Clean clothes. No dust. No blood. No strain. He looked untouched by the world around him—as if everything beneath him existed only to be measured, used, and discarded.
His eyes moved over them slowly. Not like a guard. Like a buyer. Like someone inspecting tools.
"…Stand."
The command was simple. Chains rattled as they shifted. Not fully rising—couldn't—but enough to obey.
The man walked closer. He stopped in front of Eira first. She flinched. Not visibly to most. But enough. His gaze lingered on her face.
"…Fear," he murmured, almost to himself. "Unrefined."
He moved on. Marna met his eyes without lowering her head. Her jaw was tight, her expression steady. He watched her for a moment longer.
"…Resistance," he noted. "Better."
Then— Klen.
Their eyes met. Silence stretched. No fear. No submission.
Just stillness.
The man's lips curved faintly.
"…Interesting."
He stepped back, folding his hands behind him.
"Do you know what I enjoy most about this place?" he asked, voice calm.
None of them answered. He didn't expect them to.
"It's not the trade," he continued. "Not the coin. Not even the quality of goods."
A small pause.
"It's the moment."
His gaze flicked between them.
"The exact moment when a person realizes… what they are worth."
Eira's breathing hitched. Marna said nothing. Klen didn't move.
"The eyes change," the man said softly. "Some break. Some beg. Some… cling to things that no longer matter."
His eyes returned to Klen.
"And some refuse."
Another faint smile.
"I am very curious," he added quietly, "which one of you will entertain me the most."
He turned toward the door.
"Prepare them," he said to the guards outside.
Then, just before leaving— "I do hope," he added, glancing back once, "that you fetch a satisfying price."
The door closed. Silence returned. But it wasn't the same.
Chains were unlocked. Not fully. Just enough. Wrists lowered. Ankles freed from the fixed rings—but still bound.
Movement. Limited. Controlled. Exactly as Klen predicted. He didn't react. But his eyes sharpened.
They were moved. Through corridors. Upward.
The air changed first—warmer. Heavier. Filled with something artificial. Then came the sound.
Voices. Dozens. Maybe more. Low murmurs. Laughter. Glass clinking.
They were brought to the edge of the stage. And for the first time— They saw it fully.
The structure was vast. Circular.
Tiered seating rose high above, filled with figures dressed in fine clothing—silk, fur, polished metals. Faces half-hidden behind shadows and candlelight.
Gold glinted. Wine shimmered in crystal glasses.
And at the center—
The stage.
Smooth. Polished wood. Clean. Too clean.
Chains hung along its edges, barely noticeable unless you looked for them.
The lighting was deliberate. Focused. Warm.
It made everything on the stage look… presentable. Valuable.
Klen's gaze moved. Counting.
Entrances. Guards. Distance to walls.
Above— Metal joints. Hidden mechanisms.
He noted everything.
They were forced to kneel behind a low barrier near the stage.
Not yet seen. Not yet presented. Waiting.
A man stepped onto the stage. The same one.
The murmurs quieted almost instantly. He stood at the center, posture straight, presence controlled.
Then— He bowed.
Graceful. Measured.
"Welcome," he said, voice carrying effortlessly through the hall.
A pause.
"You may call me Master."
Soft applause followed. Faint smiles. Interested eyes. Like regular guests at a performance.
The first slave was brought out. A young man.
Thin. Shaking. Chains removed just enough for him to stand.
"Healthy," Master said calmly. "Docile. Suitable for domestic service."
Bidding started. Numbers were called.
Casual.
Like discussing furniture. The man was sold.
Dragged away. Another brought in.
A woman this time.
Bruised. Silent.
"Damaged," Master noted. "But still… functional."
Lower bids. She was sold.
Then— One was not.
The silence that followed was brief. Master looked at the guards. A small gesture. No hesitation.
A blade flashed. A wet sound. The body dropped. Right there. On the stage.
Gasps? No. Just— Mild reactions.
Annoyance. Disinterest.
The body was dragged away. The stage remained clean. As if nothing happened.
Behind the barrier— Eira was trembling. Her hands shook uncontrollably.
"…they're killing them…" she whispered, barely audible.
Marna's jaw clenched tighter. Her breathing was controlled—but heavy. Her eyes burned with anger.
Klen— Watched.
Every movement. Every reaction. Every pattern.
But beneath it— Something cold was building.
More slaves. More sales. More deaths.
The rhythm continued.
Relentless. Uncaring.
Klen leaned slightly toward them, voice low.
"…get ready."
Marna nodded once. Eira swallowed hard.
Time passed. Too much time.
Then— Something felt wrong.
Names were called. Faces were shown. But not them. Not once.
Marna frowned.
"…why aren't we—"
Klen didn't answer.
His eyes were fixed forward. Watching. Waiting.
Eventually— Master raised his hand.
The room quieted.
"The first phase concludes here," he announced calmly.
A soft wave of murmurs followed. Some satisfied. Some bored.
Master smiled faintly.
"But," he continued, "I believe our honored guests would prefer something… more engaging."
The stage beneath him shifted. A low rumble echoed.
The polished platform began to move— Sliding. Rotating.
Revealing something beneath. Darkness.
Then— A pit.
A deep arena. Stone walls.
Clawed marks carved into the surface. Heavy gates lined along its edges.
Something moved behind them. Low growls echoed upward.
The air changed. Thicker. More violent.
"The second phase," Master said, turning slightly, "is reserved for those with… potential."
His gaze flicked briefly toward the area where Klen and the others were held.
"Fighters. Survivors. Those who might entertain beyond simple ownership."
A pause.
"They will be tested."
A faint smile.
"Against beasts."
A murmur of excitement spread through the audience.
Interest returned. Eyes sharpened.
Eira's face went pale.
"…no…"
Marna's expression darkened.
"…you've got to be kidding me."
Klen didn't react outwardly, but his voice, when it came— was sharper.
"…the plan doesn't change."
They both looked at him.
"What—?" Marna started.
"We have to adjust," Klen said quietly. "We need them to want us."
Eira stared at him.
"You mean—"
"We have to get their attention," he said. "And make sure we're bought."
A pause.
"…and then we break out."
Silence followed.
Then— Marna gave a slow nod.
"…tch. Fine."
Eira hesitated.
Then— "…okay."
Across the arena— Master stood at the edge of the pit. He turned toward the crowd and bowed once more. Deep. Graceful. Composed.
"As always," he said, voice smooth, "I thank you for your continued patronage."
Behind him— The gates began to shake. Something inside slammed against the metal.
Again. And again.
The night— Was only just beginning.