The bidding war had reached a fever pitch when the crowd suddenly went silent. Not the kind of quiet that came from respect or anticipation, but the heavy, suffocating silence that followed when something powerful entered a room.
Nathan felt it before he saw it, a pressure in the air that made his skin prickle. The nobles at the front of the crowd parted like water, their heads bowing in unison as a figure strode through the gap they created.
He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with sharp features and eyes the color of polished amber. His hair was black as midnight, pulled back in a style that spoke of both practicality and status. He wore armor of deep crimson trimmed with gold, and a sword hung at his hip with the ease of someone who knew how to use it.
But it was the crown that gave him away. Small and elegant, wrought from silver and set with rubies that caught the afternoon light.
Torvald nearly tripped over himself getting off the platform, dropping into a hasty bow. "Your Majesty! We had no idea you would be attending today's—"
"Silence," the young king said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made the merchant's words die in his throat. "I came to see if the rumors were true."
He climbed the steps with measured grace, stopping a few paces from Nathan. His amber eyes swept over Nathan's face, lingering on his pointed ears and the silver undertone of his skin. Then his gaze dropped lower, confirming what everyone else had already seen.
"Remarkable," the king murmured, almost to himself.
"I thought it was a hoax, some charlatan's trick to squeeze gold from gullible nobles. But you're real."
Nathan said nothing. His instincts told him that speaking now would be a mistake, that this man was far more dangerous than the greedy merchants and slavers who had handled him so far.
The king circled him slowly, studying him from every angle like a general assessing an enemy. "What is your name, Elf?"
Nathan's jaw tightened. He could refuse to answer, but what would that accomplish? They already had him in chains, already owned his body if not his will. Pride was a luxury he couldn't afford right now.
"Nathan," he said quietly.
"Nathan," the king repeated, testing the word on his tongue. "An odd name for an Elf. Not Elvish at all, actually."
He stopped in front of Nathan again, his expression unreadable. "Do you know what you are? What your existence means?"
Nathan met his gaze without flinching. "A commodity, apparently."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of the king's mouth, though there was no warmth in it. "Sharp tongue for someone in your position."
"I like that. But you're wrong. You're not a commodity. You're a question, one that could reshape everything we know about the Elvish race."
He turned to Torvald, who was still hovering nearby with a nervous expression. "Name your price."
Torvald blinked, caught off guard. "Your Majesty, the bidding was at—"
"I don't care what the bidding was at," the king interrupted. "I'm not interested in an auction."
"Name a price, and I will pay it. Or refuse, and I will take him anyway under royal authority. Your choice."
The merchant paled, clearly realizing he had no choice at all. "Fifty thousand gold, Your Majesty. And the Crown's favor in future dealings."
"Done." The king gestured to one of his guards.
"See that the payment is delivered to his estate by nightfall. And have this one brought to the palace dungeon."
Nathan's stomach dropped. When the king said the palace dungeon, that didn't sound like he was being taken to some comfortable noble's estate to serve tea and look decorative. That sounded like something far worse.
Two armored guards approached, replacing his simple chains with heavier iron shackles that glowed with the same faint enchantment he'd seen on the female Elves. They didn't bother with gentleness, yanking his arms behind his back and securing them with a lock that clicked shut with grim finality.
The king watched the process with clinical detachment, then turned to address the crowd. "Let it be known that the male Elf is now property of the Crown."
"Any attempt to steal, harm, or interfere with him will be considered treason." He swept down the steps without another word, his guards forming a protective ring around Nathan as they marched him through the stunned crowd.
...
...
The journey through the city was a blur. Nathan caught glimpses of tall stone buildings, cobbled streets packed with people who stopped to stare, and banners bearing the royal crest fluttering from every corner. The palace loomed ahead, a massive structure of white marble and dark wood that seemed to pierce the sky itself.
But they didn't take him through the grand entrance. Instead, the guards led him around the side, down a narrow path that descended into shadow. Stone steps worn smooth by countless feet spiraled downward, taking them deep beneath the palace foundations.
The air grew colder with every step, damp and heavy with the smell of moss and old stone. Torches lined the walls at irregular intervals, their flickering light casting dancing shadows that made Nathan's skin crawl.
They reached the bottom, and Nathan found himself in a long corridor lined with iron doors. The guards stopped at one near the middle, unlocking it with a key that hung from the captain's belt. The door swung open with a groan that echoed through the passage.
"Inside," the captain ordered.
Nathan didn't move fast enough, so they shoved him forward. He stumbled into the cell, barely catching himself before he hit the far wall. Behind him, the door slammed shut with a sound like thunder, and the lock turned with brutal finality.
He was alone. Nathan turned slowly, taking in his new prison. The cell was small, maybe ten feet on each side, with walls of rough-hewn stone and a floor covered in damp straw. A single barred window high up near the ceiling let in a thin shaft of light, though it did little to chase away the oppressive darkness.
There was no bed, no furniture of any kind. Just four walls, a locked door, and the chains that bound his wrists.
Nathan sank down against the wall, his legs finally giving out. Exhaustion crashed over him like a wave, not just physical but mental and emotional. Everything that had happened since he woke up in this world pressed down on him at once.
He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, trying to think. That's when he heard it.
A whisper, soft, and distant, like wind through ancient trees. It didn't come from outside the cell. It came from inside him, curling through his thoughts like smoke.
"Finally awake, child of the forest."
Nathan's eyes snapped open. "Who—"
"You know who I am," the voice continued, growing clearer now.
"You've heard my call since the moment you died and were reborn. I am the one who brought you here. The one who gave you this body."
Nathan's breath caught in his throat. "The voice from the fire. The one who called me king."
"Yes." There was satisfaction in that single word, ancient and profound.
"I am Aelion, the First Elf King. The one who ruled before the fall, before our people were broken and enslaved. And you, Nathan Lawrence, are my vessel."
Nathan's hands began to tremble, though whether from fear or something else, he couldn't tell. "What do you want from me?"
"What do I want?" The voice laughed, a sound like rustling leaves. "I want what was taken from me."
"I want our people freed from their chains. I want the forests to sing again, and the old magic to flow through the veins of our kin."
"But more importantly, I want vengeance on those who dared to make us kneel."
Nathan's vision blurred, and for a moment, he saw something else. Not the cell, but a vast forest stretching in every direction, trees so tall they seemed to touch the clouds.
He saw cities built into living wood, bridges of woven vine, and Elves moving freely beneath the canopy without chains or fear. Then it was gone, and he was back in the cold darkness of the dungeon.
"I don't know how to do any of that," Nathan whispered. "I'm just—"
"You are more than you know," Aelion interrupted. "The blood in your veins remembers what you've forgotten."
"Let it wake, Nathan. Let it remember."
Heat bloomed in Nathan's chest, spreading outward through his limbs like liquid fire. He gasped, his back arching as the sensation intensified. It wasn't painful, exactly, but it was overwhelming, like every cell in his body was waking up at once.
His skin began to glow. Nathan stared down at his hands, watching in shock as faint green light traced patterns beneath his flesh, following the paths of his veins. The light pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, growing brighter with each passing second.
"What's happening to me?" he managed to choke out.
"Your true self is awakening," Aelion said, his voice filled with ancient pride.
"Welcome home, Elf King." The light flared brilliant and blinding, making Nathan's scream echoed through the dungeon as his blood sang with power that had slept for a thousand years.