Aldric had spent the first seven years of his life in a cheap orphanage at the edge of the city. It wasn't the kind of place where children were cared for out of kindness. It was a backwater institution, more like a holding pen for unwanted children. The caretakers barely fed them, and the older children bullied the younger ones. Aldric, born from a prostitute, had no family and no backing. From the very beginning, he was isolated.
Most of his days were spent in silence. He wasn't welcomed in the games or cliques of the other children. Instead, he turned to books. The orphanage had a small collection—donations from people who wanted to appear charitable. Aldric read everything he could get his hands on. History, stories of kingdoms, basic studies about the world. Reading became his only refuge.
But reading about something and experiencing it were two different things.
He knew nothing about the outside world beyond the words on a page. He didn't even understand how cruel reality could be. That truth hit him the day the orphanage sold him.
The transaction happened quietly. One morning, he was called into a room, and by evening, he was being led away by strangers. He didn't even realize what was happening until the papers were signed and the coins exchanged. The orphanage had handed him over like a piece of merchandise.
He was sold to a noblewoman.
At first, he didn't understand what was happening. he understood what a slave was and how they were treated but the descriptions in books didn't match what was happening to him. The noble woman treated him like a decorative possession. She dressed in fine clothes, attended banquets, and always had a playful and accommodating expression on her face. Aldric served her silently, carrying out whatever small tasks she ordered. He thought maybe what he read in the books were wrong.
But he soon learned what she really wanted from him.
Aldric was good-looking, even as a child. His face had delicate features, his skin was fair, and his eyes carried a quiet depth. The noblewoman saw him not just as a servant, but as a toy.
For a while, nothing happened. Months passed, and Aldric almost thought he was wrong. But eventually, she began using him in ways he hadn't imagined. The first time she touched him, it confused him. When she took it further, he felt sensations he had never experienced before.
At first, there was pleasure. His body reacted naturally, just like everyone his body enjoyed the tingly sensation he was feeling. and he didn't resist. He thought it might even be normal. But it didn't take long for the truth to show.
Turns out the woman was no ordinary noble who just had a weird interest in little kids. She was a sadist, a deranged lunatic who enjoyed pain more than pleasure. What began as gentle and soothing, soon turned violent. What had been confusingly enjoyable soon became unbearably painful. Her nails dug into his skin, her teeth left marks, and her demands grew harsher.
The sessions became torture.
One day, when he finally couldn't take it anymore, Aldric tried to resist. He pushed her away in desperation. In the struggle, his hand struck hers, and her fingers bent unnaturally. Blood spilled from a deep cut along one of them.
The woman screamed.
It wasn't the scream of pain—it was the scream of vanity. She rushed immediately to summon healers, desperate that the wound not leave a scar. Her image mattered more to her than the fact that Aldric had resisted.
But while she healed quickly, Aldric was not so fortunate.
Word of the incident spread. A nobleman who had been pursuing her heard of it. He was infatuated with her and always tried to make her leave behind her strange fetish, and jealous of anyone close to her, became furious that a mere slave had dared to harm her.
In a fit of rage, the man confronted Aldric. He didn't stop at words. He beat Aldric mercilessly, each strike fueled by his hatred. Aldric, small and powerless, couldn't resist.
Soon enough the nobleman was satisfied and his anger had subsided….but that doesn't mean he stopped beating aldric, No the anger soon turned to pleasure and in a rush of ecstasy, he pulled out a blade.
With a roar, he slashed Aldric across the chest once. Then again. Two cuts, crossing over each other. The wounds tore deep, blood gushing out as Aldric collapsed.
The pain was blinding. His chest burned as if fire had been poured into it. His blood pooled around him, and for a moment, he thought he would die there on the floor.
The noblewoman arrived in time to see the aftermath. She was furious, not because Aldric had nearly been killed, but because he was her property. She would not allow her possession to be destroyed.
She immediately summoned multiple healing-path arcanists. They worked quickly, pouring their energy into Aldric's broken body. They sealed the bleeding, mended the torn flesh, and restored his strength. Slowly, his life returned.
But even their skill had limits.
No matter what they tried, the scars on his chest remained. The two slashes formed a cross-shaped mark that refused to fade. It was etched into his skin permanently, a reminder of that day.
The noblewoman was dissatisfied but accepted it. She didn't discard Aldric—after all, she had invested in him. But her treatment of him grew colder.
Aldric, meanwhile, carried the scar not just on his body, but on his soul.
He had learned the truth of his position. He was not a person in their eyes. He was a toy, a possession, something to be used and discarded.
The orphanage had sold him. The noblewoman had broken him. The nobleman had nearly killed him. And through it all, Aldric realized one thing—he had no power. Without power, his life was nothing more than a plaything for others.
The scar across his chest was proof of that weakness.
And it would stay with him forever.