In the heart of Akroliss, the city pulsed with life. Lanterns flickered along cobbled streets, casting golden glows over market stalls where merchants shouted over the din, hawking exotic spices, silks, and rare trinkets. The scent of roasted meats mingled with the tang of sea salt from the harbor, and the chatter of townsfolk created a lively hum that seemed to ripple through the city's veins. At the city's core stood the Golden Gavel, a towering edifice of polished stone and glinting brass, its windows reflecting the glow of hundreds of lanterns. As the empire's largest and most prestigious auction house, it was a place where fortunes were made, and lives were gambled.
"Five thousand gold coins, going once!" The auctioneer's voice cut sharply through the air, resonating from behind a small podium on the left side of the raised stage. His eyes scanned the crowd, gleaming with the thrill of command, while his polished boots clicked against the floor with each precise movement.
Under the emperor's watchful eye, the auction house had thrived by trading in rare and exotic goods, some of questionable legality. Tonight's display, a collection of the empire's finest—or perhaps most deceptive—items, was presented with meticulous ceremony. "Going twice! Going thrice! And sold! The infamous 'Summer Dawn' painting by Okurah Lee goes to the gentleman in the blue mask!" The gavel struck the block three times with resounding authority, echoing off the gilded walls lined with velvet drapes.
The auctioneer's grin twisted into something sharper, almost predatory, as he adjusted the lapels of his coat. "And now," he announced, his voice sliding into a conspiratorial whisper that carried through the murmurs of the crowd, "the moment you have all been waiting for." Red curtains parted slowly, revealing a row of children standing in plain, white garments that hung loosely over their small frames. Some faces were set with defiance, others quivered with visible fear, and a few sobbed quietly, their small hands twisting the edges of their robes. "Stand tall, and smile for our esteemed guests," he commanded, voice harsh but practiced.
For centuries, Alkaraz had been a land where the desperate were forced to trade their children for survival, and though laws now forbade selling those under thirteen, exploitation persisted under more subtle guises. Families crushed by debt or misfortune were forced to send their children into orphanages or let them wander the slums, exposed to hunger, disease, and the constant threat of violence. In rare, horrifying cases, parents handed over their own children to satisfy creditors or unscrupulous merchants. The empire, for all its splendor, had long thrived on the suffering of its most vulnerable.
"Through countless hours of meticulous effort, our staff has curated this exceptional selection." The auctioneer gestured at the items on display, his gaze sweeping across the room filled with masked nobles. Silks shimmered, jewels glinted, and the scent of rare perfumes wafted through the air. "Our teams have braved stormy seas, dangerous roads, and treacherous lands to procure these specimens, and tonight, their labors bear fruit."
Duke Dominique Kartier, the emperor's only surviving maternal relative, lingered in the shadows of the back row. His sharp eyes studied the children with the precision of a tactician, noting posture, gaze, and subtle physical traits. Normally, he attended such events to monitor the auction house's illegal dealings, but tonight, his purpose was far more personal: a rescue mission.
"I have a question!" a guest's voice rang out, her hand raised elegantly above her head. The auctioneer leaned forward, smiling broadly. "Yes, madam, what is your inquiry?"
Duke Dominique's gaze fell on a silver-haired girl at the edge of the stage. Her right leg bent awkwardly, forcing her to shift weight uncomfortably as she struggled to maintain composure. Despite her disability and the tattered state of her garments, the duke recognized her instantly, each detail matching the careful intelligence gathered beforehand. For a girl of fourteen years of age she was unusually short, and frail, yet her presence carried a quiet, stubborn resilience. He allowed himself a silent sigh of relief: she had survived, and he would see to it she remains so.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, let the bidding commence!" The auctioneer's voice cut through the murmurs. Yet even as he tried to regain control, another guest raised her hand. "I too have a question!" she called out, voice sharp. The auctioneer's irritation was visible, his hands trembling slightly as he gestured impatiently. Dominique chuckled softly, hidden in shadow, appreciating the delay for the time it granted him.
One particularly critical voice rang out from a woman in a sparkling velvet mask. "Why is there one among them clearly disabled?" she asked, pointing at the silver-haired girl. "Why would anyone bid on this, this useless thing?" Whispers and murmurs erupted in response, ricocheting off the ornate walls of the vast place. Normally, the girl would have been removed at once, but the auctioneer hesitated, partially aware of her true purpose on the stage. "An unfortunate oversight, dear madam." he stammered, laughing nervously, striking the gavel to restore order. "Please, honorable guests, disregard this error and continue with the bidding."
The auction began in earnest, the hall alive with excitement, shouts, and the clatter of coins. Within forty-five minutes, the stage cleared of all others, leaving the silver-haired girl alone. She trembled visibly under the glare of the spotlight, arms marked with bruises, scratches, and the evidence of harsh treatment, her long locks spilling in waves over her shoulders. "Does anyone wish to claim her at no cost?" the auctioneer asked, chuckling uneasily, eyes scrutinizing the crowd before him. As expected, his words drew only scoffs and coughs from those who felt insulted by his ridiculous suggestion.
"I will gladly pay ten thousand silver coins for her." Dominique's voice rang, commanding attention as he raised his hand. Gasps and murmurs swept through the room; guests whispered among themselves, incredulous at the absurdity of his words. "Although, you should all know that a human's life, whether or not their limbs are completely functional, is priceless." he declared, rising from his seat. His calm, deliberate tone leaving no room for retort as his words sank deep into their conscience. Beneath his mask, his eyes burned with an intensity that made all the hair on everyone's skin stand on end, their instincts commanding them to flee.
**
Later that night, in the foyer of the Kartier estate, the girl stood silently before the family she would now live among. The duchess glared at her, arms crossed, nose scrunched in distaste. "Darling, why bring another one into our home so soon?" she hissed. Dominique's gaze was steady and commanding as he tore his gaze from Fatima to address his family. "From today onward, this little girl will be living among us. Anyone who harms her will answer to me." His voice resonated like the weight of stone, leaving no room for argument. Silence settled like a heavy curtain, broken only by the soft shuffle of feet as the children processed the arrival of their new companion.
Fatima took in her new surroundings: the rich tapestries, polished marble floors, and the quiet warmth of a home that, for the first time, felt safe. Her heart fluttered with cautious hope. "Introduce yourself, child," Dominique said gently, his imposing presence softened by the warmth in his voice. Fatima drew a shaky breath, her eyes glued to the floor. "I, I am Fatima. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." she said weakly, her accent thick but pleasant. The duke's children leaned forward, intrigued and delighted by her voice. Even the youngest could not hide his admiration for her poise.
The duchess scoffed, outraged by the attention given to someone she considered far beneath her. But Dominique's quiet authority held the room, silencing dissent. Fatima gingerly lifted her chin when her red irises met the duke's green ones, and in that moment, she understood. Here, far away from the dreadful treatment she endured during her journey to this new place, she might finally be truly safe.
That night, the warm bath and clean clothes she was provided with were a small miracle after months of hardship. The gentle patter of water, the comforting softness of fabric against her skin, and the taste of a proper meal were treasures beyond measure. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Fatima allowed herself to imagine a future where survival did not mean running away in terror.