Chapter 124: The North (8)

“Hey. Get up.”

Even now, when I close my eyes, the old log ceiling comes vividly to mind. The tree trunks, which had stoically endured the rain, were wrinkled like an old man’s face. The straw bed was so soft that it wouldn’t easily let go of my weary body. My limbs felt like they were sinking into a swamp, and I could only barely open my eyes, facing the old wooden ceiling.

This log house, which must have lived longer than me, probably didn’t want to be stared at for such a long time either.

“Hey, the Master told me to move all these things this morning.”

I turned my head. Blue hair and blue eyes stared intently at me. His slightly taller height and slightly more mature appearance subtly suggested I call him ‘older brother’, but I never did.

His name was No. 5. No. 5 got his name because he was the fifth one to arrive at this place. I was No. 17, and he, having arrived earlier, helped me since I hadn’t been here long.

“What?”

As I asked, stretching, he kicked the cart by the door impatiently. It was full of crates with difficult letters I couldn’t read. Just looking at the seemingly heavy crates made my face scrunch up.

“Damn it……”

“Hey, hey, don’t curse. Didn’t you hear the Master?”

I knew the rule No. 5 was talking about well. [Must not use bad language] It was a rule to maintain a harmonious atmosphere by only using kind words to each other. No. 5 didn’t lecture me further, and I just nodded.

“Hurry up and help. I can’t move this alone.”

I started moving the cargo with No. 5 as he requested. The cargo was very heavy, but it wasn’t impossible to move when the two of us lifted it together. The storage warehouse next to the dormitory was already half-full, suggesting other children had moved their cargo.

Until we emptied half the cart, we worked without saying a word. We worked hard, for the sake of the Master who fed and housed us. The children who came here had once tasted miserable lives as slaves. Knowing that our only destination if kicked out would be hell, I put even more strength into my arms.

“Hey, hey, slow down.”

As I shortened my stride, No. 5 said with a flustered look. I could feel him quickening his pace to match mine. I stopped walking to match his movement, and No. 5, regaining his balance, said to me,

“You can move again. Thanks.”

It didn’t take much longer to move the remaining items. We wiped our sweat and returned to the dormitory. Bath time was still a long way off, but my shirt was soaked and it felt incredibly sticky. No. 5, after returning the empty cart, said to me,

“You worked hard today too.”

“Yeah.”

I nodded and threw myself back onto the straw bed. The world was harsh, but this straw bed always embraced me warmly. No. 5 sat on a wooden chair in the corner. The chair’s four legs were unbalanced, making it wobble like it was dancing. No. 5 deliberately shifted his weight to make the chair creak.

“Hey.”

“What?”

Bath time hadn’t arrived yet. We could only wash after sunset. No. 5 stopped tapping the floor with the chair and looked at me. He only looked at me like this when he had something serious to discuss. I showed my displeasure, but No. 5 didn’t seem to care.

“When will we get names?”

We didn’t have names. I was No. 17, and the blue-haired boy was No. 5. Children who worked the hardest and behaved most exemplarily in this facility were given names. They said names like ‘Luna’ for picking the moon, or ‘Ignis’ to signify a fiery personality and passionate person, were given depending on the Master’s mood that day.

And after the naming ceremony, the slave documents were burned at the altar. Children who were no longer slaves became free citizens and could leave this land.

“I want to become a star.”

No. 5 said this. His eyes were looking at the setting sun. A deep blue color, like silk, filled the boundary between the sky blue and the navy blue sky. Like scattered sparkling jewels, the stars, silhouetted against the sun, shone towards us. No. 5 said this while looking at the stars through the window.

“‘Because I want to become a wonderful person, like a star shining in the sky. I’m going to ask for a name related to stars.'”

“Do you like stars that much?”

I couldn’t help but feel excited at the thought of getting a name too. Because the only thing defining us was our price. A name is the most important element for self-expression, but names chosen by slaves themselves were never recognized by anyone. No matter what I called myself, people would just laugh and assign me a number.

All the young slaves had experienced getting slapped after arbitrarily giving themselves a name. A slave trader with a potbelly or a missing front tooth would often sneer with a vulgar laugh like this:

‘That’s a wonderful name! But here, you’re just number 132. Got it? Stop talking crazy about names. You understand, right?’

There were only two ways for a slave to get a name. Either to die and get the name ‘[Unknown Person]’, or to receive a name before entering a noble family. Slaves taken to factories, quarries, and mines were all called by numbers.

“I like stars. They light up the night.”

“Wouldn’t ‘Moon’ or ‘Sun’ be better then?”

No. 5 shook his head at my question. He said with an awkward smile,

“That’s… too embarrassing. I can’t stand out in front of people. I just want to be someone who quietly helps others shine brightly, enabling them to be the center of attention.”

No. 5 looked at me again. His gaze seemed to ask what name I desired. I rolled over and said,

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about what name I’d want. I just figured, if I get one, that’s fine, and I hoped it would be a cool name.”

I got up from my spot again. No. 5 stared intently at me, waiting for me to continue. I asked,

“If… if we get to leave here, where will you go?”

No. 5 said,

“First, I think I’ll try farming in the countryside. Find a job on a farm, get paid reasonably. Save up money, then head to the city. And I’ll study in the city. Study hard, find work I can do.”

No. 5 had a concrete plan. At that moment, I thought,

Maybe, if I stay here long enough, I’ll be able to think the same way as No. 5? Wasn’t it because No. 5 stayed here that he could make plans for the future?

“I’m envious. There’s still so much I don’t know, I wouldn’t even know where to start learning.”

“The Master teaches us studies here too. You can learn as much as you want.”

That statement truly made my heart race. Because I wanted to see the beautiful future No. 5 envisioned too.

I said to No. 5,

“If things go well, will you give me a job?”

“I don’t like you because you’re shifty.”

“Wow, that’s harsh.”

Jokes were exchanged. My request for a job wasn’t serious, and his rejection wasn’t genuine either. Unlike the words that drew a line between us, we crossed that line with laughter, meeting each other’s eyes. Laughter echoed, and bath time was approaching.

“Um, excuse me……”

We stopped laughing and turned around. A girl with white hair peeked her head out and knocked on the door. The sight of her knocking despite the door being open was amusing, making me chuckle. No. 5 asked,

“What is it?”

“Ah, I’m No. 13. Um… it’s the men’s bath time now, so you need to gather quickly.”

She was smaller than me. Her name, No. 13, and her delicate appearance piqued my curiosity. No. 5 saw me following the direction No. 13 had disappeared and nudged my shoulder, asking,

“You got a crush?”

“No.”

At that time, I didn’t know much about No. 13. I just thought she was a timid child.

I closed my eyes again and then opened them.

The memories began to rewind at a speed like a flash flood overflowing during the rainy season. Evan, once a slave at the facility, suddenly found himself facing a familiar sensation, with hollow eyes and bound by chains. Despair and helplessness. We, torn onto different paths, exchanged glances countless times, but couldn’t do more.

Because screaming meant getting hit. Because trying to escape meant getting beaten to death at any time.

No. 13 was sobbing as she was loaded onto a carriage. No. 5 tried to escape, got beaten, and was dragged away. I walked along the road obediently.

After passing through several masters like a transfer station, the last slave trader I met looked me up and down and said condescendingly,

“Alright, you’re heading to that famous Flancia family now. Understand? Your name is Evan. No other name is needed. You are Evan.”

Back then, I thought it didn’t matter what name I was given. I thought everyone who could tell me the origin of my name and be proud of it was dead. I expected to die miserably, beaten under some noble. Still, on the other hand, I was glad to have received a cool name.

“No. 17.”

With that voice, my mind, which had drifted to the past, returned as if washed ashore by a wave. I was now standing in the middle of a tavern in the North. The waiter was glaring at me standing there awkwardly, and people were glancing at me.

And that wasn’t important.

Right now. No. 5 was alive and well right before my eyes. I didn’t know what expression to wear, so I blinked and hesitated. My head was spinning, and I felt short of breath. Alice and Lorena looked taken aback by my state.

No. 5 approached me and said,

“Did you get a cool name?”

What should I answer?

I just laughed.