Chapter 1: Aris

In a prison fortified with the latest technological walls. Aris Thorne stared at the flickering holographic screen. [Seven days until the execution] the AI chip embedded in his brain announced. "Soon, soon I will escape this hellish place," he thought, his voice weary with despair. He slowly moved sluggishly toward the grey metallic wall and leaned back against it. His hair was disheveled, and dark circles were evident under his eyes, while his white lab coat bore brown stains. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, he recalled how he once had been hailed as the most gifted and talented individual at the dawn of the interstellar era. He had been awarded the Nobel Prize, and his status had rivaled that of noble families. Additionally, due to his exceptional IQ, he was ranked among the world's brightest minds in the last millennia.

But now, none of it mattered. He was a prisoner, a condemned man awaiting death with no hope in sight. Framed and discarded, he felt no different from a machine, stripped of autonomy, and reduced to nothing.

Deep down, he knew the truth, and so did everyone else. His downfall had been carefully orchestrated, a masterful deception that had destroyed his life beyond repair. He could still see the look in his wife's eyes; not of doubt, but of chilling, predatorycertainty, as if she had always believed him capable of such depravity.

And his children, how their faces haunted him. The memory of their expressions pierced his heart, their features twisted in disgust, as though he had never truly been their father at all.

They saw the 'solid proof,' the meticulously crafted holographic videos, the manipulated data streams, each frame painting him as a predator and a monster. They saw it all, the fabricated evidence of his supposed assault on the Princess of the Empire, and they believed it. They chose to believe it over the man they had lived with, loved, and known for decades. They knew his character, or so he thought. But their fear of death and their desire to protect their own reputations outweighed any loyalty.

"You are a monster father how could you try to sexually assault the princess" he remembered his daughter yelling without even wavering, she did not even question him, she didn't even ask if he did it she immediately joined the mob who were berating him, they were so eager to distance themselves from the taint of his supposed crime. 

The trial was also rushed, it felt like a formality. His own lawyer, who was also his friend, had been bribed to neglect his duties. Within weeks, he found himself behind bars, and just two months later, the court handed down a death penalty, claiming he had defiled a member of the royal family and tarnished their reputation. But would the royal family really risk staining their own name just to see him dead? The accusation was absurd, no sane person would believe it. And yet, the world had turned against him. He felt powerless a one man against an entire empire. What could he do?

After six days in the prison, the time had finally come. Aris was sitting alone in his prison cell when two armed officers entered. They grabbed him and pulled him to his feet without saying a word.

He looked around one last time, taking in the cold, gray walls of his cell. Before he could think anymore, a black cloth was thrown over his head, leaving him in darkness and he was escorted to a car.

The ride felt long, thirty minutes that seemed to stretch on forever. The car bounced with every turn, and all he could hear was the engine's sound and the officers' voices outside.

When they finally stopped, the cloth was pulled away, and Aris was led into a small room with an electrical chair at the center. The air smelled of metal and chemicals. Without saying anything, they strapped him into the electric chair.

As the guards worked around him, Aris tried to listen. He hoped to hear someone familiar, maybe even his family, but there was nothing. Not a single person he knew had come. A deep sadness filled him. He sighed, feeling empty. He had given everything for them, but now, at his last moment, no one had come to see him.

He didn't want them to beg for his life. He didn't want them to fight for him. All he wanted was to see them one last time. But now, even that small wish was gone.

Death, he thought, might be an escape from all these.

After four minutes of strapping him tightly, the executioner flipped the switch without mercy. A crackling jolt of electricity shot through Aris's body. His muscles convulsed uncontrollably, his skin blackened and charred as searing pain tore through him. His vision darkened, his limbs twitching in spasms against the tight restraints. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, thick and acrid.

[WARNING! WARNING!]

The AI chip embedded in his brain blared to life, its cold, mechanical voice cutting through the searing pain.

[Critical damage detected. Initiating emergency protocols.]

Aris's consciousness flickered like a dying light, but the AI's efforts didn't stop. It fought to save him, issuing commands to nearby medical units, routing through available emergency networks, and trying every possible avenue to secure help.

[Searching for nearby medical assistance…]

[Redirecting to nearest ambulance service…]

[Medical response unavailable. Calling for emergency transport…]

[Unable to detect medical units in range.]

The AI continued its futile attempts, over and over. But the world around Aris remained silent, no emergency vehicles, no response, only the silence of the execution room remained. 

And then, as his fading vision focused just enough to catch the one thing he had not expected, a bitter laugh escaped his cracked lips. His family, his wife, and his children hadn't come. Not a single familiar face, not a trace of support.

At that moment, it became clear. The people he had once loved, the people he had fought for, had abandoned him.

But the AI chip, emotionless, calculating, had fought for him. It didn't know love, loyalty, or betrayal, it only knew logic, and rules, and it fought for his life with the cold precision of a machine.

Aris chuckled, the sound dry and broken. "I found what I sought in something unexpected," he thought.

......…

Aris woke up in a small bed in a cramped dormitory and muttered, "Not again… that dream." It had been ten days since his rebirth, but the dream still haunted him. It left a scar that would not heal easily.

He looked around and saw most of the boys still asleep on their thin mattresses that barely provided any comfort, and some didn't even have that—they slept on cardboard. There were no blankets to keep them warm.

Aris got up and stepped outside. The house he lived in sat at the far corner of the farm, just one among dozens of similar, run-down houses.

The sun had yet to rise, and the cold air bit at his skin as he moved through the rows of old houses. He made his way to the well, drew some not-so-clean water, splashed it on his face, and brushed his teeth with a stick he had been carrying.

In the first few days after waking up in this weak, malnourished body of a ten-year-old, Aris was confused and disoriented. It felt like a dream. He wasn't even fully aware of his surroundings, his body moved on instinct alone.

But after a day, reality sank in. He was a slave. He didn't even have a name, only a number.

He had been born into slavery. His parents had been slaves too, but they had died from overwork in the mines. Now, he was forced to work on a farm. And when he grew older, he would likely be sent to the mines as well.

After brushing and washing himself, Aris returned to the house and stood in front of it, waiting for the chief slave manager to arrive. Today was Thursday, the day when everyone's work was recorded. Those who did not meet their monthly quota would face punishment from the chief slave manager, which typically involved being sent to the mines to mine for iron. Aris had already wasted two days and wasn't sure if he had met his monthly quota.

The young boys gathered in front of their houses as they waited. Some went to wash their faces, while others remained in front of their homes without going to wash up. Aris noticed that some had eye gunk, but that didn't matter to everyone, some didn't have the luxury of going to wash. Additionally, a few boys had red eyes, indicating they either hadn't slept enough or hadn't slept at all.

Most of the kids were wearing torn clothes, and some had wounds on their legs with visible festering. Aris knew that the masters did not care for any of them; they only looked after those with strong bodies or those who had a decent appearance, particularly if they were female.

After thirty minutes, the chief slave manager arrived, but he wasn't alone. Accompanying him was a middle-aged man dressed in a black shirt and grey pants. He had an average build and was holding a handkerchief to cover his face. "What a terrible place; the stench is unbearable," the man said, his voice filled with disgust. The chief slave manager, smiling in an attempt to please him, responded, "Yes, yes, these filthy lowlifes are nothing more than animals. No matter how much we try to clean them up, they always stink. But don't worry, sir, we keep them in their place. They know better than to cause trouble."

The chief slave manager looked around and saw one of the kids sitting due to his leg injury and he yelled "How dare you sit in front of Sir Fred "Without hesitation, he waved his hand. Two of his loyal subordinates, both average in build but eager to please, stepped forward and they moved toward the kid.

The young boy dropped to his knees, his whole body trembling. Tears streamed down his dirt-streaked face as he clutched his injured leg, his voice cracking with fear.

"Please… I-I didn't mean to disrespect Sir Fred!" he sobbed. "My leg… it hurts so much! I was only resting for a moment… I swear I'll never do it again! Please, don't punish me!"

He pressed his forehead to the ground, his frail body shaking violently. His cries were raw, filled with sheer desperation. "I'll work harder! I won't slow down again! Please, have mercy… I beg you!"

Sir Fred watched the scene with mild amusement, his nose still buried in his handkerchief. He glanced at the chief slave manager and waved lazily.

"Enough. There's no need to spoil the place with his wailing. Just make sure he does his job."

The chief slave manager hesitated but quickly forced a smile. "Of course, Sir Fred."

He shot the boy a glare before sneering, "You got lucky today. Next time, I won't be so kind."

The boy bowed his head repeatedly, his tears still falling. "Thank you… thank you, sir!" He bit his lip to stop his sobs, forcing himself to stand despite the pain.

"The chief slave manager scanned the group with cold eyes before speaking.

"This is Sir Fred," he announced, his tone sharp. "He has come to take a few of you who are strong enough to the squire's station. If you do well, you will leave this cursed place, your life will change,"

His voice carried no encouragement, only thinly veiled hostility. He knew that if any of these kids became squires, they might one day rise high enough to take revenge on him. The thought of this made his grip tighten behind his back.

Among the crowd, Aris listened intently, his expression calm. "So there is a way out of this place…" he thought, his heart pounding.