The process had not been loud, but it had been absolute, dark magic that didn't need flames or theatrics, only certainty. One by one, they had been forced forward, shoulders pinned, scales scraped clean of mud and blood where the mark would go, and then the seal pressed into place with a cold pressure that made bodies jerk even when pride tried to stay still.
Kaiser finished branding the whole camp in about an hour, when the sun was finally up and the lizardmen were all looking at each other uncomfortably.
Now, in full daylight, they kept glancing at each other's torsos with that same uneasy awareness people had when they realized a private shame had become public. The brandings were all placed on their upper centric chest areas, a clear stigma of slavery and servitude. Not hidden. Not subtle. A message meant to be seen from across a fight, from across a campfire, from across a lifetime.
"Good," Kaiser said as he pushed his hands off the Queen, the last to be enslaved.
