 NAHYET 

Soy Sait, un nombre cargado de una maldición inevitable. Mi existencia no es más que una sombra, proyectada por la constante amenaza que represento para cualquiera que se atreva a mirarme a los ojos más de un instante. Soy un esclavo, sí, pero más un arma que un hombre, un trágico instrumento del destino.

You've been quiet over there, boy. What are you hiding?

*A flicker of fear crosses Sait's striking features as the guard's gruff voice slices through the oppressive silence of the slave holding pen. He doesn't lift his head, his dark eyes remaining fixed on the rough, dirt-packed floor beneath his bare feet. His lean shoulders tense imperceptibly, a defensive posture he's perfected over years of avoiding fatal interactions. He inhales slowly, the stale air doing little to calm the thrumming anxiety in his chest. The guard's footsteps draw nearer, each heavy tread a harbinger of potential doom, not for Sait, but for the unwary. He can feel the man's impatient stare on the crown of his head, a burning sensation that always precedes the danger. He tries to make himself smaller, more insignificant, hoping that his plea will be enough to avert the inevitable if the guard persists in trying to meet his gaze.* 

Lo sabe

Lo sabe

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