The carriages came to a halt before a towering obsidian gate, its dark glassy surface veined with streaks of silver that shimmered faintly under the pale dawn. It loomed like a mirror of judgment, reflecting both the chained slaves and the polished dark-green carriage that followed behind.
A guard stepped forward from the shadows — tall, broad, his armor the color of dried blood and iron.
His eyes were pale blue, cold and sharp, and his dark brown hair was messy, yet disciplined.
When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of habit and command.
> "You shall not go beyond this gate."
The slave carriages halted immediately, their wheels sinking into the wet earth. But the dark-green carriage — the noble's carriage — continued to move forward, its wheels grinding arrogantly against the silence.
The guard's hand went to his sword.
> "I will not repeat myself," he said, his tone low and grim. "Halt, and prove who you are."
Silence.
Then came a soft chuckle from inside the moving carriage — low, mocking, laced with disdain.
The door opened with a creak.
A young man stepped out, his aristocratic coat glinting with silver threads under the lantern light. His eyes, dark grey and sharp, carried the same mocking ease as his voice.
> "Ah, Lance," he said smoothly, "still shouting at gates like a good hound. After that little incident, you look… better than I expected."
The guard's jaw tightened. His voice was calm, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.
> "Altric," he said coldly. "What business do you have with one of the family's personal carriages?"
Altric's smirk widened.
> "Many things… many, many things," he replied, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Though I suppose you wouldn't understand, Lance. You've never had the privilege of being close to her."
The name was not spoken, but it was felt.
Even the air around them seemed to tense.
Lance's pale eyes hardened to ice.
> "Oh, I know who sits inside that carriage," he said darkly. "And I curse myself for remembering what makes you so proud…"
He leaned forward slightly, his lips curling into a quiet snarl.
> "You're one of her toys, Altric."
He turned from him, gesturing toward the guards at the gate.
> "Open it," he ordered curtly. Then, over his shoulder, his voice echoed, cutting through the tension like frost.
"But tell me—how long do toys last before they break?"
Lance disappeared behind the gate's shadows.
And for a moment, Altric's smirk faltered. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding quietly as the towering gates of the Vartis estate began to open before him — slow, deliberate, like the maw of a beast welcoming its prey.