The Outcast's Rebirth

CHAPTER 12: The Silence of Defeat

As the captives were herded onto the ship, the white men methodically counted their numbers, directing them toward the dark, cramped hold. Each person was reduced to a number, a piece of property, nothing more. Kyzzu stood in line, his heart heavy with dread, his mind reeling with the events that had unfolded. The year was 1795, and the transatlantic slave trade had been flourishing for centuries, with European powers like Britain, Portugal, and France competing for dominance.

Kyzzu's village, nestled deep within the jungle, had remained isolated from the outside world, unaware of the horrors that lurked beyond their lush canopy. Theirs was a simple existence, guided by ancient traditions and a profound connection with nature. But the outside world had eventually found them, exploiting their naivety and vulnerability.

As Kyzzu awaited his turn, a British sailor, clad in worn, salt-stained attire, scrutinized him with a calculating gaze. The sailor's eyes lingered on Kyzzu's features. For a moment, Kyzzu thought he saw a flicker of curiosity, perhaps even a hint of unease, in the sailor's expression.

"Look at this one," the sailor muttered to his companion, a burly man with a thick beard. "He's got the marks of the forest people. Must be from one of them isolated tribes."

The bearded man grunted, eyeing Kyzzu with disdain. "Aye, another savage from the jungle. They're always the hardest to break."

Kyzzu felt a surge of shame and anger, but his battered spirit couldn't muster the strength to respond. He stood mute, his eyes cast downward, as the sailors continued their examination.

"Check his teeth, see if he's got any scars or brands," the bearded man ordered, his voice devoid of empathy.

The sailor complied, yanking Kyzzu's jaw open, inspecting his teeth with the same detachment one would examine a horse. Kyzzu winced, humiliation burning within him.

"Says here he's about sixteen," the sailor announced, consulting a tattered ledger. " He's all clean, Healthy enough, considering. We can get a good price for him."

Kyzzu's thoughts drifted to his village, to the loved ones he had lost, to the life he once knew. His mind tormented him with memories of Renzi's final moments, of his mother's worried eyes, of his sister's bright smile, of his father's embrace. The weight of his guilt and regret threatened to consume him.

As the sailor finished recording Kyzzu's details, he grasped the young man's wrist, yanking him forward. Kyzzu stumbled, his legs trembling beneath him.

"Number 217," the sailor growled, shoving Kyzzu toward the hold, the man's gaze lingered on Kyzzu's striking blue eyes, a rare sight among the villagers. His eyes then traveled down to the marks on Kyzzu's skin, symbols that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, and then to his hair, which now cascaded down to his waist. The long, large curls, had been carefully groomed by his mother, who had never allowed it to be cut.

The rough handling during their capture had broken the tie that usually kept it bound, letting it fall freely around him, giving him an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance.

The white man's expression shifted as he took in Kyzzu's features. A wicked grin spread across his face as he motioned to one of his comrades.

"Well This one's different," he muttered, his voice laced with a sinister edge. "He'll be worth keeping aside... for entertainment."

Kyzzu's stomach twisted in fear and disgust as he realized what the man intended. He opened his mouth to protest, but his voice caught in his throat. Before he could react, the man reached out, roughly grabbing his arm to pull him aside from the others. The other captives looked on in silent horror, too beaten down to offer any help.