By the time they reached the market, the midday sun was blazing so hot it felt like the air itself was trying to roast them alive. Dust swirled in every direction, sticking to skin, clothes, and even eyelashes. The stench of sweat, smoke, rotting meat, and cheap fuel hit Aris like a physical wall — and she breathed it in like home.
This was where she lived.
Where she survived.
Where she turned trash into treasure.
The market was a chaotic, unruly mess of makeshift stalls, shouting merchants, twitchy scavengers, and shady figures lurking in the shadows. Everyone here wanted something. Everyone here was willing to lie, cheat, or steal to get it.
Aris fit right in.
She dragged Kael along behind her with the rope, completely unbothered by his stiff posture, icy glare, or the way he kept looking around like he'd never seen actual chaos before. To most people in the Wasteland, he looked dangerous — tall, broad, armored even when damaged, with those sharp golden eyes that screamed authority.
To Aris?
He was just really heavy salvage.
"You're walking like a stubborn mule," she commented casually, not even turning her head. "If you trip and break something, your value drops. I'd rather not take a pay cut because you're bad at walking."
Kael's jaw tightened.
"I am not a mule."
"Debatable," Aris said cheerfully. "You're both stubborn, both make my life harder, and both can be sold if I need the coins."
He fell silent, probably because he didn't know how to respond to that.
Aris approved.
Quiet merchandise was easier to handle.
She found a relatively empty spot next to a stall selling dented canteens and rusted tools, then pushed Kael onto a sturdy wooden crate. He sat stiffly, back straight, gaze sharp — like he was still commanding an army instead of waiting to be auctioned off.
Aris circled him once, checking the rope again, then turned to face the small crowd that had already started gathering.
People always stared at the unusual.
And a tied‑up, armored warlord definitely counted as unusual.
She cleared her throat and raised her voice, loud enough to cut through the noise.
"Got a live one here!" she announced. "Strong! Tough! Skilled with a sword! Great labor, excellent fighter, and he even looks fancy! Who wants to make an offer?"
A burly man in tattered furs pushed forward immediately, eyeing Kael like he was a prize boar.
"Fifty coins!"
"One hundred!" someone else shouted from the back.
Kael's expression turned darker with every bid.
Aris found it hilarious.
She'd never seen someone look so offended about being priced.
A smooth‑faced man in a slightly cleaner coat stepped closer, the kind of smile that made Aris instinctively reach for her knife. Slavers always had that smile.
"Three hundred coins," he offered. "And I'll throw in a full vial of clean water."
Aris tilted her head, pretending to think.
Inside, she was already grinning.
That was already way better than she'd hoped.
"Not enough," she said calmly.
The slaver's eyes glinted.
"Four hundred."
"Five hundred!" another voice yelled.
The bids climbed slowly but steadily, and Aris watched with quiet satisfaction.
This was the best salvage trip of her entire year.
Kael looked like he was mentally murdering every single person in the market.
Aris almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
She was just about to accept the highest bid and call it a win when the ground suddenly rumbled.
A deep, threatening vibration that made the crates rattle and the dust jump.
Screams exploded through the market.
People dropped their goods and scattered, tripping over each other in their panic.
Gunshots cracked through the air, sharp and sudden.
Aris's hand flew to her knife in an instant, muscles tensing.
Trouble.
Big trouble.
A group of raiders in black masks and heavy gear stormed into the market, weapons raised, eyes wild. They moved like a trained unit, not random scavengers — disciplined, dangerous, and looking for something.
Or someone.
"Find him!" one of them shouted. "The Lord of the Black Fort! The boss wants him alive!"
Their gaze swept through the panicking crowd…
and locked directly onto Kael.
Aris's mind raced.
Lord of the Black Fort?
That sounded important.
Important meant expensive.
But raiders meant bullets.
Bullets meant she could die before she got paid.
Kael looked up at her, golden eyes sharp and commanding.
"Untie me," he said, voice low and urgent. "Untie me, and I will keep you alive."
It was a promise.
A deal.
A typical hero offer.
Aris stared at him for a full three seconds.
Then she smiled — a sharp, amused, completely uncooperative smile.
"Nice try," she said, tone dry. "But I save myself. Always."
She stepped in front of him without hesitation, knife firmly in hand, and faced the oncoming raiders alone.
One girl against a small army of armed killers.
In the Wasteland, kindness got you killed.
Heroism got you killed faster.
But being stubborn, ruthless, and just a little bit crazy?
That kept you breathing.
And Aris fully intended to keep breathing.
After she got paid, of course.