The room stood in stark contrast to the gloomy corridors. The floor, covered in smooth wooden planks, gleamed faintly from a light coat of oil. The stone walls, coated in simple lime plaster, exuded a sense of cleanliness. Oil lamps flickered softly, their light blending with the natural sunlight filtering through the windows.
Sunlight bathed the room, its rays blending with the subtle scent of perfume. Lady Meredith sat regally, exuding the grace of a queen, while Elara attempted to appear casual, though her tension was evident.
At the center of the room, a low wooden table was flanked by two armchairs. Elara sat upright in one, her posture stiff, while Lady Meredith took the other, her presence commanding, as if accustomed to having others obey her every word.
Behind Lady Meredith stood Fallon, dressed in his knight's armor, a helmet tucked under his arm, the sword at his side gleaming in the light, silent and motionless.
Beside her was Roderick, a thin man in his fifties, exuding an air of confidence, his glasses perched on his nose.
Borin entered, leading the boy by the chains, his head bowed. He stopped in the center of the room.
Despite her usual sternness, Lady Meredith's eyes widened as if she had seen something strange. She rose, standing with full dignity, as if her mere presence was a declaration of authority. Her gaze swept over the boy's features with sharp scrutiny, a flicker of astonishment — perhaps even awe — glinting in her eyes.
"Bring him closer…" she ordered in a sharp tone that brooked no argument.
As Borin obeyed, Lady Meredith never took her eyes off the boy. She studied him with an almost predatory gaze, lips pressed thin in concentration.
She reached out, her fingers hovering just above the boy's cheek before pulling back. "He's… striking." Her voice was a low whisper, almost to herself.
"Lady Meredith!" Roderick barked, stepping forward. "Please, do not soil yourself by touching that filth." But she didn't even glance his way.
Her fingers hovered in the air, inches from the boy's face, eyes narrowed in thought. "Fascinating!" she murmured, as if Roderick's words had never existed.
The silence that followed was thick. Even Borin shifted uncomfortably, but no one dared interrupt her again.
Except Elara seizing the moment. "He's quiet, obedient…"
She hesitated for a moment, then added lightly: "And if it piques your interest… it may be up for sale, should you wish to purchase."
Lady Meredith stood directly in front of him, gazing intently at his face as if reading a map whose symbols she didn't understand, then asked without diverting her gaze: "How old is he?"
Elara responded cautiously, avoiding her mistress's gaze "Thirteen… perhaps older, no one knows for sure."
Lady Meredith muttered, her eyes still fixed on the boy,"No hesitation... only a strange coldness, one that doesn't belong to his age... he doesn't belong in this place…"
She slowly withdrew her hand, then turned toward Elara, the astonishment fading from her expression, replaced by something else… cautious interest.
She asked, in a more serious tone: "How long has he been with you? And why haven't I heard of him before?"
Elara, speaking softly, her eyes shifting between the boy and Lady Meredith as if trying to justify her subtle neglect
"When I bought him, he was barely alive—just skin and bones. Everyone thought he'd die, but… I decided to gamble on him."
Lady Meredith turned slightly, her gaze sharp. "Roderick," she said. "What's your opinion?"
Roderick adjusted his glasses with a disdainful sniff, not even bothering to hide the look of disgust on his face as he stepped forward.
"My opinion, my lady?" he said, his voice tight. "This creature's background is unknown. Who knows what blood runs through him? And these—" he grabbed the boy's wrist, turning it to inspect the scars on his hand and arm, "—marks, and the ones on his chest… they're not the kind one earns through work. They speak of savagery, filth, and probably punishment."
He narrowed his eyes. "Some of these are gang brands—slum gangs. I've seen them before. He's been touched by that world, and nothing good ever comes from it. If word spreads that you've brought a branded slave into your home… you'll disgrace the family."
Lady Meredith narrowed her eyes slightly, but said nothing.
He narrowed his eyes. "Some of these are gang brands—slum gangs. I've seen them before. He's been touched by that world, and nothing good ever comes from it. If word spreads that you've brought a branded slave into your home, especially one without magic… you'll disgrace the family."
The boy's eyes didn't even flicker the entier time. They stayed cold, unreadable. He didn't flinch at Roderick's words, didn't react. He wasn't even listening—his mind was elsewhere, he know something about the lady.
That stare—distant, indifferent—only served to ignite Roderick's rage further. The boy wasn't afraid. He wasn't broken. He looked at him like he was nothing.
Roderick's boots clicked as he stepped in front of the boy, lips curling with disdain. "Let's end this farce," he sneered, arms behind his back like a judge passing sentence. "You—bow to your better."
The room seemed to still.
The boy didn't move. His head remained bowed at first, shadow cloaking his expression. Then—slowly, with the weight of defiance in every motion—he raised his gaze. Cold. Unyielding. Those pale, unreadable eyes met Roderick's with all the warmth of a winter storm.
He didn't blink.
Didn't flinch.
Not even a twitch of submission.
Then, deliberately, he leaned forward.
Everyone leaned in slightly—expecting perhaps, finally, a reluctant bow.
But instead—
"Spat."
The wet, ugly sound broke the silence like a whip crack. A thick glob of spit landed with perfect aim, splattering across the glossy leather of Roderick's pristine boot.
Gasps rang out. Elara nearly dropped the cloth she'd been nervously wringing. Fallon's eyebrows jumped. Even Borin went pale.
Roderick stared down in stunned disbelief, as if the universe itself had gone mad.
Then his jaw clenched.
His face went red. His nostrils flared. His fingers twitched, itching for the sword he wasn't allowed to draw here. "You little—"
Borin, standing in the corner, looked like his soul had left his body. he grabed the chain pulling the boy.
Elara gasped and rushed forward. "M-my lady! I swear he's never done this before—he's usually obedient, truly! Please forgive—"
But Lady Meredith… burst into laughter.
Rich, unapologetic, unladylike laughter. It echoed in the fine room, a jarring contrast to the tension that had just filled it.
"I knew he'd do something," she said, wiping the corner of her eye with a gloved finger. "Did you really think a boy with those eyes would obey you, Roderick?"
Roderick was trembling with rage, barely holding himself back. "You see, Lady Meredith?" he hissed. "This… this thing? It's feral. Filthy. We cannot accept this type of trash into the household. What if this kind of behavior happened in front of someone important? Someone from the other families?" His voice cracked with restrained fury. "I told you we should never have come to this godsforsaken place!"
But Lady Meredith ignored him entirely.
"Its your fault Roderick fault to mock the boy"
She stepped closer, "You mentioned his scars—scars that you said were the result of punishment. And now, you want him to bow for you?"
She turned her attention back to Elara, her expression shifting—no longer amused, but thoughtful. There was a strange softness to her gaze now, almost regretful.
"Elara," she said slowly, "I must apologize… You've brought me something far more intriguing than I expected. Truly, he's…" she glanced briefly at the boy, then away, as if staring too long might unravel her composure, "...too striking."
Elara raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift. "Then… you're interested?"
Meredith nodded, lips pursed. "Yes. But I can't take him."
That brought a flicker of confusion to Elara's face. "May I ask why, my lady?"
The lady Meredith let out a quiet breath, almost a sigh, then stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She leaned in, lowering her voice to a confidential whisper only Elara could hear.
"You know Armania," she murmured, a trace of fond exasperation in her tone. "She's at that delicate age… and that boy—he's too good looking. It would be trouble, Elara. Real trouble. I can't risk something… unnecessary happening."
She pulled back with a knowing look, her meaning unmistakable.
Elara nodded, lips twitching into a small, understanding smile. "Say no more, my lady. I understand completely."
There was a pause, then Elara ventured carefully, "Still, considering your interest… could I ask a favor?"
Lady Meredith tilted her head.
Elara offered a hesitant smile, "Could you help me… set a price for him? I mean—something fair. Something that sounds like I knew what I was doing."
Meredith arched a brow, clearly amused. "You want me to appraise your merchandise?"
Elara gave a shrug, her tone playfully light. "Well, you are a lady of high taste. Who better to name his worth?"
Lady Meredith gaze flicked to Fallon, still standing silent behind her like a shadow. "Fallon," she said smoothly. "How much do you think he's worth?"
Fallon stirred for the first time, his voice calm, deep, and certain."...That depends. If we're talking market price for a lowborn, untrained, magicless boy with a violent streak—"
He paused. "—Then maybe a few silver, if you're lucky. But if we're talking about his features… There are rich ones who will take interest on him." He looked at the boy directly.
Fallon's eyes studied the boy, he spoke
"Two hundred silver coins. At the very least."
The words hit the room like a stone dropped into still water.
Elara let out a stunned, breathy laugh—half gasp, half disbelieving squeal. "Two hundred?!" Her voice cracked with glee, eyes going wide. She spun slightly in place, hands lifting as if to steady herself. "I was dreaming of sixty at best!" she said with a grin that stretched wider by the second.
Borin's jaw dropped. He looked from Fallon to the boy, then back again, eyebrows rising so high they nearly left his forehead. "Sixty would've been a miracle," he said, a chuckle bubbling from his chest.
They both burst into delighted laughter—sharp, sudden, almost disbelieving.
Lady Meredith didn't turn her head, but one eyebrow arched ever so slightly.
Immediately, the two froze—still grinning—but suddenly standing very straight, their laughter dying into awkward coughs as they attempted a semblance of poise.
Elara smoothed her dress with both hands, voice meek again. "Apologies, my lady. Just… unexpected fortune."
Meanwhile, Lady Meredith remained composed, though her lips curled ever so slightly. A knowing smile. She didn't laugh—she had expected this.
"Two hundred only…" she repeated softly, her gaze drifting back to the boy. Her voice took on a thoughtful lilt. "No, I think more… Even three hundred might be possible."
She gave one final glance toward the boy, as if sealing her appraisal in her mind. Then, with the grace of nobility etched into every movement, she turned back to Elara.
"I must be going," she said, adjusting her gloves with a quiet snap. "My steward will settle the carriage."
She stepped forward slightly, her voice lowering just a little—a softness only meant for Elara. "You should come visit, Elara. Aramina's been asking after you nonstop, and even Serelinne"—she said the name fondly, referring to her eldest daughter—"misses your presence at the house. It's been too long."
Elara blinked, surprised by the warmth, then gave a sincere nod. "I will. I promise."
Lady Meredith's lips curled into a final, elegant smile. "Good. See you soon, then."
With that, she turned with practiced grace, her posture effortlessly noble. Fallon stepped forward in silence, his armored boots making a soft thud against the floor. He gave Elara a polite nod, then followed closely behind his lady, still holding his helmet tucked beneath his arm like a silent sentinel.
Roderick, however, lingered a moment longer. His face was still flushed, jaw clenched tight as if choking on unspoken outrage. He cast one last scathing glare at the boy—who returned it with cold indifference—then gave a sharp exhale through his nose and spun on his heel.
Without a word, he followed after them, the echo of his stiff footsteps trailing behind.
And just like that, the room fell quiet again—still holding the ghost of tension and laughter both.
Then—
Borin exploded.
he blurted, grabbing his head with both hands. "He spat on him! Roderick! That Roderick!"
He turned toward the boy, still gripping the chain that hung from the collar around the boy's neck. "Are you mad? Are you trying to get us all killed?!"
The boy didn't even blink. Still calm. Still watching the door, his gaze distant.
Borin let out a groan and dropped the chain, pacing in tight circles. "He's got no sense of self-preservation—I swear, I've seen feral dogs with more survival instinct!"
Elara, still clutching the cloth she'd wrung half to death earlier, looked between the boy and Borin with a mix of exasperation and awe. "I thought he was going to bow…"
"But no," Borin muttered, flopping onto a chair with all the weight of a man aged twenty years in five minutes. "He just spat. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Please God help us."
Elara couldn't help it—she laughed, just a little. A choked, startled laugh.
"Thank god it was Lady Meredith," she muttered, still catching her breath. "If it had been anyone else, we'd have a huge problem."
"He really did," she said, biting her lip to suppress a smile. "Right on the boot. Like—splat!"
She glanced toward the door where they had left. "Anyway, it was Roderick. I always hated him. He deserved it."
Borin groaned again, but even he couldn't stop the grin creeping onto his face. "If we end up on a pike because of this brat, I want it on record that I warned everyone."
Elara looked down at the boy again, who stood silently, unmoved by the storm he'd just caused. A strange feeling fluttered in her chest—not fear, not annoyance… but a twinge of something else.
She shook her head, sighing. "What are we going to do with you?"
A moment passed before she spoke again, her voice low with thought.
"There's The Gilded Cage event next week," she said.
"You serious?" Borin raised an eyebrow. "You mean the auction?"
She nodded slowly. "He might be worth more than we think."
Borin snorted. "That auction's for high-rank slaves. Magic wielders, scholars, trained warriors. Not street rats with good posture."
He jabbed a thumb toward the boy. "This brat's got nothing but a pretty face and quiet eyes. That won't get us in."
Then, suddenly—
A voice, quiet but clear, cut through the lightness in the air.
"What if I told you," the boy said, his tone flat, his face unreadable, "that I can get you ten times what the Lady offered?"
The room stilled. Elara blinked. Borin's grin faded like a dying flame.
The boy didn't move. He stood calmly, eyes level with Elara's. Cold. Certain. There was no arrogance in his voice—only quiet assurance. As though he wasn't bluffing. As though this was fact.
Elara stared. "What…?"
He didn't flinch.
"You heard me," he said. "Two hundred is nothing. If you listen to me, Mistress Elara… I can bring you far more."
...