Irritable Demi-human

The slave crest burns like a brand.

It chains my will, forcing submission with every pulse of its magic. 

Yet, tied around my arm is the rabbit boy's cloth—rough and frayed.

While the crest marks me as property, the cloth reminds me that I am free. For now, it's enough to keep me moving.

.

Three weeks have passed since that incident, and every day feels like a balancing act on the edge of a blade. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the estate's work yard. My hands move deftly, sorting through piles of worn tools and rusted scraps. The motions are second nature now, my body adjusting to the relentless pace of labor. My back still aches from the scars, but the pain is a dull throb, a constant companion I've learned to ignore.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the estate's work yard. My hands move deftly, sorting through piles of worn tools and rusted scraps. The motions are second nature now, my body adjusting to the relentless pace of labor. My back still aches from the scars, but the pain is a dull throb, a constant companion I've learned to ignore.

Around me, the other slaves work in grim silence, their faces etched with exhaustion. The rabbit boy—still skittish but braver than before—stands a few feet away, his ears twitching at every sharp sound. I glance at him briefly, a faint flicker of concern crossing my mind before I return to my task.

"Move faster!" an overseer's voice barks, shattering the fragile stillness. My muscles tense, but I keep my head down, my fingers continuing their work. I've learned how to move just quickly enough to avoid their ire, though the tension never fully leaves my shoulders.

A faint breeze carries the scent of rain, a rare reprieve in the otherwise stifling air. My thoughts drift to the distant horizon, where the estate's iron gates stand tall and imposing. Beyond them lies freedom—or so I like to imagine.

But freedom feels as distant as the sky, an impossible dream bound by the glowing crest etched into my skin. My hand brushes against the mark on my arm, a faint spark of heat reminding me of its presence. I clench my fist, forcing my focus back to the present. This isn't the time to dream.

My movements in this body feel strange, like trying to dance to a rhythm I've never learned. But as time passes, the hesitation fades. Xuê's instincts and memories guide me, filling in the gaps where my own knowledge falters. It's an odd blend—her life and mine intertwining until they feel like one.

One thing I've noticed is the name. Yuki, my old name, and Xuê both mean "snow." The realization struck me one quiet night, and I've held onto it ever since. Maybe it's a coincidence, or maybe it's fate. Either way, it feels like a thread connecting my past to this strange new life.

The rabbit boy often sits near me in the dimly lit living quarters. His timid gaze darts around nervously, but he always ends up glancing at me, seeking some kind of reassurance. Over time, he's become a quiet companion, offering small gestures of kindness like sharing his scraps of food or saving a spot close to the warmer side of the room.

Tonight, as we sit cross-legged on the cold stone floor, he inches closer, his ears twitching at the faintest sound from the hallway. "You're not afraid of them, are you?" he whispers, his voice barely audible.

I glance at him, noting the way his hands fidget with a frayed piece of cloth. "Of course, I'm afraid," I reply softly, my voice carrying a calmness I don't entirely feel. "But sometimes... fear doesn't stop you from acting."

Before he can respond, the fox-eared man strolls by, his shadow stretching across the flickering light of the room. His sharp eyes meet mine for a brief moment, and he offers a faint, almost imperceptible nod. It's a silent acknowledgment, one that I've come to understand as his way of saying, "I'm watching out for you." He doesn't linger, disappearing down the corridor as quietly as he arrived.

Around us, the other slaves settle into their own routines. Most of the demis—foxes, birds, and others—keep their distance, their faces masks of indifference. A few cast wary glances our way, while others—like the bird-like demi—click their tongues in annoyance. "She's always drawing attention to herself," she mutters, her feathers ruffling. "One day, it'll get us all punished."

The rabbit boy flinches at the comment, but I lay a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. "Ignore it," I murmur. "People fear what they don't understand."

The bird-like demi clicks her tongue again, her voice sharper this time. "She thinks she's special because the Mistress likes her. It'll come back to bite all of us. You'll see."

I exhale slowly, the frustration bubbling just below the surface. Turning toward her, I fix her with a steady gaze. "Maybe if you focused more on your work and less on complaining, we'd all have fewer problems," I say, my voice calm but carrying enough weight to draw the attention of others.

Her feathers ruffle, her beak clicking as she rises to her feet. "What did you just say?" she snaps, stepping closer. "You think you're better than us, meerkat?"

The rabbit boy shrinks back, his wide eyes darting between us. The tension in the room thickens as murmurs ripple through the other slaves. The fox-eared man's shadow passes by again, this time stopping at the edge of the room. He doesn't intervene, but his presence is a silent reminder that he's watching.

"I'm saying," I continue evenly, standing my ground, "that stirring up trouble won't help any of us. Focus on surviving, not tearing each other down."

The bird demi steps closer, her feathers puffed out in anger. "You think you can talk to me like that?" she hisses, her voice low and dangerous.

My grip tightens on the cloth in my lap, but I don't flinch. "I'm not here to fight you," I reply. "But if you want to waste your energy, go ahead. I won't stop you."

For a moment, she looks like she might strike, her talons flexing against the ground. But before she can, another voice cuts through the tension.

"Enough, Naithra," a sharp tone commands. The wolf-eared overseer—stoic and always watching—steps into the light. His eyes narrow as he addresses her. "Back down before you make a bigger fool of yourself."

Naithra freezes, her feathers ruffling indignantly as she glares at him. "She's been acting like she's better than us! Always drawing trouble."

"And you think squaring up will fix that?" he counters, his tone calm but edged with authority. "Go back to your corner. Now."

With a reluctant hiss, Naithra clicks her beak and steps back, her sharp eyes briefly cutting toward me. "Watch yourself, meerkat," she mutters before settling into her corner, fuming silently.

The wolf-eared man glances at me, his expression unreadable, then turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet room. The rabbit boy exhales shakily beside me, and I place a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay," I murmur, more for him than for me. "She won't do anything. Not tonight."

The rabbit boy inches closer to me as the tension in the room begins to fade. His small frame trembles slightly, and then, without a word, he leans against my side, his soft ears twitching nervously. His voice is barely above a whisper. "Are you really a Meerkat?"

I glanced down at him, caught off guard by the question. "No," I reply simply, meeting his wide eyes with a faint smile. "I'm an ermine."

"You're... different," he mumbles, fiddling with the frayed hem of his tunic. "Faster, stronger. Not like anyone else."

For a moment, I'm unsure how to respond. My instincts tell me to brush it off, but the boy's gaze holds a quiet sincerity. I rest a hand gently on his shoulder. "Maybe I'm just lucky," I say, offering a faint smile.

The rabbit boy tilts his head, his curiosity apparent, but he doesn't press further. Instead, he nestles closer, finding comfort in the small sense of safety our bond provides. Around us, the room begins to settle, but the weight of unspoken questions lingers in the air.

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. Let them think I'm small, weak, and unimportant. That's fine. I'd bide my time, sharpen my instincts, and learn to wield my strength when the moment came.

Because no cage, no crest, and no overseer could hold me forever.