The market buzzed with noise that morning. Vendors shouted, people bartered, and the scent of fresh bread and cinnamon filled the air.
Kaldros strolled through, barely noticing anything until he spotted her. She looked around twenty, with dark hair and a beauty that surprised him. She was behind a fruit cart, arranging oranges. He froze, just watching her, feeling foolish.
Suddenly, a guy burst through the crowd clutching a bag, he was a thief. The soldiers gave him a hot pursuit. He crashed into her basket, sending fruit flying everywhere. Oranges rolled across the ground; people stepped on them without care. She let out a small sound and knelt down, trying to gather what she could.
Kaldros found himself beside her, picking up fruit. "Here," he said, handing her an orange.
Their hands brushed, and she looked up at him. "Thank you," she said softly, a hint of embarrassment in her voice.
"I'm Kaldros." He said.
"Anya." Her name struck a chord in his chest.
He wanted to say something more, but his mind blanked. She collected the last few fruits and stood up. "Thanks again," she smiled quickly before turning away. He watched her disappear into the crowd, sticky hands feeling like he had let something precious slip away.
***
Kaldros couldn't stop thinking about Anya.
Days had gone by since they met at the market, yet her voice and smile wouldn't leave his mind.
Against his better judgment, he found himself wandering back to the marketplace, hoping to see her again.
One evening, as the sun dipped low and the streets emptied out, he spotted her heading home. She moved quickly through the tight alleys, her basket in hand. Kaldros trailed behind, careful not to be noticed, feeling a mix of curiosity and shame. He just wanted to learn more about her, to know where she lived and who she really was.
Anya turned into a small courtyard. Kaldros ducked behind a wall to watch.
Suddenly, a man in his sixties stepped out, looking furious. "Why is my food cold?" he shouted, his voice booming. He pushed Anya down, and she hit her head on a wooden stool.
Her cry of pain struck Kaldros hard. The man continued to kick her, his anger unending.
"I'm sorry," Anya pleaded, scrambling to her knees. "Let me warm it for you." Her voice turned to a scream as another blow landed.
The man was red-faced, spitting words of anger. Kaldros felt his fists clench until his nails dug into his palms. Each scream from Anya pushed him closer to rage. He wanted to hurt the man, to make him suffer.
But he wasn't ready for a fight. The man stormed back inside, only to return with a tray of food, which he threw at Anya. He spat on her before leaving. Anya crawled to pick up the plate.
Kaldros felt a heavy mix of anger and shame. He walked away, hating the man for what he did, but hating himself even more for not stepping in to help Anya.
***
The sun beat down hard on the dusty street.
People moved around, but their gazes were fixed on Anya and the man next to her.
Her wrists were tied with a rough rope, which he held tightly, treating her like a prize being paraded. He walked ahead, pulling the rope sharply, making her trip. This was how he handled her whenever they were out together, like a trophy to show off, a constant reminder that she was his until a deal made was settled.
Anya kept her head down, feeling the heat of shame. They stopped in front of a small building. He tied the rope to a wooden post, ensuring she couldn't escape. Without a word, he walked inside, leaving her exposed to the harsh sun.
Anya lifted her face slightly, sweat stinging her eyes. Then she spotted someone in the crowd. For a moment, she thought it was a mirage, but no, it was real. It was her mother. Panic surged through her. She turned away, wanting to hide, but it was too late. Her mother had seen her.
"Anya!" Her mother rushed forward, arms shaking as she reached her.
The sound of her voice shattered Anya's walls. She fell into her mother's embrace, sobbing, holding on like her mother was the only thing keeping her grounded.
"I'm sorry," her mother said, tears streaming down her face. "I never wanted to give you up. Please forgive me."
Anya shook her head, struggling to speak. "Mother… please… don't leave me here."
Her mother gently touched her bruised cheek, her voice trembling. "Listen. Your brother Phelon has left Aurelia. He's gone to Fenroth. They took him into their army. He promised he would earn enough to come back for you, to pay what's owed, and set you free. Hold on to that. Do you hear me?"
Anya nodded through her tears, feeling a flicker of hope for the first time in ages. She squeezed her mother's hand tightly, drawing strength from her touch.
But then, the moment shattered. The man stormed out of the building, his voice sharp.
"What's happening here?" he yelled, red with anger. "I told you, she can't talk to her mother without my say!" He yanked the rope hard. Her mother tried to hold on, but he pushed her back angrily. "Until I'm paid," he shouted, "she is mine. If you come near her again, you'll regret it." Anya cried out as the rope dug into her wrists, her mother reaching out in desperation.
A crowd had gathered, but no one moved. The man stood between them, a barrier of rage and control.
"Please… just wait for him, Anya. Phelon will come for you ," her mother cried as the man dragged her away.