The slave pens of Westgarde Trading Office stank of rusted chains, sweat, and rotting hope.
Selena sat curled in the back corner of her cage, her knees hugged tight to her chest, her face sunken and pale beneath a veil of dirt. Her once brown colored hair was matted with grime, her lips dry and cracked from days without speech. She was the last. The others men and women, children and elders—had all been taken, bought by merchants, sold to households, or vanished into the mines of Ironspire Hold. She remained forgotten, unwanted, unsold.
A bell rang overhead daylight shift.
The iron door creaked open. A slaver's boots clicked against the stone as he passed by her cell, not even bothering to glance at her.
"Still no one?" a voice asked outside.
The slaver: That one? Waste of coin. Weak bones. Dead eyes. She'll die soon anyway.
Selena listened, but she didn't stir. Their words were nails hammered into her spirit, and her spirit had long since turned to wood.
Night fell again. The torches outside her pen flickered, casting long shadows through the bars. A rat scratched in the corner. Somewhere beyond the pen walls, laughter echoed drunken revelry from the guards, detached from the suffering within.
She curled tighter into herself and whispered her nightly prayer.
Selena: Let this be my last night. Please. Let me not wake again.
The gods never answered.
Days bled into nights. Weeks passed. Snow began to fall through the open skylight above the pen. She didn't count time anymore. Her body grew weaker, but her eyes sunken though they were watched. She watched the comings and goings of life beyond the cage. She watched freedom from behind iron bars.
And then he came.
It was morning, and the clouds had broken to let a shaft of pale sunlight strike the filthy stone floor. She was half-asleep when she heard the heavy footfalls boots, deliberate and resonant. A hush fell across the pens. Even the guards stood still, eyes wide.
A figure clad in black armor stepped through the archway. Not chipped plate or leather like mercenaries wore this armor was master-crafted, obsidian black, trimmed with silver and red. Twin swords hung crossed across his back, their hilts shaped like a pair of dragons locked in battle. His helmet, shaped with a narrow visor, hid his face completely.
He walked past the empty cages until he stood in front of hers.
Selena blinked, unsure if she was hallucinating again. It wouldn't be the first time.
The man said nothing. He simply stared at her.
Long seconds passed.
Selena :If you're here to mock me, get it over with,
She said. Her voice was a dry rasp, barely more than a whisper.
Selena: Or if you're here to kill me, I'd thank you for it.
The man tilted his head, considering her words.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, measured.
Red: What is your name?
She hesitated. No one had asked her name in over a year.
Selena:....Selena.
The man nodded once.
Red: You will come with me.
Selena: Why? I'm not worth your gold. I'm nothing. Just let me rot here.
Red: I don't deal in worth, I deal in choices.
He reached into a pouch at his waist and drew out a single gold coin, bright, gleaming. Without another word, he turned to the slaver behind him and tossed the coin. It landed with a ringing clink.
Red: Free her.
The slaver: Sir? are you sure? She's..
The swordsman's head turned slightly. The slaver paled and obeyed without another word.
The lock clicked open.
Selena didn't move.
The man turned back to her and extended a gauntleted hand.
Red: You can walk away, Right now. You're free. No chains, no orders, no masters.
She stared at the hand, then at him.
Selena: Or? she asked, her voice trembling.
Red: Or, you can follow me. Not as a slave. Not as a servant. But as someone who wants to live.
Selena: Why me?
He didn't answer immediately. For a moment, the only sound was the wind curling through the open archway.
Red: Because I saw your eyes. And I've seen that same look before in the mirror.
Selena's heart beat once, then again faster than it had in weeks.
She stared at his outstretched hand, the black glove so stark against the pale light.
She could run. She could disappear. She could find a village, hide in the hills, die quietly in the snow.
Or
Her fingers twitched. Then, slowly, uncertainly, she reached out and took his hand.
Warmth met her skin.
And with it, something else.
Hope.