The late morning sun filtered through the volcanic steam vents, casting an ethereal glow across the courtyard of Elder Akassi's estate. Around me stood about thirty human slaves gathered from various households throughout the wealthier district. Despite their ragged clothing, I noticed their relatively healthy appearance: they had no protruding ribs or festering wounds that would indicate severe mistreatment.

Barkatus stood at my side, his hand resting casually on his new sword's pommel. Several of Sathrak's militia members formed a perimeter around us, their scaled bodies tense with vigilance. I suspected their presence had less to do with my protection and more with preventing any potential slave uprising.

I've gathered you all here today with important news, I projected into their minds, watching their expressions shift from confusion to startled awareness. I've arranged for your release. Within a few weeks, you will all be free.

The courtyard fell into stunned silence. Eyes widened, jaws slackened, and a few hands trembled. Their collective disbelief hung heavy in the air.

Please, I continued, if you have questions, don't hesitate to ask them.

A moment passed before a middle-aged man with weather-beaten skin stepped forward. "What exactly do you mean by 'release'?" His voice cracked with restrained hope. "Are you just going to throw us out into the Hellzone to die?"

No, I answered firmly. You will be properly freed and escorted back to your homes. You will return to your families.

A wave of whispers swept through the group. Some clutched at each other's hands, while others remained skeptical, their eyes narrowed with suspicion born from years of dashed hopes.

"Why now?" An older woman with silver-streaked hair asked, her voice steady despite her obvious emotion. "Why are they letting us go after all this time?"

I hesitated, weighing my response. I've convinced the Elders that their practice of slavery is wrong, and they've agreed to end it.

Not entirely accurate, but close enough to the truth. I'd omitted the economic incentives that had truly swayed the Council, but these people didn't need to know the callous calculations behind their freedom.

The slaves broke into subdued conversations, their voices a mixture of hope and doubt. Some openly wept, their shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Others maintained a guarded stance, as if expecting this promise to be cruelly withdrawn at any moment.

An elderly man with a stooped back and calloused hands stepped forward. "Forgive my impertinence," he said with a respectful bow, "but who exactly are you? I've never seen anything like you in all my years here."

My apologies for not introducing myself properly, I replied. I am Vardiel, a friend of the Voiceless Prophet.

The mention of the Prophet sent another ripple of whispers through the crowd. Even Sathrak's guards straightened at the name.

I want you all to know that I deeply regret what you've endured, I continued. No being should own another. I promise I will do everything in my power to ensure you return home safely.

A piercing cry cut through the murmuring crowd, silencing all other voices. Heads turned as the slaves parted, revealing a hunched figure pushing her way forward with surprising determination.

"You!" The word escaped her withered lips like a curse. "YOU!"

She was ancient, a sapien woman with skin like crumpled parchment, mapped with deep valleys of wrinkles. Her wispy white hair floated around her head in the volcanic breeze. What struck me most were her eyes: once blue, both were now clouded with milky cataracts, yet burning with unmistakable fury.

Sathrak's guards moved to intercept her, spears lowering, but I raised my hand. Let her through.

The woman shuffled forward, her frail body propelled by decades of rage. Her gnarled fingers trembled as she pointed at me.

"Why now?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "WHY NOW?"

She reached me, her face contorted with anguish. Up close, I could see tears cutting paths through the dust on her cheeks.

"Why?" She repeated, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Why couldn't you have come when it mattered?"

I don't understand, I replied, lowering myself to her level.

"The monsters took me when I was a child," she said, her words tumbling out between ragged breaths. "Dragged me from my family's farm. My mother screamed. My father fought. They killed him right there."

The courtyard had gone completely silent. Even Barkatus looked away, his jaw tight.

"Sixty years," she continued, her voice rising again. "SIXTY YEARS I've been here! Scrubbing floors until my fingers bled. Carrying water until my back gave out. Beaten when I was young. Ignored when I grew old."

She gestured wildly at her broken body.

"Look at me! LOOK! I never married. Never had children. Never saw my mother again. Never even knew if my little brother survived that day."

Her frail hands suddenly struck my metal chest, the sound ringing hollow across the courtyard. She hit me again and again, each impact weaker than the last.

"Why couldn't you have come when I was twenty? Or thirty? Or even fifty?" Her voice cracked as sobs overtook her. "Why wait until I'm nothing but a shell? Until it's TOO LATE?"

I remained motionless, absorbing each blow. Each impact resonated through my frame, not from force but from the weight of her words.

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I'm sorry, I finally said, knowing the inadequacy of my response.

"Sorry?" She laughed bitterly through her tears. "What good is sorry to me now? What will I do with freedom? Where will I go? Everyone I loved is dead!"

I remained silent, though I wished to say something. I wanted to tell her that it would be alright now, but that would have been a lie.

Her strength finally gave out, and she collapsed against me, her tiny fists still weakly striking my chassis. Two younger slaves stepped forward, gently taking her arms.

"Come on, Marta," one whispered. "Let's get you some water."

As they led her away, her accusations hung in the air like the volcanic ash that perpetually floated above us. The remaining slaves watched in somber silence, some with tears in their eyes, others with hardened expressions that suggested they shared Marta's sentiments, if not her courage to express them.

I stood motionless, unable to offer any words that wouldn't sound hollow. Some wrongs couldn't be fixed. Some pain couldn't be undone. The weight of this realization settled over me like a shroud.

After Marta had been led away, a heavy silence descended upon the courtyard. The remaining slaves exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of hope and suspicion. Finally, a man with a scarred face stepped forward, his eyes narrowed as he studied my mechanical form.

"What do you want from us?" he asked, his voice flat and direct.

I don't understand your question, I replied.

He gave a bitter laugh that contained no humor. "Nothing having to do with slavery is ever done for free. The masters don't just give something without taking something else." His gaze hardened. "So what do you want from us in exchange for this freedom you're promising?"

The other slaves tensed, waiting for my response. I noticed how some instinctively took a step back, as if preparing themselves for the true cost of this unexpected offer.

I sighed, the sound emerging as a soft musical note from my throat. You're right. I do need something from you.

Faces fell. Bodies stiffened. The brief flicker of hope began to dim in their eyes.

In exchange for your freedom, I need you to remain silent about the existence of this monster enclave.

Confusion spread through the group, followed by flashes of anger on some faces.

"What are we supposed to tell our families about why we've been gone for years?" a middle-aged man demanded, his voice rising. "What story could possibly explain our absence?"

You can tell the truth, I answered. Tell them that monsters from the Hellzone kidnapped and enslaved you. That part is true. All I ask is that you keep the existence of this specific enclave and its location a secret.

The slaves looked at each other, processing my request. Whispered conversations broke out among small clusters. I waited, allowing them time to consider.

A woman with callused hands and determination etched into the lines of her face stepped forward. "To be free, I would have done almost anything," she said, her voice steady despite the tears welling in her eyes. "Keeping your secret is a small price to pay to return home to my children. If they still live."

An older man with a limp nodded in agreement. "The nobility back home wouldn't care what happened to us anyway," he remarked bitterly. "We're just peasants in their eyes. Replaceable. Forgettable."

Others murmured their agreement, heads nodding at his assessment.

One by one, they voiced their acceptance of my terms. Some did so eagerly, others with reluctance, but all recognized the bargain for what it was: a transaction far more favorable than any they had been offered in years.

Thank you, I said, the words feeling inadequate even as I projected them. I know this has been difficult for all of you, but I hope that once you return home, it will ease whatever pain you've suffered while you were here.

They nodded politely at my words, but I saw the truth in their eyes. The hollow promises of a better tomorrow couldn't erase years of captivity. My empty platitudes provided no real comfort for the lives they had lost, the opportunities forever denied them, the loved ones who had grown old or died during their absence.

I left the courtyard, my mechanical body suddenly feeling heavier than usual. For the first time since my awakening, I experienced something akin to exhaustion; not a physical tiredness, but a weariness that seemed to permeate my very core. The weight of their suffering, their stories, and the inadequacy of my intervention pressed down upon me like the mountain itself.

Barkatus fell into step beside me as we left Elder Akassi's courtyard. His face wore that familiar expression: a mixture of amusement and exasperation I'd grown accustomed to during our time together.

"You're not actually dumb enough to believe they'll keep quiet about this place, are you?" he asked, keeping his voice low as we passed a group of kobold merchants. "The second they reach human lands, they'll be telling everyone with ears about the monster city beneath the volcano."

I turned down a narrow alleyway, the black stone walls still radiating heat from the magma flows that ran deep beneath the enclave.

I know they'll say whatever's necessary to secure their freedom, I admitted. But at this moment, I find I don't particularly care.

Barkatus grabbed my metal shoulder, forcing me to stop and face him. "You don't care? What happened to protecting this place? These monsters took you in when you had nowhere else to go."

And they've been kidnapping and enslaving humans for generations, I countered. If the existence of this enclave becomes known to the human kingdoms, then so be it. That's a consequence of what the Elder Council has permitted for far too long.

I gently removed his hand from my shoulder and continued walking.

Eventually, even without my interference, humans would have discovered this place. Their foolish raiding parties have been leaving survivors, witnesses. It was only a matter of time.

"So you're just washing your hands of responsibility?" Barkatus kept pace with me, his sword clanking against his leg. "That doesn't sound like you."

Whatever happens next will be on the Council's head, not mine. I'm merely accelerating an inevitable outcome while trying to minimize suffering.

We emerged into the western residential district where another group of slaves had been gathered at Elder Sathrak's insistence. From a distance, I could already see them: twenty or so humans standing in rigid formation, their expressions carefully blank in the presence of their lizardfolk overseers.

"You know," Barkatus said, his voice softening, "you don't have to do this. You could just have the Council announce it. Or let me handle it."

I shook my head. No. I need to face them myself.

"Why? To punish yourself? To wallow in their misery?"

Because they deserve to be seen, I replied. To have someone acknowledge what was done to them. To direct their anger at someone who will actually listen.

Barkatus sighed. "How many more groups after this one?"

The enclave holds approximately one hundred and fifty human slaves. I intend to speak with every single one of them, no matter how long it takes.

"That's going to be... unpleasant," he said, eyeing the group ahead. "You'll hear the same stories over and over. The same accusations. The same hatred."

Yes, I agreed. I'll tell them of their imminent release. I'll hear their harrowing tales of lives destroyed and families torn apart. I'll serve as the target for their rightful anger and hate.

"And what will that accomplish?"

I stopped just before we came within earshot of the waiting slaves. Perhaps nothing. But freedom without acknowledgment of suffering feels hollow. These people have been treated as if their pain doesn't matter, as if their lives are insignificant. I can't undo what was done to them, but I can at least bear witness to it.

Barkatus studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. I'll be here. But don't expect me to sympathize when you're still doing this a week from now, listening to the hundredth person curse your existence."

I wouldn't dream of it, I replied, a hint of grim humor in my mental voice.

As we approached the waiting group, I saw the familiar cycle of emotions cross their faces: confusion at my appearance, wariness at my approach, and the first flickering of hope when they realized I wasn't there to enforce their servitude.

I steeled myself for what was to come. For the anger. For the tears. For the stories that would weigh on me long after these people had returned to whatever remained of their former lives.

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