The sun had barely crested over the tree line when Virgil mounted his black stallion, Onyx, his expression unreadable under the low morning light. The dense forest that surrounded his estate swayed gently with the breeze, a false comfort in what would be a long, grueling day for Akita.
She stood nearby, silent and observant, her bare feet already stained with earth. Slung across her back was the bow Virgil had given her, its wood worn but still strong. A quiver of arrows clinked softly as she shifted her weight, casting a glance at her master from beneath dark lashes.
Just days ago, he had been… different. In the market, he had spoken to her with a tone she could almost mistake for kindness—an act, perhaps, or a crack in his carefully guarded demeanor. He had even allowed her to walk beside him instead of behind. But like always, it was fleeting. This morning, he was cold again, distant, sharp as a blade kept honed with discipline and wrath.
"You'll hunt today," Virgil said flatly, not looking at her as he guided Onyx forward into the wooded path. "You will kill the prey. And drag it back."
Akita didn't respond. She knew better than to speak unless ordered. Still, her fingers curled slightly around the grip of her bow. Her body ached from the chores she had done the night before, her arms sore, her feet blistered. But her spirit—her warrior's spirit—held firm.
The woods felt like a vast maze of roots, moss, and whispers. Birds sang above, unaware of the predator that walked below. Akita moved quietly, keeping her steps light, her eyes sharp. She had hunted before—before her capture, before the estate, before the collar that now felt like a second skin around her throat. But time and trauma dulled even the sharpest instincts, and now she had to remember how to move like a shadow again.
Virgil rode behind her in silence, the only sound the rhythmic clop of Onyx's hooves and the creak of saddle leather. He didn't help. He didn't offer advice. He only watched.
It wasn't until the sun reached its peak that Akita finally spotted movement—a young deer grazing just ahead near a thicket. Her breath hitched. Her hands moved to draw an arrow. Her muscles trembled, not from fear, but from the pressure. She could feel Virgil's gaze burning into her back.
She took aim.
The arrow struck.
The deer fell.
A clean shot—through the throat. Instant. No suffering.
For a moment, Akita froze, bow still drawn. Then, she lowered it slowly, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her pride was short-lived, though.
Virgil dismounted, his boots crunching on dried leaves as he approached the kill. He knelt beside it, dragging a gloved hand over its fur, inspecting the wound with a small hum of approval.
"Well," he said, rising to full height. "I was beginning to think my kitten was useless after all."
Akita met his eyes for a second, and quickly looked away. She didn't need praise, but the mocking tone still stung.
"Drag it," he ordered, mounting Onyx again.
She stared at him, then at the deer—heavy and limp on the forest floor.
"You want me to carry it… back?"
Virgil's eyes narrowed. "Do you want to eat tonight?"
Akita bit her tongue and stepped forward, looping her arms under the animal's legs and lifting with all the strength she had. Her back screamed in protest. The weight dragged behind her like shame, and still, Virgil rode ahead, slow and composed, as if they were on a casual outing.
The forest stretched endlessly. Every step was agony. Blood from the deer smeared her gown, stuck to her hands, stained her feet. She staggered a few times, but never let go. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Once the manor came into view beyond the trees, she nearly collapsed. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her arms trembling, her legs nearly giving out beneath her. But still, she held the kill and walked past the gates.
The guards barely glanced at her—used to the sight of their lord's slave bloodied and broken, carrying out his commands like a faithful dog.
Virgil finally dismounted and approached her slowly. He looked at her—at the blood on her dress, the sweat on her forehead, the fire still burning in her eyes.
"You've learned something today," he said coolly.
Akita didn't reply. Her hands still gripped the deer, though her arms were now numb. Her body was shaking.
"You should thank me."
Still silence.
Virgil tilted his head, amused. "No gratitude? You're becoming ungrateful, Kitten."
"I carried your kill," she said hoarsely, her voice thick with defiance. "I did what you asked."
"And now," he said with a smirk, "you'll skin it, clean it, and prepare it for dinner."
She clenched her jaw, nodding stiffly.
Virgil stepped closer, brushing a strand of her matted hair behind her ear. "Perhaps there's hope for you yet."
She flinched at the touch but didn't move away. Not this time.
As he turned and walked away, Akita looked down at the slain deer. Her muscles screamed, her spirit ached, but something in her chest throbbed harder—an ember of something old, something tribal, something hers.
She wouldn't break. Not yet,Not ever.
The blood had dried on Akita's skin by the time she dragged the deer to the stone slab behind the kitchen—her hands raw, her arms aching. She stood alone under the burning afternoon sun, a knife in hand, the coppery stench of the carcass soaking into her skin. The deer's still-warm body lay limp before her, and without hesitation, she began the gruesome process of skinning it.
Virgil had given no further instructions—he didn't need to. The unspoken threat in his narrowed eyes said enough.
Each cut was deliberate. Each tear of hide from flesh reminded her of her life before. Her tribe had trained warriors, not servants, but survival had taught them everything—even how to use a blade when your hands shook. The blade bit deep, separating muscle from sinew, and though her hands trembled, Akita didn't stop. She couldn't afford to.
When she finally finished, she was soaked in sweat and blood, her breath shallow and harsh. The estate's cooks emerged, nodding as they took the carcass from her without a word. They knew better than to speak to Virgil's slave unless spoken to.
Akita stepped outside, wiping her hands on her already-ruined gown. The sun was beginning to dip behind the trees, casting an orange hue over the land. The quiet called to her. Her spirit surged with one wild thought.
Running was all she thought of doing.Her chest rose and fell, eyes darting to the woods just past the garden.
She hesitated.
She remembered the bracelet—Virgil's so-called "gift." A dark piece of silver adorned with colorful beads that shimmered like a drop of blood. He had clasped it around her wrist the day before with an unusual softness in his voice:
"Something to mark what's mine. You should be flattered."
But she hadn't felt flattered. She had felt owned.
Now, with the moment in her hands, she ignored the bracelet entirely.
She ran.
Her feet pounded against the dirt, her heart roaring louder than the wind. Trees whipped past her, and for a brief, fleeting second, Akita thought—maybe this time—maybe this time she would make it.
But the world tilted.
The ground twisted beneath her feet.
A force like a thousand hooks yanked her backward into darkness.
The woods vanished. So did the wind. The scent of pine was replaced by incense and blood.
When her vision cleared, Akita was back in Virgil's chambers—her knees hitting the hard stone floor beneath her. She gasped, startled, her body paralyzed in shock.
Virgil stood before her.
His arms crossed and his crimson eyes burned like fire behind a storm.
"So predictable," he said coldly, his voice low and sharp as a blade. "I knew you'd try it."
Akita's eyes widened, and she scrambled backward, only to find herself pressed against the bedframe. "What—what did you do?"
"The bracelet," Virgil said, taking slow, controlled steps toward her. "A little enchantment. Nothing too painful. Just… enough to remind you who you belong to."
Her fingers gripped the bracelet as she tried to yank it off, but it wouldn't budge. It had melded with her skin, fused to her like a cursed brand.
Virgil raised a brow. "Do you think I'm stupid, Akita? You think I'd let my favorite toy run off into the wild where some filthy beast might damage it?"
"I'm not your toy!" she snapped, defiance breaking through her fear.
That was her mistake.
The room fell into silence.
Virgil's smile vanished. He closed the distance in two strides and struck the bell on her collar—hard.
A sharp ringing echoed like glass through the room, and suddenly Akita's body collapsed beneath her. It wasn't just pain—it was like fire through her veins, a spell woven to her very soul.
She cried out, falling to her knees, breath ripped from her lungs.
"You are mine," Virgil hissed, kneeling beside her, grabbing her chin in his cold hand and forcing her to look up at him. "Say it."
Akita clenched her jaw, eyes blurred with pain and humiliation.
"Say it," he repeated, his voice now a growl. "Or I'll strike it again."
"I…" Her voice trembled. "I am yours… Master."
The words burned her throat like acid.
Virgil released her face with a scoff. "Was that so hard?"
Akita remained on the floor, shaking, tears threatening to form but never falling.
"You truly thought," he continued, circling her like a predator, "that I would go through all the trouble of breaking you, only to let you slip through the trees like some forest spirit? Kitten, don't be naïve."
"You were kind to me yesterday," she spat bitterly. "You let me walk beside you. You spoke gently."
He stopped. For a moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
"Yesterday," he said, "was a game. Today is the truth. The world is full of men worse than me. And if you ever step outside these walls again without permission, I won't just ring the bell. I'll burn the collar into your neck."
Akita's breath hitched. The collar had already left marks from past punishments. But this—this was different. This was crueler.
"I should leave you here to think about what you've done," he muttered, turning from her. "But instead, I'll let you sleep near the fire like a good little pet."
He snapped his fingers, and the maids entered moments later with blankets and a pillow. They didn't look her in the eye.
Virgil glanced over his shoulder one last time. "Tomorrow," he said, "you will clean the blood off the stairs and polish my boots. No food. Consider it a lesson in loyalty."
Akita didn't respond. Her heart was silent.
As the door shut behind him, she curled into the blanket beside the fireplace, her limbs aching, her soul quiet.
The fire flickered beside her.
The collar weighed heavier than ever.
But somewhere in the hollow of her chest, her spirit whispered:Not broken.Not yet.