The air inside the slave trading office stank of sweat, fear, and cheap perfume. It clung to the walls, thick and heavy like mold in a forgotten cellar. Outside, the sun was warm, cheerful even—but it never reached through the iron-barred windows. Not in here.
She stood near the back of the holding pen. Arms wrapped around her thin frame. Eyes down. Silent.
Four years.
That's how long it had been since the bandits razed her village and dragged her into the shadows. Since she last saw her mother. Since she stopped believing in kindness.
Now sixteen, Selena was little more than a hollowed shell: brown-haired, blue-eyed, and untouched by any buyer's interest. No beauty to flaunt. No exotic bloodline. Too old to be a child. Too young to seem mature. They called her the sleeper stock. The one even drunk nobles passed over.
She didn't care anymore.
The clanging bell by the front door jolted everyone in the building. The slavers straightened. The guards perked up.
Another buyer.
Selena didn't lift her head. Buyers came and went. They looked. Laughed. Occasionally sneered. And then they left.
Heavy footsteps crossed the wooden floor. Measured. Slow.
Not a noble's saunter. Not a merchant's shuffle. Something else.
The floor creaked as he passed the other pens. Some girls tried to catch his attention with practiced pouts and fake giggles. A few whispered pleas.
Silence followed as he reached her pen.
Only then did Selena glance up, just a flicker of movement.
He wasn't what she expected.
It was morning, and the clouds had broken to let a shaft of pale sunlight strike the filthy stone floor. She was half-asleep when she heard the heavy footfalls boots, deliberate and resonant. A hush fell across the pens. Even the guards stood still, eyes wide.
A figure clad in black armor stepped through the archway. Not chipped plate or leather like mercenaries wore this armor was master-crafted, obsidian black, trimmed with silver and red. Twin swords hung crossed across his back, their hilts shaped like a pair of dragons locked in battle.
Cold. Focused.
Predator's eyes.
Red: "Her."
His voice was deep, calm. Like stating a fact, not making a request.
The fat slaver stumbled over his own breath.
Slaver: "Wh-what? That one? Are you sure, sir? She's... well, she's not exactly—"
Red: "I said. Her."
Coins clinked. Gold, not silver.
The slaver shut up.
A key was fumbled into a lock. The door creaked open. Selena didn't move.
Slaver: "Well, girl? Go on, he's your master now. Lucky brat."
Red stepped inside instead.
He didn't grab her. Didn't yank her collar. Didn't bark an order.
He knelt.
Red: "You're free now."
Selena blinked.
Words didn't come.
She'd imagined it once, long ago. Someone buying her. Freeing her. Like in the stories.
But stories were lies.
He pulled a piece of paper from his belt, a writ of release stamped by the local authority. He'd bought her and processed the freedom at the same time.
Red: "You can walk away. Or you can come with me."
Her legs trembled. The chains weren't on her wrists anymore, but they were still in her mind. She wasn't sure how to move.
Red: "I won't ask again."
She looked at him.
And stepped forward.
Out of the pen.
Out of the cage.
Out of the nightmare.
She didn't know why her feet followed him. She didn't know what he wanted. But in that moment, she knew one thing:
She wasn't property anymore.
Outside, the sun hit her face for the first time in months.
She squinted. Eyes watered.
People walked past the slave office without a glance. A few looked at her with curiosity. Some with pity. She ignored them.
Red didn't speak. He walked with purpose, not turning back.
Selena followed.
Not because she had to.
But because, for the first time since Rellis burned, she wanted to.