Sylas strode close by with Mrs. Joana, heading toward where Elira had gone. To their right, Sylas moved along the bustling street, unaware of the sudden danger racing toward them. A carriage, driven at terrifying speed, hurtled directly into their path.
In slow motion, Sylas saw it coming. His silver hair whipped violently in the wind from the force of the speeding carriage. Inside, Elira's face pressed against the window, her hands hammering desperately against the glass. Terror radiated from her, and Sylas froze, shock rooting him to the spot.
"SYLAS! RUN AFTER THEM!" Cassian's voice tore through the chaos from barely a metre away.
Something inside Sylas snapped. His teeth clenched. Without thinking, he lunged at a passing horse, seizing it from an unsuspecting man in the crowd.
"Eliraaaaa!" he roared, mounting the stolen horse, muscles taut with desperation.
The market erupted into chaos. Screams echoed, carts overturned, people scattering in all directions. The black carriage surged forward, four men in dark coats clinging to its sides like shadows, all intent on keeping Elira trapped.
Sylas thundered after them. The carriage seemed to mock him, speeding further with every heartbeat. As he reached the edge of its frame, he leapt with all his strength, slamming into one of the black-coated men. The three of them crashed to the ground with a sickening thud.
He rolled, scrambled, and snatched a sword from another assailant. His eyes locked on the largest man — bald, scarred across the right eye, his aura radiating lethal intent.
"Ready to die, eh?" the man sneered, swinging his moonblade in a deadly arc.
Sylas ducked instinctively, feeling the blade whistle past his ear. Every muscle screamed, adrenaline surging, and he countered with a swift, brutal swing of his own, using the carriage's edge for leverage as it thundered on.
The bald man charged again. Sylas's boot smashed into his stomach, sending the man flying backward. He crashed violently against the carriage door, sliding inside — right where Elira was trapped.
"Elira!" Sylas shouted, his voice raw.
"Come! We don't have time!" he barked, grabbing her wrist. They were nearly free when the man yanked at Elira's leg. She tumbled hard to the carriage floor, pain radiating up her body. Yet Sylas held fast, clutching her wrist, hanging perilously from the carriage side.
"Ack!" Elira gasped, panic blazing in her eyes.
The man screamed, rage echoing through the street. The carriage barreled onward, uneven and uncontrollable, and Sylas's gaze widened in horror. From the opposite side, another carriage was speeding directly toward him — if they collided, he would be crushed.
Elira's eyes widened as well. Through the blur of motion and fear, she spotted the other carriage hurtling toward them. Her heart skipped a beat, panic and dread twisting in her stomach.
For a heartbeat, their eyes met. The world seemed to slow. A faint, impossible smile touched her lips — a mixture of fear, courage, and farewell.
"Sylas… goodbye," she whispered.
Before he could react, she shoved him with all her strength. Sylas lost his grip and tumbled away just as the carriage thundered past, narrowly missing him. His heart froze as the black carriage disappeared into the distance, Elira inside it, gone from sight.
"FUCK!" Sylas bellowed, fury and panic blending into a raw roar. He slammed his fists into the cobblestones, sliding to his knees, every muscle trembling with the shock of near-death and the helplessness of losing her.
The market around him fell silent for a fraction of a second, as if even the city itself were holding its breath.
As Cassian reached Sylas with Mrs. Joana and the others close behind, he found Sylas standing motionless, head bowed, both hands clenched in front of him as if to stop himself from striking something. Rage trembled through his whole body.
"Sy—Sylas, where is Elira?" Cassian demanded, gripping Sylas's arms so tightly his knuckles went white.
"My son—where is Elira?" Mrs. Joana asked, voice small and trembling; her worst fear hung heavy in the air.
Sylas lifted his head slowly, eyes cold as steel. "I was going to pull her free," he said, each word clipped and dangerous, "but she saved me instead."
Cassian stared, bewilderment and anger warring on his face. "What do you mean?" he pressed.
Sylas spat the words like venom, his voice shaking with rage and grief. "I almost had her — she was right there!" His fists clenched, trembling. "But that bastard grabbed her by the ankle — wouldn't let go no matter how hard I pulled Elira!"
He looked up, eyes blazing with fury and disbelief. "Then another carriage came out of nowhere, charging straight for us. I was about to be crushed. Elira—" his voice cracked, his chest heaving, "Elira pushed me away… she saved me."
He kicked a loose stone, his breath ragged, eyes glistening with fury. "She shoved me so hard I fell back — the carriage missed me by inches — and when I looked up… she was gone. DAMN IT!"
Cassian loosened his grip and stepped back, shock and fury draining the colour from his face. For a heartbeat he simply stared, utterly stunned by what had happened.
"We must find her. Now. They haven't gone far!" Cassian snarled, fury coiling in his chest. He was trembling with the need to hunt them down and tear them apart.
Mrs. Joana caught his wrist before he could stride off. Her cheeks were wet with tears; her hands shook. "Perhaps we should go home first," she whispered, voice breaking. "We'll plan there—figure out how to save her." The anguish in her face made it plain how deeply she loved Elira as one of her own. None of them had expected this. None could understand why Elira was taken.
Reluctantly, they returned to Mrs. Joana's house, each step heavy with sorrow and a growing, hard anger.
"I swear we will kill those who took Elira from us," both Cassian and Sylas thought, the words roaring silently in their minds. Lucien watched them with mounting alarm; he could see the dark vein of fury almost at the surface of both men's temples. Even Mrs. Joana flinched—fearful of what Cassian and Sylas might do when they finally found the ones who had taken her.
*****
"LET ME GOOOO!" Elira screamed, her voice cracking as the ropes dug into her wrists. Her arms strained violently against the grip of the man who had taken her—his fingers like iron claws biting into her flesh. She twisted, kicked, and cried, but he only dragged her harder through the dim corridor until they reached a large, shadowed room that stank of rot and misery.
It looked like a cell—cold, damp, and dimly lit by a single flickering torch. When they stepped inside, Elira's eyes widened in horror. Dozens of women were there—some her age, others heartbreakingly younger—dressed in revealing garments, trembling and bruised. Their eyes were hollow, stripped of hope. Elira's breath hitched as dread filled her chest; her pulse thundered in her ears.
"Ack!" she gasped when the bald man shoved her violently forward. She stumbled, falling to her knees as the cell door slammed shut behind her with a sharp metallic clang. Elira threw herself against the bars, gripping the cold iron so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
"Let me go! Let me gooo! Please—help! Somebody, help me!" she screamed, her voice breaking into sobs. Her pleas echoed through the stone walls, unanswered, fading into the hollow cries of the other prisoners.
A low chuckle sliced through the silence. "Ha! Shouting like a frightened pup, are we, my pretty daughter?"
Elira froze. Her chest tightened. That voice—familiar, impossible—made her stomach twist. Slowly, from the shadows, a woman stepped forward. The torchlight flickered against her face.
"...Mother?" Elira's voice trembled.
Elinor's lips curved into a wicked grin, her eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. "Finally, you recognise me," she sneered, stepping closer. "You were never meant for their world, Elira. You were meant for mine."
Elira's body shook violently. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stumbled backward, pressing her back against the cold bars. "Why—why are you doing this to me?! What did I ever do to you?!" Her voice cracked with anguish, half scream, half sob.
Before she could say more, another figure emerged from the darkness—a tall man with sharp features and a predator's smile. Mr. Morgan. The one who commanded this vile trade.
He walked toward Elira, each step slow and deliberate. When he reached her, he gripped her chin hard, forcing her face upward. Elira winced, eyes watering from the pain.
"Indeed," he murmured, examining her face like a prized possession. "She does have golden eyes. Rare… precious. A beauty fit for kings." His tone dripped with greed as he tilted her head left and right, searching for flaws. "No scars. No blemishes. Perfect."
Then his gaze flicked toward Elinor. "Oi, woman. Who's the father of this golden-eyed brat?"
Elinor laughed bitterly, brushing a hand through her hair as though the question amused her. "Ah, I had some random client back when I lived in the Gildoran Empire," she said carelessly, her tone thick with arrogance.
The moment the name Gildoran left her lips, Mr. Morgan froze. His expression darkened, disbelief flashing across his face. He released Elira's chin and turned sharply toward Elinor.
"Wait—did you say Gildoran?" Mr. Morgan's tone faltered, a flicker of recognition sparking behind his greedy eyes. He froze for a moment, studying Elira's face more closely — those eyes, shimmering like molten gold even in the dim light. His mind raced. Only those of Gildoran's royal blood ever possessed eyes like that.
But he said nothing. Instead, a slow, sinister smile crept across his lips, masking the storm of thoughts swirling in his head.
"Interesting," he muttered, his gaze narrowing on Elira. "Very… interesting."
"Yes," Elinor said proudly, tilting her head as if she wore a crown. "I don't know who he was—only that he wanted me. That's all that mattered."
Mr. Morgan's grin widened, spreading like a disease across his face. He chuckled low, his eyes gleaming with greed and twisted excitement. "You fool," he hissed under his breath, "you've just handed me a treasure."
He turned away, whispering to himself, "A girl with the eyes of Gildoran's royals… this could fetch more than gold."
As he left, Elira collapsed to her knees, trembling violently. Around her, the other girls huddled together—some bruised, some sobbing silently, others staring blankly into nothing. One girl whimpered as a guard passed by, clutching her torn sleeve.
Elira drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them. Her body shook uncontrollably. The cell was cold, but it wasn't the chill that broke her—it was the betrayal, the horror, the sight of her own mother smiling as she sold her.
Tears streamed down her face. She pressed her forehead against her knees and whispered, her voice breaking through the quiet sobs, "Cassian… Sylas… please… save me."