On her way to the Swanson household, Myra had a strange feeling that she was being followed. The streets bustled with people going about their daily routines, yet something felt… off. She couldn't pinpoint anyone in particular, but a chill crawled up her spine.
She turned around a couple of times to check if someone was behind her, but there was no one suspicious in sight. The men and women on the road seemed preoccupied, barely sparing her a glance.
Maybe I'm just being paranoid, she thought, brushing off the uneasiness. The sun blazed high in the sky, and the heat made her feel both hot and irritable. Beads of sweat trickled down her back, soaking the collar of her dress.
She had never in her life wandered around as much as she had in the last two days, especially not in an unfamiliar land like Arcardia.
Arcardia was vast. Only the Privileged could afford to travel comfortably—by private carriages, whenever and wherever they pleased. The less fortunate had to either pay for public carriages or rely on their feet, often walking for hours at a time. It was the norm for the commoners.
Clutching her bag's strap tightly, Myra walked up to a tea stall and asked the vendor for directions. The man told her to walk straight up toward the upper locality. Nodding, she thanked him and resumed her journey, heading uphill.
As she moved forward, the crowd began to thin. A carriage clattered past her, headed in the same direction. She sighed and rubbed her aching calves. Her throat was parched.
"Why does the mansion have to be so far?" she muttered under her breath, already deciding that she wouldn't work for the Swansons unless they provided a room in the servants' quarters. Even a small one would do. She could manage, as long as she didn't have to make this exhausting walk every day. The route to the Swanson estate didn't feel safe either.
Eventually, she found herself walking alone on an empty road. The fear that had earlier plagued her returned in full force. She now felt certain that she was being followed. As if confirming her suspicion, she heard a twig snap behind her.
Grabbing the charm stone hanging from her neck in one hand and clutching her bag in the other, she began to walk faster. The footsteps behind her quickened.
Two men had been trailing her for nearly an hour without her noticing. They were waiting for the perfect moment to strike—when no one else was around.
One of the men, had heard her asking for the directions to the swanson's household. After a few minutes of observation they had come to realize that she was new to the capital and was all alone. Grouping up together they planned to loot and kidnap her with an intention of selling her off to the slave organisation for some good amount of money.
"She'll fetch a good price," one of them whispered earlier. "The slave market's paying high this week
When Myra turned and saw the two men stalking her, the look on their faces told her everything she needed to know—they meant harm.
Terrified, she began to run as fast as she could, praying silently for help. The two men—Falseborn demons, started running too, closing in on her.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be!" one of them shouted after her.
Swanson Mansion sat atop a hill. Unfortunately, there were no houses in the vicinity—no neighbors nearby. One of the men, leaner and quicker, caught up with Myra and grabbed her arm roughly.
Myra let out a shrill scream, crying for help.
"Let go!" she yelled, panicked, trying to free herself, but his grip was strong. The second man appeared and yanked her bag away.
"Please!"
"Well, what a beauty we've got here," the second man sneered, brushing a stray hair from her face. Myra glared at him in disgust and turned her face away.
"We'll make a fortune off you."
"Don't touch me!" she spat, her voice trembling but defiant.
Myra's eyes widened with fear, her heart pounding. What have I gotten myself into? She'd thought she could survive in this harsh world without relying on anyone.
Now, she was paying the price for that decision. If only I hadn't left my relatives' house. If only I hadn't come this far.
"HELP!" she screamed again, kicking and struggling with all her strength. "SOMEBODY, PLEASE HELP!"
The first man guffawed, showing his dirty blackened teeth.
"Darling, there's no one around here to save you," he said, gripping her chin. "And even if someone does show up, we'll loot and kill them too."
Tears streamed down her pale face. Everything had been going fine until now. She'd been on the verge of finding a new job, maybe even settling down. Then, reality struck hard.
"Who are you people? Why are you doing this to me?" she yelled.
"Woman! Don't shout!" the second man barked.
"Mike, gag her," said the leaner man.
"Why don't we just knock her out instead?" Mike suggested.
"Please! Please, don't do this! Let me go!"
"You should've stayed home, girl," Mike sneered. "This capital eats the weak alive."
Myra began struggling even more when they heard the distant sound of galloping hooves approaching.
"Someone's coming. George, knock her out," Mike ordered. "We'll deal with whoever it is afterward."
Myra's eyes lit with hope. She screamed again, louder this time. "SOMEBODY HELP!"
The sound of the horse grew nearer.
George snapped a thick branch off a nearby tree and struck her hard. As Falseborn demons, they were strong — strong enough to break tree branches with their bare hands.
Just before the world went dark, Myra caught a glimpse of someone approaching on a towering black stallion. Then everything faded to black.