The next day arrives, and Tara finds himself being moved from the display shelf to the auction floor. A young woman with graceful movements picks him up—her hands are gentle, her touch careful. She's beautiful, with flowing auburn hair tied back in an elegant braid, and she wears a simple but well-fitted uniform of deep blue with silver trim, the auction house's emblem stitched on her shoulder. Her features are delicate, with intelligent hazel eyes that seem to take in everything around her. She moves with practiced efficiency, placing Tara carefully on a velvet-lined tray.

  The storage counter has climbed steadily through the night: 240,000 units.

  He is placed on a pedestal, elevated so everyone can see him. The auction hall is impressive—grand, spacious, with rows of seats facing the stage. Magical lights illuminate everything, and Tara can sense the presence of many people, all of them important, all of them wealthy.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," an auctioneer's voice booms. "Welcome to the Grand Auction House. Today we have several rare artifacts and items for your consideration."

  Tara watches—or perceives, rather—as the auction begins. Other items are sold first: weapons, armor, magical components. The bidding is fierce, with people raising paddles, calling out numbers, competing for the items they want.

  "First, we have an enchanted shield," the auctioneer announces. "Provides protection against fire magic. Starting bid: one hundred gold."

  The shield sells quickly for two hundred gold pieces.

  "Next, a set of healing potions—rare quality, restores significant health. Starting bid: fifty gold."

  The potions go for one hundred and twenty gold.

  "An enchanted ring that increases magical power. Starting bid: two hundred gold."

  The ring sells for four hundred gold pieces.

  The storage counter: 245,000 units. Still climbing.

  He observes the crowd. There are nobles in fine clothes, mages in robes, merchants with expensive jewelry, adventurers with weapons at their sides. All of them have money, all of them are here to spend it.

  Tara can hear conversations around him, people discussing who is in attendance.

  "—Duke Valdris himself is here!" someone exclaims nearby. "Rare for him to attend auctions personally."

  "Look at all these important people," another voice replies. "That's Merchant Lord Keth over there! This must be the special auction—the one where they're selling that special item everyone's been talking about."

  "Merchant Lord Keth? The one who owns half the merchant quarter?"

  "The very same! And that's Archmage Seraphina, the head of the Mage's Guild! She doesn't usually come to these things. This special item must be something extraordinary."

  Tara tries to observe the important figures. Duke Valdris sits tall and imposing, wearing a fine black doublet with gold embroidery. He has the build of a warrior, broad-shouldered, with a confident posture that suggests he's used to getting what he wants.

  Merchant Lord Keth is dressed in expensive silks, multiple rings glinting on his fingers. He has a calculating look, as if he's already counting the profit.

  Archmage Seraphina is elegant, wearing deep purple robes with silver runes embroidered along the edges, a staff of polished white wood at her side. Her posture is regal, her features sharp and intelligent, with silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in an intricate braid. There's an aura of power around her, controlled and refined.

  "Who's that in the dark robes? I don't recognize him."

  "That's Prince Tejran Valdris! The elder prince. He's in the VIP section—royal family, you know. But... well, he's a bit odd."

  I listen, filing away the names. Duke Valdris, Merchant Lord Keth, Archmage Seraphina—all important people, all here for this special auction. A special item? Could they mean... me? Am I the special item everyone's talking about?

  And then there is Prince Tejran. Tara can sense him now—a figure in dark robes, sitting in the VIP section, his gaze fixed on Tara, unblinking, intense. The prince is lean, almost gaunt, with pale skin that seems to have lost its healthy color. His dark robes are well-made but worn, as if he's been wearing them for too long. His hair is dark and unkempt, falling across his forehead. There is something off about him. Something peculiar. His fingers keep twitching.

  "And now," the auctioneer says, "we have a truly unique artifact. A triangular pyramid that generates energy constantly—one unit per second—and stores it internally. The storage capacity is significant, and the energy generation is perpetual. Starting bid: four hundred gold pieces."

  "Four hundred!" a merchant calls out immediately.

  "Four-fifty!" A mage in blue robes raises his hand.

  "That's Master Voren," someone nearby whispers. "A senior member of the Mage's Guild."

  "Five hundred!" Merchant Lord Keth calls, his eyes already calculating potential returns.

  "Five-fifty!" Archmage Seraphina raises her hand, her expression thoughtful, her staff tapping lightly on the floor.

  "Six hundred!" Master Voren counters immediately.

  "Six-fifty!" Merchant Lord Keth doesn't hesitate.

  "Seven hundred!" Archmage Seraphina's voice is firm, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  "Seven-fifty!" Master Voren doesn't back down.

  The bidding becomes a duel between the two mages. Tara can hear whispers—people recognizing this as a contest between Archmage Seraphina and Master Voren, another powerful mage from the guild. They're both determined, both want the artifact.

  "Eight hundred!" Archmage Seraphina stands slightly, her presence commanding.

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  "Eight-fifty!" Master Voren remains seated but his voice carries authority.

  A pause. The auctioneer looks around. "Eight-fifty going once..."

  "Nine hundred!" Archmage Seraphina's final bid, her expression showing she's reached her limit.

  Master Voren hesitates, then shakes his head slightly. He's reached his limit too.

  "Nine hundred going once," the auctioneer says.

  Tara watches, wondering who will win. In the VIP section, Tejran's fingers stop twitching. His gaze is still fixed on Tara, intense, calculating.

  "Nine hundred going twice..."

  "One thousand gold pieces," Tejran's voice cuts through the room—cold, precise, entering the bidding at the last moment.

  The room goes quiet. Archmage Seraphina's expression tightens, but she doesn't bid again. Master Voren looks toward the VIP section, his face unreadable. One thousand gold is a lot. More than most people are willing to pay.

  "One thousand going once," the auctioneer says. "One thousand going twice..."

  Tara feels a surge of panic. He is going to belong to a dark mage. That can't be good.

  "One thousand gold pieces, sold!" the auctioneer announces, banging his gavel.

  And just like that, Tara belongs to Tejran.

  "Great," Tara thinks, as Tejran approaches the stage. "I'm now the property of Mad Twitch. I wonder if the dungeon was better."

  The auction continues. Tejran returns to his seat, but his gaze remains fixed on Tara. The prince will collect him after the auction ends.

  "And now," the auctioneer says, "we have something truly special. A black sword of unknown origin, radiating powerful dark energy which eats away at any other source of energy. This weapon is extremely dangerous and powerful. Starting bid: one thousand gold pieces."

  Tara feels the sword's aura intensify as it is brought forward. The dangerous energy he's sensed before is even stronger now, making him uncomfortable even from across the room.

  "One thousand!" Master Voren calls out immediately.

  "Fifteen hundred!" Tejran calls, his voice cold, his fingers twitching.

  "Two thousand!" Merchant Lord Keth enters the fray, his calculating eyes fixed on the sword.

  "Two thousand five hundred!" A voice from the middle section—a man in dark, nondescript clothing, his face partially hidden. He's not in the VIP section, but he bids with confidence.

  "Three thousand!" Archmage Seraphina's voice is firm.

  "Three thousand five hundred!" Tejran's voice cuts through again, his fingers twitching faster.

  "Four thousand!" Merchant Lord Keth doesn't back down.

  "Four thousand five hundred!" The unknown man in dark clothing bids again, undeterred.

  "Five thousand!" Duke Valdris finally enters the bidding, his voice authoritative, commanding. He glances toward the VIP section, a subtle challenge in his eyes.

  Tejran's expression darkens. His fingers stop twitching for just a moment as he considers, then he frowns.

  "Five thousand five hundred!" Archmage Seraphina persists.

  "Six thousand!" Merchant Lord Keth counters.

  "Six thousand five hundred!" The unknown man's voice is steady, determined.

  Archmage Seraphina looks in disbelief, then shakes her head and sits back. Even the head of the Mage's Guild has limits, apparently.

  "Seven thousand!" Merchant Lord Keth calls out.

  "Seven thousand five hundred!" The unknown man doesn't hesitate.

  Merchant Lord Keth's calculating expression falters. He looks at the sword, then shakes his head and sits back.

  "Eight thousand!" Duke Valdris calls out, confident and authoritative.

  "Eight thousand five hundred!" The unknown man persists.

  "Nine thousand!" Duke Valdris's voice is firm.

  "Nine thousand five hundred!" The unknown man doesn't hesitate.

  "Nine thousand five hundred going once," the auctioneer says.

  "Eleven thousand gold pieces!" Duke Valdris's voice is firm, final.

  The unknown man hesitates. He looks toward the sword, then toward Duke Valdris. His shoulders slump slightly. He shakes his head and sits back.

  "Eleven thousand going once," the auctioneer says.

  Duke Valdris's face is stony, his hands clenched. His expression is unreadable.

  "Eleven thousand going twice... sold! To the gentleman in the front row."

  Tara watches as the sword is sold to Duke Valdris.

  "—Duke Valdris bought it," someone whispers. "Eleven thousand gold. That's more than most people make in a lifetime."

  Tara can hear the disbelief in their voices. Even the prominent figures are worried about the sword. The unknown man in dark clothing stands and leaves quietly, his face still hidden as the Duke side-eyes him.