In the heart of Akroliss, the city
pulsed with life. Lanterns flickered along cobbled streets, casting golden
glows over market stalls where merchants shouted over the din, hawking exotic
spices, silks, and rare trinkets. The scent of roasted meats mingled with the
tang of sea salt from the harbor, and the chatter of townsfolk created a lively
hum that seemed to ripple through the city's veins. At the city's core stood
the Golden Gavel, a towering edifice of polished stone and glinting brass, its
windows reflecting the glow of hundreds of lanterns. As the empire's largest
and most prestigious auction house, it was a place where fortunes were made, and
lives were gambled.
"Five thousand gold coins, going
once!" The auctioneer's voice cut sharply through the air, resonating from
behind a small podium on the left side of the raised stage. His eyes scanned
the crowd, gleaming with the thrill of command, while his polished boots
clicked against the floor with each precise movement.
Under the emperor's watchful eye, the
auction house had thrived by trading in rare and exotic goods, some of
questionable legality. Tonight's display, a collection of the empire's
finest—or perhaps most deceptive—items, was presented with meticulous ceremony.
"Going twice! Going thrice! And sold! The infamous 'Summer Dawn' painting by
Okurah Lee goes to the gentleman in the blue mask!" The gavel struck the block
three times with resounding authority, echoing off the gilded walls lined with
velvet drapes.
The auctioneer's grin twisted into
something sharper, almost predatory, as he adjusted the lapels of his coat.
"And now," he announced, his voice sliding into a conspiratorial whisper that
carried through the murmurs of the crowd, "the moment you have all been waiting
for." Red curtains parted slowly, revealing a row of children standing in
plain, white garments that hung loosely over their small frames. Some faces
were set with defiance, others quivered with visible fear, and a few sobbed
quietly, their small hands twisting the edges of their robes. "Stand tall, and
smile for our esteemed guests," he commanded, voice harsh but practiced.
For centuries, Alkaraz had been a land
where the desperate were forced to trade their children for survival, and
though laws now forbade selling those under thirteen, exploitation persisted
under more subtle guises. Families crushed by debt or misfortune were forced to
send their children into orphanages or let them wander the slums, exposed to
hunger, disease, and the constant threat of violence. In rare, horrifying
cases, parents handed over their own children to satisfy creditors or
unscrupulous merchants. The empire, for all its splendor, had long thrived on
the suffering of its most vulnerable.
"Through countless hours of meticulous
effort, our staff has curated this exceptional selection." The auctioneer
gestured at the items on display, his gaze sweeping across the room filled with
masked nobles. Silks shimmered, jewels glinted, and the scent of rare perfumes
wafted through the air. "Our teams have braved stormy seas, dangerous roads,
and treacherous lands to procure these specimens, and tonight, their labors
bear fruit."
Duke Dominique Kartier, the emperor's
only surviving maternal relative, lingered in the shadows of the back row. His
sharp eyes studied the children with the precision of a tactician, noting
posture, gaze, and subtle physical traits. Normally, he attended such events to
monitor the auction house's illegal dealings, but tonight, his purpose was far
more personal: a rescue mission.
"I have a question!" a guest's voice
rang out, her hand raised elegantly above her head. The auctioneer leaned
forward, smiling broadly. "Yes, madam, what is your inquiry?"
Duke Dominique's gaze fell on a
silver-haired girl at the edge of the stage. Her right leg bent awkwardly,
forcing her to shift weight uncomfortably as she struggled to maintain
composure. Despite her disability and the tattered state of her garments, the
duke recognized her instantly, each detail matching the careful intelligence
gathered beforehand. For a girl of fourteen years of age she was unusually
short, and frail, yet her presence carried a quiet, stubborn resilience. He
allowed himself a silent sigh of relief: she had survived, and he would see to
it she remains so.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, let the
bidding commence!" The auctioneer's voice cut through the murmurs. Yet even as
he tried to regain control, another guest raised her hand. "I too have a
question!" she called out, voice sharp. The auctioneer's irritation was
visible, his hands trembling slightly as he gestured impatiently. Dominique
chuckled softly, hidden in shadow, appreciating the delay for the time it
granted him.
One particularly critical voice rang
out from a woman in a sparkling velvet mask. "Why is there one among them
clearly disabled?" she asked, pointing at the silver-haired girl. "Why would
anyone bid on this, this useless thing?" Whispers and murmurs erupted in
response, ricocheting off the ornate walls of the vast place. Normally, the
girl would have been removed at once, but the auctioneer hesitated, partially aware
of her true purpose on the stage. "An unfortunate oversight, dear madam." he
stammered, laughing nervously, striking the gavel to restore order. "Please,
honorable guests, disregard this error and continue with the bidding."
The auction began in earnest, the hall
alive with excitement, shouts, and the clatter of coins. Within forty-five
minutes, the stage cleared of all others, leaving the silver-haired girl alone.
She trembled visibly under the glare of the spotlight, arms marked with
bruises, scratches, and the evidence of harsh treatment, her long locks
spilling in waves over her shoulders. "Does anyone wish to claim her at no
cost?" the auctioneer asked, chuckling uneasily, eyes scrutinizing the crowd
before him. As expected, his words drew only scoffs and coughs from those who
felt insulted by his ridiculous suggestion.
"I will gladly pay ten thousand silver
coins for her." Dominique's voice rang, commanding attention as he raised his
hand. Gasps and murmurs swept through the room; guests whispered among
themselves, incredulous at the absurdity of his words. "Although, you should
all know that a human's life, whether or not their limbs are completely
functional, is priceless." he declared, rising from his seat. His calm,
deliberate tone leaving no room for retort as his words sank deep into their
conscience. Beneath his mask, his eyes burned with an intensity that made all
the hair on everyone's skin stand on end, their instincts commanding them to
flee.
**
Later that night, in the foyer of the
Kartier estate, the girl stood silently before the family she would now live
among. The duchess glared at her, arms crossed, nose scrunched in distaste.
"Darling, why bring another one into our home so soon?" she hissed. Dominique's
gaze was steady and commanding as he tore his gaze from Fatima to address his
family. "From today onward, this little girl will be living among us. Anyone
who harms her will answer to me." His voice resonated like the weight of stone,
leaving no room for argument. Silence settled like a heavy curtain, broken only
by the soft shuffle of feet as the children processed the arrival of their new
companion.
Fatima took in her new surroundings:
the rich tapestries, polished marble floors, and the quiet warmth of a home
that, for the first time, felt safe. Her heart fluttered with cautious hope. "Introduce
yourself, child," Dominique said gently, his imposing presence softened by the
warmth in his voice. Fatima drew a shaky breath, her eyes glued to the floor.
"I, I am Fatima. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." she said weakly,
her accent thick but pleasant. The duke's children leaned forward, intrigued
and delighted by her voice. Even the youngest could not hide his admiration for
her poise.
The duchess scoffed, outraged by the
attention given to someone she considered far beneath her. But Dominique's
quiet authority held the room, silencing dissent. Fatima gingerly lifted her
chin when her red irises met the duke's green ones, and in that moment, she understood.
Here, far away from the dreadful treatment she endured during her journey to
this new place, she might finally be truly safe.
That night, the warm bath and clean
clothes she was provided with were a small miracle after months of hardship.
The gentle patter of water, the comforting softness of fabric against her skin,
and the taste of a proper meal were treasures beyond measure. For the first
time in what seemed like forever, Fatima allowed herself to imagine a future
where survival did not mean running away in terror.