To Not Be Continued

The scorching sun scalded the backs of everyone standing in line, linked by chains and being pushed into pens. This was the result of the war, the toll it took on humanity. This was what came into fruition after mankind's foolish decision to wage war against the beastfolk.

Following a macabre raid on one of humanity's largest refugee camps was a forced surrender. The terms: absolute subservience and the relinquishment of war heroes.

The scale of devastation is unknowable as, now, no one cares for the damage. Did thousands of humans die? Millions? Billions? Why did it matter when they no longer ruled the world? After ten years of grueling warfare and another decade of persecution, there is no resistance left to rebel against the reign—the cruel reign—of the beastfolk.

They say history is written by the winners. What they often forget is that winners dictate the future as well.

***

A large crowd gathered around a compact wooden stage. Behind a podium stood a rabbit-kin.

"Ladies and gentle-beasts, welcome, welcome." Her white ears perked up as she spoke. "Today we have quite the selection. The first exhibit: a human survivor from the Decade's War!"

A human from behind the crowd froze still and stared at the people locked up in chains. A voice from behind told him to continue moving, but such a command fell of deaf ears. Someone called his name…

"What is it, Silver?" The vampire followed his gaze. "My, do you know one of them?... Well?"

"Yes, Progenitor."

"I have a name, you know? Lyra Chaseleigh, daughter of the Primus of Night Lust… You should start calling me Lyra. Everyone else does."

"I suppose I am not everyone then, Progenitor."

A steely countenance was usurped by a warm smile. "That's right—" she leaned in, eyeing the veins in his neck "—I heard your blood tastes delicious, exotic even."

"I am under contract with the Primus." Silver covered his neck with his hand. "You have no right."

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I won't cross any lines."

Silver gave a final glance at the slave auction. Many slaves were worked to their death, and much of the recent human slaves came from human farms. A deep disgust settled as he watched the beastfolk partake in the trade with such revel.

"May I walk ahead?" he asked.

"By all means."

Lyra followed behind, watching as Silver continued toward the Imperial Hall.

She had found him in her father's dungeon. He was chained to the ceiling and weak from a lack of blood. She could almost taste the smell from back then, the intoxicating scent that led her down there in the first place. When she questioned her father about his existence, he—

"Lyra? My, it is you, isn't it?"

A synthetic smile morphed her features. "It has been a while hasn't it, Isabel? Silver, why don't you come greet her?"

"I greet the Third Progenitor," Silver said with a deep bow.

"And who is this?"

"He's my servant. But are you also here for the meeting? I was aware that the First Progenitor had given you a task."

"That's not a problem, dear; it's all done and over with." She placed a hand on her cheek and feigned exhaustion. "It's too bad that I have to join the Council right after I finish working. But what can we do? It's the First Progenitor's order after all."

"Yes," Lyra cordially agreed, "there's not much we can do."

"Well then, I'll be going in first… If you would move out of the way, Fourth Progenitor."

With a smile on her lips, Lyra stepped aside.

Silver and Lyra soon followed behind. As the bulking doors to the conference room slid open, the jovial voices inside quieted as the other progenitors turned to see who had arrived.

"It's good to see you Lyra, but who is the one behind you?" Eleventh Progenitor asked.

"I didn't expect you to drag your lunch around," Sixth Progenitor snickered.

"You don't say," Seventh Progenitor asked in false shock, "are you going to be snacking during the meeting?"

"Dears, you're hurting my ears with your pathetic ramblings." Lyra's eyes turned to ice as she stared them down. "You may hold the title of 'Progenitor' but you're still four centuries younger than me. Respect your elders, children."

Hate-filled eyes glimmered in the dark room.

Someone clapped their hands, cleaving the tension in two.

"Lyra," Second Progenitor began, "take a seat before First arrives."

"As you will, Primus. Silver—"

"You call it by name?" one of the progenitors loudly murmured. "Wasn't 'slave' the universal term?"

"But you are a 'Progenitor?'" Lyra audibly spoke to herself as she walked to her seat. "I thought we called beings like you 'fools.'"

"He wasn't even talking to you!" another Progenitor spoke out in defense.

"My, I wasn't talking to anyone either."

The doors to the room opened once more and the First Progenitor stood, framed by the doorway. "Victor," she began after a moment of silence, "we need to talk. The rest of you may leave, the meeting is postponed."

Lyra and Silver were on their way out until the First Progenitor ordered that Silver stay behind. Though blatantly displeased, Lyra kept her mouth closed as she traipsed through the doorway.

The doors soon closed, isolating the remaining three from the outside world.