A tear ran down the boy's cheek as he was pulled down the dark stone halls by his arms to the cell that would be his home. He squirmed a little as the men opened the door. He was pulled into a small, cold, moonlit room. The walls were cold stone and the floor was of packed dirt that was littered with straw. The boy was brought to a corner where chains were placed around his neck and attached to the wall. After the men had left, he brought his knees up to his chin and hugged them for warmth. The room was freezing. The only clothes he was wearing was the cloth around his waist to hide his vital parts.
He wiped his tears and rested his forehead on his knees.
'You are a slave' he thought. 'Must not cry. Crying is weakness, weakness is death.'
He lifted his head in a deep breath. His eyes were closed as visions of fire danced in through them. As the flames died he realized how much they had taken. His soul had been taken with those flames. He took every emotion that he had ever felt and exhaled them. This is the way he would live for the rest of his life. He no longer had a name or a meaning. It was be a slave or die… And he was already dead. He looked up at the moon and watched it pass across the barred window.
He saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He pushed a lock of dark hair out of is eyes to see exactly what it was, only to have it fall back into its previous place. He saw a small bundle across from him. Curious, he lightly poked at it. His hand snapped back as a whimper came from the squirming bundle. The boy tilted his head in wonder and lifted an end of the ragged brown blanket that covered the creature underneath it. He uncovered a small boy with a glowing head of blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. He didn't look much younger than his discoverer. The boy looked at him with scared eyes.
"Who are you?" the little one asked.
"I don't have a name," the dark haired boy said as he put down the cloth and returning to his place near the wall. "Who are you?"
"You must have a name," the little one said as he sat up and smiled. "I'm Quatre." He looked at the dark haired boy. "You're new here, huh?"
The older boy shivered and Quatre's smile faded.
"Oh dear" Quatre said as he took the blanket that covered him and handed it to the shivering boy. "Take this."
The dark boy shook his head. "Don't you need it?"
"You need it more than I do." Quatre smiled as he gestured for him to take it. "Here."
The newcomer reluctantly took the cloth from the boy's hands and wrapped it around himself.
Quatre took his long ragged, sleeveless shirt and pulled it over his knees and rocked him self.
"I don't believe I caught your name," he said after a long moment of silence.
"I told you. I don't have one."
"You must have one," Quatre insisted.
The boy looked at Quatre through cobalt eyes. "I'm a slave"
"So am I," Quatre smiled.
The dark haired boy stared at the wall.
"There are simply to many of us for the master to refer to us as nameless slaves." Quatre shifted a bit. "Besides, a name helps you feel like you're someone."
"No it doesn't" the boy said moving his eyes to the floor.
"Sure it does. It gives you a place on this planet and its something that no slave owner can take from you."
The boy looked at Quatre with query in his eyes. "You know so much for a little boy. How old are you?"