The Outcast's Rebirth

CHAPTER 14: Beneath the Surface

Kyzzu was led to a separate carriage, its worn leather creaking in protest as he settled into the cramped, dimly lit interior. The vehicle jolted forward, tossing him about like a rag doll with every bump and rut in the road. As he gazed out the small, barred window, the world outside seemed to blur together - the thatched roofs of cottages, the rustic clothing of passersby, and the distant spires of churches reaching toward the sky. The sights and sounds were from a bygone era, a time long before the England he remembered.

The realization that he was now in the 1790s suffocated him, weighing him down like an anchor. This wasn't the England of the future, where progress and freedom were more than just distant dreams. The pain of his circumstances seared through him, compounded by the physical agony of the brand on his back. The raw, blistered flesh throbbed with every jolt, a constant reminder of his newfound status as a slave.

As the carriage creaked to a halt in front of a grand estate, Kyzzu's heart sank further. The mansion loomed before him, its imposing façade a stark contrast to the life he'd once known. Winston's wealth was evident in every detail - the manicured gardens, the ornate fountains, and the sprawling estate that seemed to stretch on forever. The carriage door creaked open, and Kyzzu was pulled out, his legs trembling beneath him.

Winston stood near the entrance of his manor, his back to Kyzzu, embracing a tall, blonde woman who was the very picture of elegance. The way they spoke, the soft laughter that passed between them, was filled with affection and ease.

As Kyzzu watched, a small boy came running, his laughter ringing out as he crashed into Winston's legs. The boy was a striking blend of both his parents, with his mother's golden hair and his father's sharp features. Winston lifted the boy into his arms, the love in his eyes unmistakable as he kissed his son's forehead.

For a moment, Kyzzu felt a pang of longing-a yearning for a family, a home. But those dreams had been shattered long ago, replaced with the harsh reality of his current life.

The woman, noticing Kyzzu's presence, turned her gaze on him. Her blue eyes narrowed slightly as she took in his appearance, curiosity flickering in her expression. "Who is this, Winston?" she asked, her tone casual but tinged with mild disapproval. "We don't need any more slaves. The estate is already well-staffed."

Winston glanced over at Kyzzu, his eyes briefly meeting Kyzzu's before he turned back to his wife. "He's different," Winston replied, his voice smooth and controlled. "And he speaks English."

The woman's eyebrow arched in interest, but only for a moment. "English, you say?" She looked Kyzzu over once more, noting his unusual features-his striking eyes, his stature, his demeanor. But whatever interest she had was fleeting, and she soon dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

"Well, if you say so," she murmured, her focus already returning to her husband. "But tell me, darling, how was the voyage? Did anything interesting happen?"

As Winston and his wife walked away, arm in arm, Kyzzu was left standing alone, the weight of his situation pressing down on him.

He was no longer a son of a chief, no longer someone with a future of his own making. He was a curiosity, an exotic possession, in a world that was entirely foreign to him. The reality of his existence settled in, leaving him feeling emptier than ever before.

Kyzzu was led to a small, dimly lit room tucked away in a far corner of the grand estate. The room was simple, almost barren, with only a narrow bed and a small table in the corner. It was a stark contrast to the opulence of the mansion outside. He sat down on the edge of the bed, the weight of everything that had happened pressing heavily on his shoulders.