Time lost its shape in the dark.
Days passed—though none of them could say how many. There was no sun to mark the hours, no sky to change, no warmth to break the cold. Only the slow rhythm of hunger, the ache in their limbs, and the distant sounds that echoed through stone.
Klen sat with his back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, unmoving.
Not resting.
Listening.
Marna leaned nearby, arms folded loosely, conserving strength. Eira sat opposite them, quieter than before, her presence smaller somehow—as if she had folded into herself to take up less space.
No one spoke much anymore. Words didn't change anything. But the silence never lasted. It came again. A dull impact. A muffled breath.
Then another.
Klen's fingers tightened where they rested on the cold floor. The sound traveled through the stone like a whisper of violence.
He didn't need to see. He knew.
Lyra.
Another strike. This one sharper.
Eira flinched visibly, pressing her hands over her ears.
"Stop…" she whispered, though no one down the corridor could hear her.
Marna's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
Klen didn't move. Didn't speak. But the stillness around him had changed.
It was no longer quiet. It was restrained.
Another sound followed—fainter this time. A voice.
Lyra's.
Not screaming. Not begging.
Just… there. Breathing through pain.
Klen closed his eyes.
For a moment, something in his chest twisted so tightly it felt like it might snap. Then— Footsteps.
The sounds stopped. The door somewhere down the corridor creaked open. Boots moved away. Voices faded. Silence returned. But it was heavier now.
Marna exhaled slowly. "They're done… for now."
"For now…," Eira muttered, still cowering up.
Klen opened his eyes. His gaze was sharp again. Focused.
Not on the past. On what came next.
The men stepped out into the open air, brushing snow from their boots as they left the hidden structure behind. The forest stood silent around them, branches bare, sky pale and distant.
A third figure waited near the trees. Well-dressed. Composed.
Unlike the two men, there was no roughness to him. His cloak was clean, lined with fine stitching. Gloves fitted perfectly over his hands.
He did not look like someone who belonged in the woods.
"Late," he said calmly.
The taller of the two men grinned. "Had to make sure the goods were intact."
The man's gaze flicked toward them.
Cool. Measuring.
"You have three?"
"Three to sell," the second replied. "Strong ones."
"And the fourth?"
A pause. Then a smirk.
"Not for sale."
The man's expression didn't change.
"I see."
He stepped closer, brushing past them without concern.
"You understand the arrangement," he said. "If they are as you claim, they will fetch a proper price."
"They will," the taller one assured. "You'll see."
The man gave a small nod.
"Then bring them."
His eyes lingered for just a second longer.
"Master does not tolerate exaggeration."
Days passed again. This time, they were counted in movement.
Chains. The rough push of hands forcing them forward.
Klen, Marna, and Eira were dragged from the cell and marched out into the open.
Their wrists were bound. Their ankles shackled. No resistance. Not yet.
The forest gave way to stone roads. Then walls. Then something larger.
The building rose ahead of them—broad, polished, almost elegant.
Tall pillars lined the entrance. The doors were carved with intricate patterns, clean and deliberate. Light spilled from within, warm and inviting. It didn't look like a place for suffering. It looked like a place for gathering.
For wealth. For importance.
Eira stared at it, her expression hollow. "They're really doing it, huh? We are really getting sold…"
Marna said nothing.
Klen's gaze didn't linger on the building. It moved. Counting. Doors. Guards. Exits. Windows. Every detail mattered.
They were dragged inside. Warmth hit them first. Then sound. Voices. Many voices. Low murmurs, soft laughter, the clink of glass.
The interior was vast. Seats arranged in a wide circle, rising in tiers. At the center— A stage. Raised, well-lit, commanding attention.
Chains hung discreetly near its edges.
Polished. Maintained. Used.
Klen's jaw tightened. They weren't the only ones.
Groups of people were being moved through side corridors—some in rags, some dressed better but broken all the same. Faces hollow. Eyes empty.
Different origins. Same fate.
They were led past them down into the lower chambers.
The cell they were thrown into was larger than the last. Cleaner. But no less a prison. Iron rings were fixed into the walls. Chains attached.
Their wrists were locked high enough to force them upright or seated with strain. Ankles bound separately.
No room to maneuver. No room to fight. Only enough space to wait.
Marna tested the restraints once. Solid.
"Tch. These are made from reinforced iron," she muttered.
Klen said nothing. He was watching the door. Listening.
Counting footsteps again. Measuring time between patrols.
Finally, he spoke.
"When we're brought up to the stage," he said quietly, "they'll present us one by one."
Marna glanced at him. "Yeah..?"
"After being sold, the buyer will come to the room where we will be waiting," Klen continued. "They will be coming to check on us, to look at their new slaves."
Eira looked at him, confused. "W-What are you saying..?"
"That's when the restraints change," he replied. "They won't keep us like this. They'll need movement. Visibility."
Marna's eyes narrowed slightly.
"They'll loosen the chains."
Klen nodded once.
"That's our moment."
Eira swallowed, "You think we can fight in that state?"
"No, we don't," Klen said. "We break through. Take out the guards of the buyer and the buyer themselves. This will create chaos. We are going to use that moment to make a run for it."
"A-And… your Lady?" Eira's voice cracked slightly.
Klen's gaze hardened, "We get her."
Silence followed.
Marna exhaled slowly. "It's reckless... but we have to give it a shot!"
Another pause. Then she gave a small nod.
Eira looked between them. Fear still lingered in her eyes.
But something else had begun to form beneath it. Resolve.
"…Alright."
They fell silent again. Waiting.
Elsewhere— The room was smaller.
Darker. The air heavier.
Lyra's wrists were bound above her, chains pulling her arms just enough to strain her shoulders. Her breathing was uneven, each inhale shallow, controlled.
She had stopped reacting to every movement. Stopped flinching at every step. Not because it didn't hurt. But because reacting gave them something. And she would not give them anything.
One of the men stood in front of her, rolling a dagger lazily between his fingers. "You're stubborn," he said.
Lyra didn't answer. The other leaned against the wall, watching.
"How long do you think this lasts?" he asked casually.
Silence. The dagger traced lightly along her arm. Not cutting. Not yet.
"Days?" he continued. "Weeks?"
Lyra's gaze stayed forward. Unfocused but not empty. Inside, her thoughts were quieter now.
More distant. Like something was pulling them away from the present.
How long…?
She didn't know. Didn't want to know. The pain came and went.
The room blurred sometimes. Voices became distant. But one thing stayed. A single thought.
Steady. Unmoving.
Klen will come.
Even as doubt crept in. Even as time stretched. Even as her body weakened. She held onto it.
Not because it was certain. But because it was all she had.
Her fingers twitched slightly against the chains. Her breathing steadied again.
She lifted her head just a little. Not in defiance. Not in strength. But in refusal to break.
The man in front of her sighed. "Still holding on?"
He shook his head slightly. "We'll fix that."
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Measured. Even. Not rushed. Not careless.
The door to the cell opened. Klen looked up. Marna straightened slightly. Eira froze.
A man stepped inside.
Clean clothes. Calm eyes. No wasted movement.
He didn't look at the chains. He looked at them. Each of them. One by one.
Assessing. Weighing.
Then he stepped closer. "Stand," he said simply.
Klen didn't move. The man's gaze shifted to him. Not angry. Not annoyed.
Just… noting.
"You will be presented soon," he continued. "It would be in your interest to remain intact."
Marna's voice was cold. "And you are?"
The man looked at her briefly. Then back at Klen. "…The one who decides your worth."
A small pause.
Then:
"You may call me Master."
Silence filled the room. Heavy. Unyielding.
Klen met his gaze. Unflinching.
Master studied him for a moment longer.
Then, faintly— He smiled.