The Testament of Lukar

Chapter Eight

Lukar's growth demanded a change in attire, and the slave quarters buzzed with activity as Keelan, a skilled hand among the slaves, took measurements for new clothes. The once snug garments were no match for Lukar's broadening shoulders and elongating frame.

The flickering light of a solitary lantern illuminated the makeshift tailor's corner, where Keelan worked diligently with whatever fabric scraps were available. The clinking sounds of sewing needles and the occasional rustle of cloth filled the room as anticipation lingered in the air.

As Keelan stitched and tailored, Lukar's gaze followed the nimble fingers that expertly wove together remnants of fabric, transforming them into a new coat that would now drape over his maturing form. The worn-out threads were replaced by careful stitches, creating a garment that mirrored the changes in Lukar's physique.

The coat, once completed, was a testament to the resourcefulness and skill of those bound by servitude. It embraced Lukar's shoulders with a newfound snugness, offering both warmth and a subtle sense of pride.

In addition to the coat, Keelan had crafted a knit cap, the product of meticulous hands that had worked tirelessly to provide Lukar with protection against the biting winter cold. The cap, made from scraps of yarn, snugly hugged Lukar's head, offering a touch of comfort in the face of the harsh elements.

As Lukar donned his new attire, a quiet gratitude filled the air, a silent acknowledgment of the camaraderie that existed within the confines of their shared struggles.

However, amidst the diligent work, Lukar couldn't help but notice the bruises that adorned Keelan's face, an unwelcome contrast to the warmth of her craftsmanship.

"Keelan, what happened to your face?" Lukar inquired, concern etching his features.

Keelan attempted to dismiss him with a weak smile, "Ah, it's nothing, just a little accident."

Lukar, however, persisted, his concern deepening. "Accident or not, you shouldn't have to endure this. Who did this to you?"

Keelan sighed, realizing Lukar wouldn't be easily deterred. "One of the overseers. I accidentally spilled some wine, and he got upset. It's nothing I can't handle."

Lukar's eyes blazed with indignation, and he made a move to leave, intent on confronting the overseer responsible. Keelan, however, placed a gentle hand on his arm, stopping him.

"No, Lukar, it's not worth it. These things happen, and we must endure," she whispered, shaking her head.

"Why should we endure this?" Lukar questioned, frustration evident in his voice. "Why do we have to put up with their cruelty?"

Keelan chuckled softly, lifting her gaze to the ceiling. "Oh Living One, will you banish the darkness from this boy's mind?"

Lukar furrowed his brow, not understanding the cryptic reference. "What do you mean?"

Keelan sighed, a weariness in her eyes. "Answering violence with violence accomplishes nothing but perpetuating the cycle. Petro wouldn't want you to grow up like that, even as a slave."

Lukar sighed in frustration, feeling the weight of the injustice pressing down on him. "But how do we change things? How do we break free from this cycle?"

Keelan's eyes softened with a mixture of sympathy and wisdom. "We endure, we resist in our own ways. Change may not come swiftly, but we plant the seeds for a different future. Violence won't bring about the change we seek; it only tightens the chains we're trying to break free from."

Lukar absorbed her words, a conflicted expression on his face. The path forward seemed uncertain, but Keelan's words resonated, offering a perspective that transcended the immediate struggle. As Lukar continued to navigate the complexities of his existence, he carried with him the quiet wisdom of those who found strength in resilience and perseverance.