The slave market was finally closing for the day. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat, coin, and desperation. The traders were smiling from ear to ear, they had made a fortune. Some packed away their ledgers, others counted their gold with greedy grins. Alfred, however, stood apart, his face unreadable.
"Sir," the announcer called, wiping his hands with a silk cloth, "before you leave, we must complete the binding ritual. Every slave must be tied to their master, it's the rule."
Alfred crossed his arms. "So there is a spell that binds the slave to the master."
The announcer chuckled, amused by his serious tone. "Of course there is. Without it, they'd run the moment you turned your back. But don't worry, the ritual is free for buyers, especially for one who spent twenty gold coins. You've earned it."
'Great,' Alfred thought bitterly. 'I was just curious about how elves looked, and now I'm stuck with one.'
He followed them into a dimly lit room behind the stage. The elf girl was already there, kneeling on the cold floor, her wrists bound in front of her. Her golden hair fell over her face like a veil. A man in a dark robe stood beside her, holding a small knife and a bowl marked with strange runes.
"Sir, please stretch your hand here," the robed man said in a deep, emotionless voice.
Alfred hesitated but did as told.
"Wait—what are you—"
The knife grazed his palm. A sharp sting followed as blood dripped into the bowl.
"What the hell was that for?" Alfred snapped.
The robed man didn't even flinch. "Do not worry. It's necessary for the ritual."
He took the bowl and murmured a chant in an ancient tongue. The air in the room thickened. Then he tilted the bowl, letting Alfred's blood drip onto the back of the elf's neck.
The blood hissed like molten iron. Black light spread under her skin, forming a dark circular crest that pulsed once before fading to a faint mark.
The announcer smirked. "From now on, she will obey you completely. If she ever defies your command…"
He paused, his grin widening. "…she will suffer. Pain so unbearable that no one has ever survived it for long."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "So, she'll die if she refuses?"
"Not immediately," the announcer said with a shrug. "But she'll wish she had."
'Lovely,' Alfred thought sarcastically. 'A slave bound by pain and blood. What have I gotten myself into?'
The robed man bowed slightly. "The ritual is complete, master. You may take your slave and leave."
Alfred glanced once at the elf. Her eyes, though calm, were hollow, lifeless. For a brief moment, something stirred in his chest, a strange, uncomfortable feeling.
He turned away and muttered, "Let's go."
Alfred and the elf walked side by side through the quiet streets. The sun had already sunk below the rooftops, leaving only the faint orange glow of twilight. The air was cool, but Alfred was sweating, maybe from the day's chaos, or maybe from the uneasy feeling in his chest.
"So, it's getting dark," he said, breaking the silence. "Let's get back home before the gates close."
The elf said nothing. She followed quietly, her chains clinking softly with every step. Her expression was blank, but her movements were graceful, too graceful for someone treated like property.
When they reached Alfred's small room near the edge of the city, he lit a candle and sighed. "Sit down," he said, pulling out a chair. Then he rummaged through a small bag and handed her a loaf of bread.
She hesitated for a moment before taking it with both hands. The bread was gone in seconds.
'She must've been starving,' Alfred thought, watching her eat.
"You want another one?" he asked.
She didn't answer, just looked down, her fingers tightening around the edge of the chair. Alfred could tell she was afraid to speak.
He sighed and handed her another loaf anyway. Her hands trembled as she accepted it.
'Is she cold? No… she's shaking. She's scared of me.'
Without thinking, Alfred reached out and gently placed his hand on her forehead. Her skin was cool and smooth.
'No fever. So she is scared of me.'
He slowly pulled his hand away, careful not to startle her. "You don't need to be afraid," he said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you. I don't have any bad intentions either. Honestly… I didn't plan to buy anyone. It just happened."
Her eyes lifted slightly, cautious but curious.
"I only need help," Alfred continued. "Someone to keep the place clean, cook simple food, maybe wash my clothes. That's all. Nothing else."
The elf hesitated before nodding. Her voice was faint but clear. "Thank you… sir."
Alfred smiled, a small, genuine smile that reached his tired eyes. "You don't need to call me 'sir' all the time. Just Alfred is fine."
She looked surprised, as if she'd never been told that before.
Outside, the wind rustled the window shutters. Inside, for the first time since he'd entered the city, Alfred felt something close to peace.
The dawn slipped over Septon as the market woke into motion. Alfred and Ileana threaded through the stalls toward a clothier, he wanted proper clothes for her that didn't look like cast-offs from a slave pen.
"By the way, what's your name?" he asked as they walked.
"Ileana," she replied, so soft he almost missed it.
'These are the first words I've heard from her besides "thank you,"' Alfred thought, surprised at how a single name could make the elf seem less like an object and more like a person.
"It's good to have you with me, Ileana," he said aloud.
A voice called from down the lane. "Hey, boss!"
Alfred kept walking, not looking back, but something in that tone dug at a memory, familiar, raw. He turned. The man who'd once sat in the prison cell, the one-eyed prisoner from artwine Kingdom, stood there, dusty and bleary but alive.
"What are you doing here?" Alfred said, more surprised than he expected.
The man blinked, then his eyes widened. "I was going to ask you the same. They say, the whole kingdom said, you saved Artwine. Why'd you leave?" His voice held wonder and a dangerous hint of gossip.
Ileana watched Alfred with a new wariness, as if she were reevaluating everything she'd seen of him so far. 'This guy is going to expose me for sure,' Alfred's thought cut through the crowd before he could stop it.
He stepped close to the prisoner, lowering his voice until it was a hiss. "Don't say a word about it. If you do, I'll kill you."
The one-eyed man went pale. "I'm sorry, boss," he stammered, hands raised in a pleading gesture. "I didn't mean— I swear I won't tell anyone."
"Alright, answer me." Alfred's voice sliced through the market's chatter.
"The king, Voldin Bravero Malvin, is coming to Artwine," the one-eyed man blurted. "I couldn't stand by and listen to him lie to the people and brainwash them."
"He's coming back?" Alfred's smile was thin, not warm.
'Perfect timing. What a day to hear that.'
He swallowed a little and looked at Ileana. The thought of the quiet life he'd started to build hit him all at once, a peaceful room, warm bread, small comforts
Alfred looked at ileana,
Now there is someone who depended on him now. That softness sat in his chest like a foreign weight.
'Revenge… or this life?' The choice sharpened into a cold grin. 'Yes. I'll have my revenge. I'll kill the king.'
"Ileana, do you want to be free?" Alfred asked suddenly.
She froze, speechless. He put his hand on her head, steady and strangely tender. "I, your master, hereby release you from this slavery. From this moment, you are free."
The magic circle on her back neck disappeared.
Then he faced the one-eyed man. "I want you to help her. Do whatever she asks."
Alfred pressed his coin pouch into Ileana's hands. "Take this and live freely."
She began to speak—"Wait, I—"—but he cut her off by closing his eyes. When he opened them, the air around them compressed with that familiar force, the same crushing pressure the kingdom had felt before. People staggered; breath hitched; knights and adventurers went to their knees under the weight.
Gold flared in Alfred's irises. He bowed once, a small, almost polite inclination, and from his back unfolded massive wings formed of pure, holy light. Without hesitating he leapt and surged upward, cutting through the sky.
'You just wait there, King,' he thought, that cold smile returning. 'I'll come, and I'll bring you death.'