Chapter 2 – The Merchant of Chains
The portal spat him out into a dead forest beneath a sky that had apparently never met the sun. Black, leafless trees stretched their branches like skeletal fingers. The air stank of rot and distant smoke.
Lucas's body (controlled by Nyxarion) stumbled two steps and dropped to its knees in the cold mud.
Inside the skull, Lucas immediately complained:
Dude, a little warning before you puke us into the middle of nowhere! I feel like throwing up and I don't even have a stomach anymore!
"Shut up," Nyxarion answered in his own hoarse voice. "We're on the surface. Shadowborder Region. Close to the Duchy of Valthorne. I know the smell."
He stood, wiped the mud from his torn trousers, and started walking. There was no path, yet Nyxarion moved with absolute certainty. Steady stride, shoulders back, even though the body still felt weak and painfully mortal.
They walked for nearly an hour. Lucas stayed quiet at first, just watching. Then he couldn't take it anymore.
Hey, King of Darkness, where's the army? The castle? The "all shall kneel before me" moment? So far it's just mosquitoes and mud.
"Patience," Nyxarion growled. "First we need to look harmless. A lost traveler is far more useful than a demon."
Suddenly, the creak of wheels and the clank of chains drifted from ahead.
A caravan appeared between the dead trees: three large iron-barred wagons pulled by oxen with milky eyes. Inside the cages, huddled figures (men, women, a few children). Slaves.
Eight mounted guards, short spears and whips at the ready. Leading them sat a fat man fat, gray-bearded, wearing a dirty red cape and a wide-brimmed hat adorned with raven feathers. He puffed on a pipe that belched green smoke.
When he spotted the lone figure blocking the path, the merchant raised a hand. The caravan halted.
"Well, well, traveler!" the fat man called out, voice dripping with oil. "A bit lost, are we? These roads aren't safe for pretty boys to wander alone. Bandits, beasts… and worse things."
Nyxarion stopped ten paces away and offered Lucas's face a shy, polite smile.
"I am lost, sir. My village was burned by bandits two nights ago. I'm the only one left. Trying to reach the nearest city."
The merchant tilted his head, sizing him up. Torn clothes, lean build, mud-streaked face, tired eyes. Perfect: young, strong enough to work, desperate enough not to ask questions.
"Terrible, just terrible…" the man said, no real sorrow in his tone. "Name's Gorran Veyl, licensed merchant of the Duchy of Valthorne. I'm taking… special goods… to the market in Karathar, three days from here. Big city, tall walls, plenty of opportunities for a clever lad."
He patted the bench beside him with his whip.
"There's room up here on the box. I'll take you there for free. All I ask is that you help watch the cargo at night. Bandits love hitting slave—uh, caravans like mine."
Inside the head, Lucas exploded:
SLAVES?! He's hauling chained people and wants us to ride shotgun?! This guy is human garbage!
"Exactly the kind of garbage we need to meet first," Nyxarion replied in thought, voice ice-cold. "Information. Contacts. And if he tries to sell us… we'll see what happens."
Lucas hesitated.
…We're not actually becoming slaves, right? Like, literally?
"No. We pretend. For now."
Nyxarion stepped forward, keeping the weak, grateful smile.
"I accept, Master Gorran. Any help is welcome. My name is… Lucas. Just Lucas."
The merchant flashed a wide, yellow-toothed grin.
"Lucas! Simple name. I like it. Climb up, boy. There's hard bread and water in the chest. Tonight we'll talk more. I always enjoy hearing the stories of my… protégés."
The guards chuckled darkly. One made space on the driver's bench. Nyxarion climbed up without hesitation, settling beside the merchant who reeked of sweat and burnt herbs.
The caravan lurched forward again. Chains rattled. Someone behind the bars sobbed quietly.
Lucas stayed silent for a long while. Then, in a lower voice:
When we're strong enough… we're killing this guy, right?
Nyxarion answered with a smile that never reached the eyes.
"As long as they don't annoy me."
And so, beneath a gray sky that had forgotten the sun, the ancient King of Darkness began his conquest of the world once more, sitting beside a slave trader, pretending to be nothing more than another lost boy.
End of Chapter 2