Chapter 3 – The Merchant of Chains
The caravan rolled on.
Wheels creaked, oxen lowed, chains rattled like funeral bells.
Lucas (the body) sat on the driver's bench of the lead wagon, right beside the merchant Gorran Veyl, who never stopped talking.
"…so I tell the duke, 'Your Grace, if you want quality slaves, you pay quality prices!' He grumbled, but in the end he paid double. Men like me keep the world spinning, you know that, boy?"
Nyxarion nodded occasionally, wearing the expression of someone hearing the story for the first time.
Inside the head, Lucas stayed silent, watching everything with a mix of disgust and morbid curiosity.
Gorran offered a chunk of rock-hard bread and a waterskin of thin, sour water. Nyxarion accepted, chewing slowly, pretending to be truly hungry.
"So, Lucas… no family, no village, nothing left?" the merchant prodded, eyes gleaming with interest.
"Nothing," Nyxarion answered in his own hoarse voice. "Just me and the clothes on my back."
"Perfect, perfect…" Gorran rubbed his greasy hands together. "Karathar's a big city. Plenty of work for lads who know how to shut up and open their hands. Mines, forges, noble houses… always need fresh meat. I know a few contractors. I can introduce you. Free of charge, of course. Out of the goodness of my heart."
One of the guards behind them laughed too loudly. Gorran shot him a glare sharp enough to choke the sound in his throat.
Inside the mind, Lucas finally spoke:
*He's marking you, man. Sizing you up for the auction block.*
*I know,* Nyxarion replied, perfectly calm.
*So… we're not doing anything yet, right?*
*Not yet. Information first. Contacts. Learn how the flesh trade works in this era. Then we decide.*
Lucas fell silent again. He didn't like it, but he didn't argue.
The day dragged on. The gray sky darkened earlier than it should. When whatever counted as the sun vanished behind the black mountains, Gorran ordered the caravan to stop in a clearing among the dead trees.
They lit a small fire (just enough to keep the cold at bay).
Each slave received one bowl of watery gruel.
The guards rotated watch shifts.
Gorran waved Lucas over to the flames.
"Sit here, boy. Tell me more about that raid on your village. Bandits, you said? What kind? Symbols? Armor? Sometimes those gangs answer to someone…"
Nyxarion spun a simple lie: twenty men in black hoods, no crests, burned everything, took the youngest. Gorran listened intently, filing every detail away.
"Interesting…" the merchant muttered. "Could be the Iron Crow crew. Getting bold. Good to know."
After a while, Gorran yawned, slapped his thighs, and stood.
"Bedtime. You're on first watch with me, Lucas. Then you rest. Long road again tomorrow."
When the merchant waddled off to piss behind a tree, Lucas spoke again, voice low:
*He's a piece of shit, but he hasn't done anything to us yet.*
*Exactly.*
*So no killing tonight, okay?*
*Not tonight. We watch. We learn. We survive.*
Lucas let out a mental sigh of relief.
*Good. Just… don't let him sell me, please.*
*No one is selling you, passenger. This body is mine. And I protect what's mine.*
Night fell completely.
The fire crackled low.
The slaves slept huddled behind iron bars.
Gorran snored, wrapped in a blanket.
One guard dozed against a wagon wheel.
Lucas and Nyxarion (same flesh, two souls) sat in silence, staring at the embers, waiting for the watch to end.
It was only the first day on the surface.
There was still time for everything.
End of Chapter 3