life, hearing and remembering the news wasn’t one of her top priorities. Who was it again the king had killed? It was some sort of criminal, right? “You never showed people you were actually still alive because you were wanted?” She asked.

  “Exactly!” He said, pointing at her like a teacher to a student that finally got his question right. “I feel it’s a fair trade. He gets to be king, and I get to roam around free without any knights chasing after me.”

  She looked around their surroundings again, continuing to rack her mind for who he was. He being a criminal didn’t actually narrow it down any. Depending on your definition of crime, most lucifers were criminals. They had the power to do what they wanted, when they wanted, and most did. After a few more moments drawing blanks, she bowed to him. “I apologize ma…. sir. I cannot figure out who you are. Would you be so kind as to tell me?”

  He crossed his arms, looking rather disappointedly at her. “Really, you can’t figure it out?” She shook her head no. “But you were wearing a shirt of it just a few hours ago.”

  She furrowed her brow now. She had been a wearing a shirt with his name on it a few hours ago? Did he mean he had written his name on the tag of the shirt? Did he think she would have looked at that? That couldn’t be the case, he was acting as if it was obvious, impossible for her to miss. So, if it wasn’t the tag, then what was it? The shirt didn’t have any names on it, it just said ‘The black devil will….’, she paused as her eyes exploded. It couldn’t be. There was no way. “You’re the black devil?” She whispered, almost scared to even say it.

  “There you go!” He replied, like it was no big deal. “You finally put two and two together, and got four. Though I’m a little disappointed with how long it took when you were wearing a shirt with my name on it.”

  “I…I…” She stumbled, eyes darting all around. “I thought you just liked him or something.”

  He snorted. “You thought I was a fan of the black devil?" He paused. "Wait, did I have fans?” She barely even registered his somewhat rhetorical question, as she stood there in shocked silence, eyes wide with fear. Seeing her frozen, stunned, and scared face, he frowned as he figured out she had new found fear towards him, assumed the conversation was all but over, turned, and started walking again, pointing down the path. “Look at that, talking really does help pass the time, doesn’t it.” He tried to say casually, but struggled to keep the dejection from his voice. “I can see the entrance to the village a little way down the road.”

  She though stood still for a moment as ice cold fear coursed through her veins. She was traveling with one of the most bloodthirsty, kill happy people in the history of the world. Even with how little news she had heard or retained, she knew of the tales of the black devil. Everybody did. It was virtually a holiday when it came out that he had died. But he wasn’t dead, he was right there, casually walking down the road. Her heart dropped as any hope she even dared to pretend to have, now vanished. She was never going to be free, her soul was all but gone, she was fucked.