The Underworld...
Castle of Salvatoris...
The Library.....
A grand two- story chamber with iron spiral staircases,floor- to- ceiling shelves and a glass skylight cut into the valuted roof.
Modern leather chairs and brass reading lamps provide comfort, but the weight of so many books. Most bound in cracked leather, makes the room feel like a mausoleum of words.
Lucas stood beside a shelf.
Legs crossed. Eyes fixed intently on the book he found.
The Legend of the VIVATRA!
Rumoured to be the living aura.
The VIVAT cannot function without a soul.
A body.
The body it possesses becomes the VIVATRA.
The main threat isn't the VIVATRA but the VIVAT.
That's what his ancestors didn't understand.
They have all been looking for the VIVATRA.
Hunting the VIVATRA but not the VIVAT.
Yet, something bothered him.
A question that has been left unanswered.
Who created the VIVAT?
" Lucas?"
A soft voice called his name.
Only one of his brothers possess a voice like that.
Looking up... his gaze meet his.
Those silver blue eyes protected with spectacles that only added to his beauty.
His robe made of layered wool and brocade, less formal but still regal.
Deep gray as the base colour, patterned with subtle gothic arches in black.
Coarse compared to silk but lined with soft fur at the collar and cuffs for warmth.
A hood drapes over his shoulders, embroidered at the edges with a single repeating sigil,his personal mark, unapproved by the court.
Fastened by bone toggles instead of gilded clasps. A thin dagger rests at his hip, bound in cloth rather than an ornate sheath.
His small lips curved into a faint smile.
" What brings you here, cause I know you only come here once in a thousand years.
And that's when you pick up a fight with Cage."
Lucas laughed as he placed the book back in the shelf. His eyes glimmered.
Lucas has pains. But refused to share it with anyone.
" Charles" Lucas whispered his name.
" Those days are gone. Now he has to run away from me."
Charles nodded as he closed the book he held.
He didn't wanna start a fight.
" What do you intend to do with the boy?"
" You mean Lydaeus? He's currently at the slave region. I'm gonna sell him." Lucas simply stated.
" At the public market square?" Charles asked.
" No." Lucas replied " At the Black dais."
Charles froze.
" You mean the sovereign block? "
Lucas said nothing but smiled.
" A whisperer like him can't be sold at the public market square."
" So what's your minimum bidding price?"
Charles asked as Lucas was about to leave.
" Nothing less than 200 iron crowns."
The Black Dais...
The sovereign Block...
The slave auction was no common trade but a spectacle for the highest of blood and wealth. A hall lined with black marble columns and lit by chandeliers dripping with cold fire. The air was thick with incense though it did little to mask the underlying stench of fear that clung to the stone.
At the center stood the dais, a low , circular stage of polished obsidian, upon which each slave was displayed.
They were stripped of all but chains.
Their wrists bound in iron cuffs that gleamed under the pale firelight.
Their bodies bore the silence of resignation yet their eyes betrayed the storm - terror, despair or the fragile ember of defiance waiting to be crushed.
The auctioneer was a tall skeletal figure.
His robes trimmed with crimson and gold.
His voice echoing with ritual weight.
He did not sell.
He pronounced, intoning the qualities of each soul as though reciting the scripture.
Age. Strength. Beauty. Obedience.
Every word reducing the living to currency.
When his hammer fell, it was not merely a sale but a judgement, final and absolute.
Around the dais, tiered seats rose in shadow, filled with lords, princes, and high- born courtiers draped in silks and jewels.
Their voices were low at first.
Murmuring behind maked fans or jeweled goblets but grew sharp when the bidding began.
Each number called out was like a blade thrown into the air, cutting away at what little humanity the condemned retained.
In the shadows,unseen musicians struck low discordant notes, their sound twisting the bidding into something ceremonial.
Each slave's fate became a performance for the nobles' delight, a spectacle of power as intoxicating as wine.
Here, the auction was not only trade but affirmation.
A reminder that even princes could be reduced to buyers and every life had its price, if the coin was heavy enough.
The slaves were clothed in rags.
All lined up.
Lydaeus was among them.
Among the slaves to be sold.
And before he knew it.
It was his turn.
He was dragged into the circle of light, chains clattering against the obsidian dais.
He was unlike the others.
Others would tremble beneath the gaze of the assembled lords.
Lydaeus stood still.
His eyes fearless.
The auctioneer stepped forward, his black staff striking once, commanding silence. It felt like a hammer upon the chest of the condemned.
" Behold" he intoned. His voice rolling through the hall with the weight of judgement.
" Two hundred iron crowns carried in chains of flesh yet unbroken" his talon- tipped staff traced the still figure from head to toe, not touching but close enough to make the skin crawl.
" Extremely bold, strength in shoulders, endurance in the legs..... spirit still untamed." His lips curled in that cold smile.
" A spirit that can be broken or harnessed"
A murmur rippled through the nobles and even the young lords leaned forward in their seats.
" Such a young lad being sold at the black dais"
" Is he worth it?"
" I heard he was brought by prince Lucas"
" What's so special about him?"
" Who would buy him for more than two hundred iron crowns "
" They should have taken him to the public market square."
" He's too expensive "
Far behind, stood a man in black.
Covered in hood.
A silver mask he wore.
Only his dark red eyes were seen.
Beside him was his assistant.
" Master, what do you think?" His assistant asked.
" It's him. I marked his eyes at the execution arena . No one has eyes as dark as his."
" But the minimum price is high. And clearly enough,the lords are going to bid higher "
" Not a problem "
The auctioneer prowled around them like a priest circling an altar. His words cut sharper than the chains.
" Behold his eyes _ still defiant. Imagine them lowered in obedience. Who will claim this vessel? Who will bind this fire to their house? Who will claim the whisperer?"
" A whisperer?"
" That's why he's so expensive "
" Whisperers are extremely rare "
"Heard they could control spirits "
" they even eat children "
" You seem to talk from experience. Tell me, have they eaten yours?"
The first bid came sharp and arrogant, thrown by the Lord kael, the oldest son from the Midan clan. He lounged in his seat,one jeweled hand lifting lazily, his lips curled in a smirk.
" Five Hundred iron crowns " his voice dripped with mockery daring anyone to outbid him.
But from the opposite tier, at the far end.
Came another voice, deep and steady, carrying the weight of command.
The man in black.
" Eight hundred"
No flourish, no jest.
Just a clean cutting strike.
Kael sat upright now, the smirk fading into a snarl.
" One thousand iron crowns "
He did not speak the number so as to spit it, his pride stung before the assembly.
The man in black did not blink.
He raised a single hand. His tone cool.
Deliberate.
" One Blood mark"
A ripple ran through the nobles . Too high.
Too bold. Yet his gaze did not falter.
Blood marks are extremely rare.
Its worth was said to be uncertain.
Some said it could buy life itself.
Kael's hand trembled on his goblet, wine spilling unnoticed down his sleeve.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, teeth grinding.
To bid higher would be madness yet to yield would be humiliation.
The auctioneer struck his staff upon the stone.
"Sold!"
The word reverberated like a verdict.
The man in black leaned back into the shadows, his expression unreadable.
While kael's face burned crimson.
His pride gutted before nobles and courtiers alike.
A mocking murmur rippled through the tiers.
Lydaeus was dragged from the dais.
His fate sealed.
Yet it was not him who had been broken...
it was Kael.
Indeed!
The hall had claimed another victim.