A violent, gasping shock ripped Enid from the depths of sleep as a bucket of bone-chilling water drenched her. Icy drops streamed down her face, soaked her nestled hair, and plastered the threadbare rag she wore to her shivering skin, a brutal awakening on the dusty floor where she had lain. Before she could draw a full, ragged breath, rough hands seized her, yanking her upright with a force that made her joints scream. They had not, of course, forgotten the rune-carved chains. The cold, dark metal was cinched cruelly tight around her wrists and ankles, each link etched with faintly glowing runes that hissed like vipers where they touched her skin, leaching her strength and draining her will. To take a single step was to drag the weight of a full cart behind her. Her eyes, large and doe-like, widened with panicked confusion as they pulled her.
It had all happened that night… She didn't know how. She'd fallen unconscious, but for some reason, she had been branded a very dangerous witch.
She didn't know what happened, either. She had been packing to go home after her daily sales when those men came. They came to collect the money her family owed, and when she tried to reason with them, they beat her. In that moment, she thought she was dead, only to wake up with the shocking news that she had wiped out Gultra. How? She had been beaten and couldn't actually do anything, so how? But nobody cared to listen. She was bound and brought to Varlon, where she stayed locked up until now.
Soaked and shuddering uncontrollably, she was hauled from the confines of her dusty cage and thrust into the harsh, unforgiving sunlight of the arena. Even through the film of water blurring her vision, the light was a physical sting, searing her light-starved eyes and warming her skin with a promise of heat that her soaked, terrified core could not feel.
It was an auction hall, though not for slaves or relics, it was for animals that had evolved into monstrous beasts. Why was she here? She didn't want to be sold. She wasn't an animal or a beast. But those panicked thoughts were only for her. The more she struggled, digging her heels into the packed earth and refusing to move further, the more the men pulling her chain yanked, sending fresh waves of unbearable, strength-sapping pain shooting through her. "Move it, you witch!" one snarled. With every jolt of agony, she screamed and cried, her voice a broken plea: "I did nothing! It wasn't me! Please!"
She was dragged, stumbling and tripping, up the rough wooden stairs until she was thrust onto the high podium. She stood there, scared, whimpering, and shivering violently, a pathetic and drenched spectacle. Immediately, the whole hall fell into a pin-drop silence.
Every living soul that resided in the cities surrounding the steep knew her, or knew of her: the witch who had wiped out the bustling city of Gultra just two weeks ago in a single, fiery night. "Please," she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. Immediately, people began making cross signs. A barrage of coarse salt was thrown at her from the front rows, stinging her skin and eyes, a superstitious gesture to ward off the evil they believed clung to her. With all this, she grew more confused and helpless. She did nothing, nothing at all! She was just a girl, a poor girl from a poverty-stricken family, a harmless girl who sold knitted scarves; she didn't know how it happened. They wouldn't even let her see if her ailing mother and little brother had survived whatever catastrophe had befallen Gultra.
The auctioneer, a gaunt man with a voice like grinding stones, cleared his throat and spoke, shattering the tense quiet. "The last, but certainly not the least, on today's list is… a witch. A master of dark arts, feared by all who know her power. She who can bend reality beyond mortal control. Who among you will be bold enough to claim her as your own and unleash her fury upon the battlefield? The starting price is 500 gold coins." His voice echoed across the silent crowd, but not a single person spoke.
It was a never-ending, suffocating silence, the only sounds the frantic thrashing of caged beasts and the rattle of their bars as they refused to be bound. Until a daring scholar, perched high in the stands and driven by academic curiosity, decided to test the waters. "One thousand gold coins," he called out, his voice thin and reedy. His bid seemed to cause a spark in the silence, and a few more daring souls, emboldened by his gamble, joined the hesitant bidding.
"One thousand and two gold coins!" "One thousand and three!" "One thousand and six!"
And it kept on like that, a slow, cautious climb of mere coins, the bids dripping out with palpable reluctance. Until a cold, clear voice, devoid of all emotion, spoke from the deepest shadows at the back of the hall. "Five million gold coins."
The entire auction gasped as one, a collective intake of shock that sucked the air from the room. Everyone, including Enid, snapped their heads toward the voice, only to be met with an impenetrable wall of darkness. Who in God's name would buy a walking death sentence at such an exorbitant, unimaginable price? The auctioneer forgot to breathe, his hammer frozen in mid-air.
"G-going once…" he stammered, his professional facade shattered. "Going twice…" He waited, but the hall remained in stunned silence. "SOLD!" His voice cracked as he hit his gavel, the sound exploding through the hall. She was immediately led away, pulled toward the settlement office where her price would be settled by her incomprehensible, undoubtedly crazy buyer.
That had certainly caused a ruckus. As she was dragged off, everyone was already talking about it, buzzing with disbelief, all craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the buyer but they couldn't even see a shadow shift within the darkness. Definitely, this would be the sole topic for the cities surrounding the steep for weeks to come: "Someone bought the witch for five million gold coins!"