Lord

The autumn was a famine-ridden one. The rains had washed away the harvest, and the count's steward had arrived early to collect his taxes. The village had no grain, no livestock—only empty stomachs.

When the soldiers surrounded the blacksmith's house, Orpheus's father stood by the forge and remained silent. He knew the law: if there is no bread, pay with flesh.

The manager pointed at Orpheus. He was twelve, thin, with sharp elbows and dark eyes.

"This one will do. The Count has no sons. Maybe he can replace his dog."

The father turned away. The mother screamed, but Orpheus stepped forward himself. He didn't want anyone else to be killed because of him.

They tied him up and threw him into a cart. It took him three days to get to the castle, swallowing dust. At night, he shivered from the cold and clutched a rusty nail.

The castle greeted him with dampness and the smell of old stone.

Orpheus was dragged into the great hall. The fireplace was blazing, but the warmth didn't reach his frozen fingers. The steward reported to the Count:

"There's nothing more to take from the village, my lord. They gave the boy away."

The Count looked at Orpheus. He was thin and dirty, but he looked straight ahead. Too straight.

— “To the basement. For a week. Let him think about what it means to be an outsider.”

Orpheus was dragged down the stone steps. It was cold, dark, and smelled of mold. He was thrown onto the straw and locked in.

He spent seven days in the dampness. They fed him once a day—bread and water. Orpheus counted the drops from the ceiling. He didn't cry. He thought about his mother.

On the eighth day the bolt clanged.

• "Come out."

Orpheus was led out into the corridor. He squinted in the light. His legs wobbled, but he walked.

The Count sat in a chair and looked at him.

"Seven days. You didn't scream. You didn't beg. That means you have some guts. Now you'll be my personal servant. You'll clean the rooms, shine the boots, serve the food. If you do well, in a year I'll think about your freedom."

Orpheus gritted his teeth. He didn't want to be a servant. But he wanted to live.

He nodded.

The Count waved his hand:

— "Take him to the kitchen. Wash and dress him."

Orpheus unclenched his fingers and dropped the nail onto the stone floor.

The path from servant to people began with this step.