The water drips steadily from the stone ceiling. The dim light barely illuminates the space, casting long, wavering shadows. It's an underground corridor.
Behind a pillar, a figure lingers, motionless and silent, concealed in the darkness.
A group of people strides down the stone corridor. Their footsteps echo faintly, breaking the stillness. One of them halts abruptly, while the others continue onward, their forms vanishing into the gloom.
The hidden figure emerges from behind the pillar. It's Sam, a tall young man with sharp, chiseled features, partially obscured by his large glasses.
The man is caught off guard, instinctively stepping back.
"I'm the seller." he announces.
His attire is impeccable, well-tailored and refined, a sharp contrast to the grim and desolate surroundings. Pride radiates from his expression, as if the bleakness of the place could never touch him.
"I'm Sam." comes the response, calm and measured.
The seller pauses as he takes a moment to recall the arrangement.
"Ah, yes, this way!"
The man strides forward, leading the way through a dimly lit hallway. The air is damp and cold.
"You didn't provide any specifications." the seller remarks.
Sam remains silent, his gaze fixed ahead as he follows closely behind.
On either side of the hallway, chambers emerge, their grim interiors concealed behind sturdy metal bars.
Sam halts abruptly. A strange sensation pulling his attention to one of the chambers.
The Howl Lv 43 glows faintly on a weathered tablet beside the cell..
"GHRRRR!!" can be heard from the dark.
"No, no! You don't have money for that one! And even if you did, you can not have it. He's too strong for you." and for a split second, the man's eyes flash with genuine concern, but it's gone just as quickly, replaced by the same smug pride.
Sam's expression twists into one of clear disgust as the man speaks, yet he chooses to follow his advice.
Their footsteps echo hollowly as they proceed down the dark corridor. Sam pauses at each cell, peering inside, searching for something.
The cells are wretched, their interiors suffused with despair. The individuals within them are miserable, hollow eyes staring into nothingness. They are not people, they are products of the slave market.
At one point, the seller notices Sam fixating on a particular cell. He is taken aback, this was a product he had long deemed unsellable.
The tablet mounted beside the cell displays a single word: Roka.
Inside, a small boy sits huddled in the shadows. He looks no older than nine. Snow-white hair falls messily over his face, partially covering his sharp, canine ears. A thin, ragged tail coils around his body like a wounded animal trying to shield itself. His fingers end in vicious fangs instead of nails, their tips sharp enough to tear flesh with ease.
But Sam isn't looking at the boy's body, his attention is locked on his eyes. Though they appear human, the intent behind them is anything but. It's a gaze that carries a fury, raw and unbridled, like a fire yearning to consume everything in its path.
"This is the cheapest one," the seller says. "We believe he doesn't know how to speak."
"I want to speak with him... alone." Sam replies.
The seller rotates his wrist. A metallic clank and the cage door swings open on its own.
Sam steps into the cell. He lowers himself to one knee.
"Look at me!"
The boy's head rises slowly, his thin face pale and hollowed by hunger. The rusted chains binding his wrists are visible now.
"What is it you desire most?" Sam's voice drops to a whisper.
The boy remembers his past, his family, his home, the warmth of laughter and the scent of the wild. But at the end, his mind drifts to the humans who shattered it all. Soulless soldiers marching through the forest, their heavy boots crushing leaves and dreams alike. The echoes of steel and fire burn in his mind.
"I want them to pay!" speaks the boy with a squeaky voice.
"The Bloodforge guild owns the slave market here. They..." speaks Sam with burning eyes of it's own "...collected you."
The boy's eyes widen, the mention of the guild's name hitting him like a lightning bolt.
"Do you want them to pay?"
Sam's voice is calm, but in the same time, there's an edge to it, like a spark waiting to ignite.
His answer is silent but unmistakable. A single nod.
"We can do that. Together." Sam's words like a dark promise. "I can free you. I have the resources to establish a guild. We can become stronger, enough to tear apart everything they've built. And together, we may be able to satisfy your desire..."
Sam leans in closer "...and perhaps, mine too."
A pause hangs in the air.
"But there are conditions. If you agree to join me, you will never leave my guild for your entire half-beast life, and you will do as I say, not as a slave, but as my subordinate, as my comrade."
***
Info: Roka is a half-beast. Half-beasts age differently from humans; they reach full maturity within 5 years of birth, and their adult life lasts another 25 years. From then on, their bodies rapidly deteriorate due to old age. Almost no half-beast lives beyond 35 years.
***
"Do you agree with my conditions?"
Roka's mind can not focus on anything but revenge. His sharp gaze returns to Sam, burning with determination.
"I agree."
Satisfied, Sam turns and walks out of the cage. His expression remains calm, but his voice carries authority.
"I will take this one. No subjugation spell."
"Are you sure?" he asks, his tone laced with both disbelief and mockery. "These creatures aren't like us. You need control over them, or they'll tear you apart the moment they get the chance. That one especially."
"Tell me the price." Sam leaving no room for negotiation.
"We do not recommend that. The subjugation spell..."
"The price!" interrupts Sam with no patience to spare for the seller.
"Five big silver coins."
Without hesitation, Sam reaches into his pocket, pulls them out and places them into the seller's outstretched hand.
With a smooth gesture, the seller waves his hand through the air. The chains binding Roka's wrists shimmer briefly before crumbling into dust.
Sam approaches Roka, bends down and hoists the boy onto his shoulder. As he walks, he pauses and looks back.
"You should start worrying about yourself, Bloodforge seller," he says, his words as cold as the shadows around them.
The seller's confident smile falters. For the first time, uncertainty flickers across his face.