The last of the meal vanished, the bowls and wooden cups that once held the miraculous food and water fading into nothingness—no crumbs, no trace, not even a scent left behind.
Froy sat with his arms draped over his knees, smiling.
"That," he said softly, "was the miracle of Sethvyr."
The others stared.
Some with awe. Some with doubt.
Froy tilted his head, voice light, almost sing-song. "You prayed before, didn't you? Cried out to gods who never answered. Poured your soul into empty skies hoping for mercy that never came."
His bright blue eyes gleamed in the dim light of the slaver's cage.
"But here I am. And you ate well tonight, didn't you? You drank clean water for the first time in days. You're warm. You're full. And you're still alive."
Brumgar grunted something under his breath. Selene held Aryvael close, her silver eyes sharp with something unreadable. Luma's ears twitched.
Froy continued, voice as smooth as velvet. "You don't need to beg on your knees for scraps of light from thrones that don't see you. You just need to believe. Not in their gods."
He tapped his chest.
"In me."
The silence stretched.
"I'm not asking for worship," he added, tone almost teasing. "I'm offering a contract. Faith for protection. Devotion for liberation. You're not bad people. And I can help you—truly help you."
His voice dropped, solemn now.
"Swear yourselves to Sethvyr through me. And I will remove your slave marks."
That hit.
The weight of it settled like dust.
Brumgar leaned forward. "You can do that?"
Froy didn't nod. He didn't need to. His expression was enough.
Power hummed quietly beneath his skin.
Aryvael looked up for the first time. Her voice was soft. "What happens if we say no?"
Froy smiled wider—but not cruelly. Just calmly.
"Then nothing changes. You stay as you are. Caged. Bound. Forgotten. I won't punish you. That's not my place."
He folded his hands neatly over his lap.
"But if you say yes..."
The fire near the slaver's tent sparked violently, throwing unnatural shadows across the trees.
"...then you become mine."
He meant every word.
He wasn't their savior. He simply saw potential.
And the Church had taught him well—debt breeds loyalty.
He would wait.
Patiently.
The choice was theirs.
For now.
They did not answer right away.
But the silence was not empty.
Brumgar scratched at the collar around his thick neck. His voice, when it came, was like gravel rubbed together. "I was a blacksmith once. One of the best in the Stonehold. Made blades worthy of kings."
He paused, eyes distant.
"Refused to forge a cursed sword for some inbred royal bastard. Said it went against my honor. So they took everything. Burned my forge. Took my son." His hand curled into a fist. "Sold me like a common mule."
Selene spoke next. Her tone was smooth, refined — but heavy, like water held in cupped hands.
"Our village was peaceful. Hidden in the outer glades. But orcs found it." She held Aryvael tighter. "Adventurers arrived after... but they weren't saviors. Just scavengers in better armor."
"They sold us," Aryvael whispered, voice shaking. "We screamed. No one cared."
Luma's tail flicked.
"I was a warrior," she said simply. "My tribe honored strength and pride. When a nobleman tried to force his hand on me, I broke his jaw."
She smiled, but there was no joy in it.
"He had me branded before the blood on his tongue even dried."
The fire crackled.
Froy listened to all of it, not with pity, but with sharp, quiet interest. Every word was a thread. Every wound a lever.
He could work with this.
And they—each of them—were no longer strangers to darkness.
He let the silence sit a little longer, letting their words echo in their own ears.
Then he spoke again, voice as calm as ever.
"You've all lost everything," he said. "So have I."
"But that means we have nothing left to lose… and everything to gain."
And slowly, very slowly, something began to change in the way they looked at him.
Not yet trust.
But something close.
Something dangerous.
Faith.
Froy leaned in slightly, his smile razor-thin. "Give yourselves to me," he said softly, "and I will be the light you've never found in this darkness."
He raised a hand, palm open. "In return, you will do as I say. You will have faith. Not in gods who abandoned you. Not in dreams long dead."
His voice dropped. "Faith in Sethvyr. Through me."
Brumgar huffed, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. "You speak like no child I've ever met. Are you even a kid under all that skin? Or a demon wearing a smile?"
Froy chuckled, but didn't answer.
Because whatever he was — a child, a demon, a monster, or something else entirely — he was the only one offering the only way out.
From the nearby tent, a deep, guttural snore rattled through the night air.
Zzzzzzz.
The slaver slept soundly, unaware.
Unaware that death crept closer with every breath he took.