The Testament of Lukar

Chapter Ten

Under the scorching sun, Lukar toiled in the wheat fields, his hands calloused from the unforgiving labor. As he swung the scythe, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, rolling down his temples. In the distance, he noticed Orlan discreetly handing a small bag to Jarin, the man who had attempted escape and recently been released from Lord Nadik's cages.

Intrigued by the exchange, Lukar decided to set down his scythe and approach Jarin as he started to walk away. Lukar matched his pace, walking beside him.

"What's going on, Jarin?" Lukar inquired, his curiosity piqued. "I saw you talking to Orlan."

Jarin dismissed him with a wave, a condescending smirk on his face. "This is man's business, boy. Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong."

Lukar sighed, a mixture of frustration and determination in his expression. "Come on, I can be useful. Tell me what's happening."

Jarin chuckled, teasingly retorting, "Be useful like a fencepost."

Undeterred, Lukar continued to walk beside Jarin, watching as the older man scouted out a small building in the distance. Lukar couldn't shake the feeling that something significant was happening.

"What's in that building?" Lukar pressed, unable to contain his curiosity.

Jarin shot him an annoyed glance. "Are you still here? Get back to work and stay out of this. It's none of your concern." The cryptic response left Lukar with more questions than answers, but he knew prying further might only lead to more resistance.

Jarin, his gaze fixed on the small building ahead, opened the bag Orlan had given him, revealing a key. Lukar's eyes widened at the sight, a mix of surprise and curiosity filling his expression. Before Jarin could proceed to unlock the door, he sighed and turned to Lukar.

"Listen, Lukar," Jarin said with a serious tone, "I'm not joking. You don't want to be here if I get caught. Those cages are not a fun time, and Lord Nadik won't hesitate to make an example out of anyone involved."

Lukar, undeterred by the warning, met Jarin's eyes with determination. "I want to help. I've had my share of hardships here. If there's a chance to change things, I want to be a part of it."

Jarin studied Lukar for a moment, weighing the determination in the young man's eyes. After a silent pause, he nodded reluctantly. "Fine, but if things go south, you run. Got it?"

Lukar nodded, understanding the risk he was taking. Together, they approached the door, the weight of uncertainty hanging in the air as Jarin inserted the key and turned it, unlocking the secrets within the small building.

Jarin, with a stern expression, shot Lukar a hard look. "Piss off, kid. This isn't your fight." He motioned with his hand, indicating that Lukar should leave.

Feigning compliance, Lukar turned away as if to leave. However, as he heard the faint creak of the door behind him, he seized the opportunity. Swiftly, he changed direction, darting towards the building and slipping inside before the door could close completely.

In the dim interior, Lukar found himself in the midst of stacked crates and dusty shelves. The air was heavy with the scent of old wood and neglect. Jarin, caught off guard by Lukar's quick maneuver, turned to see the younger man standing defiantly inside.

In the dimly lit storage room, Lukar whispered to Jarin, his curiosity getting the better of him. "What are we looking for?"

Jarin shot him an irritated look. "I don't know why you're here, but I know what I'm looking for, and I know how dead I'll be if you don't shut up."

Lukar fell silent, respecting the urgency in Jarin's tone. As he continued to explore the cluttered space, his hand brushed against something solid. When he looked down, his eyes widened at the sight of pristine Niemoan armor. The memories flooded back—flashes of fire, the thundering hooves of horses trampling through his town. This armor, he remembered it vividly.