Splash!

  An ice-cold liquid slammed into my face, washing away the last dregs of a nightmare and dragging me, kicking and screaming, into a reality far more cruel. The water was salty, tainted with filth.

  'On your feet, scum! Up, or you're fish bait!'

  The voice was like stones grinding in a mill. I forced my eyes open, though they felt heavy. My vision—it always did this—rippled at the edges, like heat haze over a road. It flickered, then caught the silhouette of a burly, muscular man holding a wooden bucket.

  He grinned, a cruel, twisted thing.

  I could see the beads of sweat on his temples, the faint red threads in his eyes. I squinted, trying to steady the strange sight. A dull throb began to pulse in my head.

  The stench of cheap alcohol and his rancid sweat assaulted my nose. The morning cold was a shock to the system. My hands were bound tight behind my back with coarse rope, my wrists lashed to dozens of other children, forming a chain of hopeless humanity.

  'Still alive?'

  Another man's voice. One of his mates, standing not far off.

  'Unfortunately, looks like it,' the first man said, his smile disdainful. The laughter of his cronies echoed nearby.

  We were herded like cattle. Small, wounded feet stumbled over cobblestone streets, through a dark forest, and up steep slopes. Until, finally, we reached the edge of a cliff.

  I tried to glance around. Down below, hidden by the sea fog, was Nidhogg Bay. The free port city of Blackwater. Its fortress loomed darkly. I could count the stones that made it up, see the crack in the third tower, the moss on the northern side. But my eyes felt like they were burning, and the throb in my head grew sharper.

  Yank!

  The rope binding my hands was pulled taut, jerking me from my daze.

  'Keep moving, scum!' someone yelled, yanking me back into line.

  They marched us down and gave us a cursory wash in a murky stream. The cold water made the fresh cuts on my feet sting anew. There was only one purpose to it: to make us look 'fit for sale', not too rotten to the nose before we were auctioned off.

  Creeeak...

  The screech of rusted hinges pierced my ears as the city's great wooden gate swung open. It was the same sight I'd seen when I first set foot in this land. The townsfolk's eyes—sneering, indifferent, disgusted—and the occasional spit on the ground felt familiar.

  But today, I saw something else in their eyes. Something I'd missed before, something beyond mere hatred or disgust. A strange glint there—something that made my stomach churn.

  They were enjoying it.

  Every sluggish step we took, every tear that fell, every lash that landed on a child's back—it was all a spectacle that brightened their day. An old woman smiled, showing her toothless gums, as she watched the boy in front of me nearly stumble. That smile wasn't warm. That smile felt hungry.

  Thwack!

  'Argh!'

  The scrawny, wild-haired boy beside me curled his body. His thin back had just been kissed by a leather whip. The one wielding it was the slit-nosed man—the same bastard who'd doused me earlier.

  'Don't you slow down, you maggot!' he snarled.

  The boy said nothing, but I saw the look in his eyes. Pure hatred. Like he wanted to smash the man's skull in.

  Blackwater docks were indeed a human market. Hundreds of people—children like me, some grown women and men—were being traded here. Their faces were the picture of utter despair.

  The other children were starting to cry, though they choked it back, afraid of the whip. I could see their shoulders trembling.

  I scanned the crowd. Most of the kids for sale here looked about my age, between ten and fifteen. I might have seen some of their faces in the villages I'd passed through, but I couldn't recall their names.

  Remembering names was a dangerous luxury for me. A name was like a tether, and a tether felt like a noose.

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  My attention then settled on the boy tied directly behind me. His hair was blond, but dull and matted with dirt. His face was too soft, too pretty for a boy. And from the start, he'd been like a leaking vessel. His sobbing was constant, monotonous, and deafening. Though maybe only I could hear it so clearly—because he was right behind me.

  'Shhh, Leon, be quiet,' whispered the brown-haired boy beside him, his voice trembling. 'They'll hear you.'

  Leon? Hmm... So they know each other? Good. Maybe they can comfort each other in the dark corridors of whatever fate awaits.

  Those two had been brought in on the same day, a day after the slavers had taken me. And the scrawny, wild-haired kid did seem to be looking out for the blond one.

  Brrraaah!!

  A metal horn blared. Several warships bearing the golden lion emblem of the Veridian Kingdom were docking. Knights disembarked in their gleaming armour. Behind them came nobles, wrapped in furs and silks. But I also saw another sight. A group of Priests—from the Thymolt Conclave. I recognised them by the gold pin shaped like a thorned rose that once adorned the necks of their holy executioners when I was very young... when they'd come for my kind.

  'Hic... Hic...'

  I heard a soft whimper. This time it was the boy named Leon, sobbing. Still choked back, though. His shoulders shook violently.

  'Leon! Quiet!' the scrawny boy in front of me hissed, panicked.

  Thwack!

  The whip landed near the crying boy's feet, close to us.

  'Shut that hole, or I'll use your tongue for bait!' the slit-nosed man growled at him.

  I could see their leader, Beardy, negotiating with some of the people who'd come off the ships. And soon enough, the buyers began to circulate.

  A nobleman gripped a little girl's chin, forcing her mouth open to check her teeth. A knight-captain pinched a boy's arm muscle like he was assessing a horse. And now, a priest with a face like a pig was eyeing Leon with a look that made me sick.

  Leon's carefully restrained crying finally broke, dissolving into a pathetic, hysterical scream. The scrawny boy in front of me tried to reach for him, making the coarse ropes that bound us chafe and grind constantly against my wrists. My already raw skin began to bleed again. Something inside me snapped.

  'Shut up, you berk!' I rasped, my voice thick and strangling. 'Or do you want them to cut your vocal cords and sell you as a mute slave?'

  The scrawny boy glared at me, his eyes blazing, his tears and fury directed my way.

  'You little devil! He's scared!'

  'Fear draws attention!' I shot back. 'And attention always draws pain! Why do you care so much about protecting him? If he died now, he wouldn't feel any more pain.' I turned my face away slightly.

  The scrawny boy stared at me, as if he couldn't believe what I'd just said.

  'Have you really got no heart?' he choked out, like he was holding something back.

  'Heart? That thing never saved us from thirst or hunger. I'd rather sell your mate for a few loaves of bread to eat right now,' I said, my voice dripping with spite.

  The scrawny boy lunged at me, furious.

  'You monster—'

  Thwack!! Thwaaack!

  Arrgghhh!

  We both screamed in pain. The whip caught us both, splitting the air and our skin. The slit-nosed man stood there, breathing heavily.

  'Argh!!'

  The slit-nosed man grabbed the scrawny boy by the throat with one hand and hoisted him up.

  'You're too bloody loud! Shut it, or I'll cut your tongue out myself!' He raised the leather whip again, but before he could bring it down, he stopped suddenly, a flicker of panic on his face as he glanced to the side. In the distance, Beardy—his master—was staring at him, hard. Forcing him to stop.

  Thud!

  'Last warning...' Before he left, the man looked at me—or rather, at my eyes—and grabbed my chin, hard.

  'And you really are a dog's spawn—' he sneered at me, then walked off.

  The sting of the lash was sharp, hot like a brand on my thin back. But that wasn't enough, because without us realising, the commotion had drawn attention. The knights and nobles standing nearby turned to look at us. Not with pity, but with cold, dismissive assessment.

  Like... watching slave children fight over scraps.

  Among those nobles was a boy, probably one of their lot. He was staring very intently at us—or rather, at the blond boy behind me. I could see his servant talking to Beardy.

  Through the haze of the fresh welts, I turned to look at Leon, the blond. Something inside me wanted to burst out and tear him apart, but I held it back with everything I had. I glared at him with pure hatred.

  The boy looked terrified—I could see it on his face. He looked guilty, and confused.

  He didn't say a word. He was silent now, trying to look as normal as possible, though I knew he was holding it all in. His shoulders still trembled. Even when the noble boy's servant approached him. Even when the man slowly examined his body like he had with the others. His gaze went empty, only his tears still flowing.

  The day crawled towards evening. The sky above us turned the colour of cast iron. One by one, the ropes binding us were cut. The scrawny boy—Max, I heard Leon whisper his name before he was bought by some old knight from the kingdom and taken away with the other lads. The boy thrashed like a mad thing as the soldiers dragged him onto the ship.

  As for Leon, he was taken by the noble boy who'd been watching earlier. I saw the boy standing near him, trying to talk to him, but Leon stayed silent. Who knows what they'll do to him. Maybe make him an acolyte, or whisper things to him in some cellar.

  They led him away smoothly, with the priests. But one thing stopped me cold... when his empty, pale blue eyes turned back and met mine for a moment—before he vanished behind those robes.

  A strange feeling settled in my chest when he looked at me. A suffocating kind of feeling. I know what I said earlier was cruel, but in Blackwater, only cruelty kept me alive.

  Still, those who left had a destination. Me and a handful of others remained behind. Scrap goods. Maybe their fate was better, I thought, with a bitterness that had long gone stale. At least they knew which hell they'd be inhabiting.

  'Tch!'

  My throat felt parched, choked. I watched the slit-nosed man and his mates counting their coins, laughing loudly. They wouldn't even look at me, let alone give me water.

  'Bollocks! This one's still unsold!' one of the slavers grumbled, pointing at me. 'Even for a single copper, people keep their distance!'

  'It's his eyes,' another crony hissed. 'Devil's eyes. Brings bad luck, obviously. Why not just throw him away? Better we go home without carrying a curse.'

  Panic suddenly seized me, making my breath come in ragged gasps, like something was clawing at me from the inside.

  Devil's eyes. That's what they called them. The whites of my eyes were pitch black, my pupils a pale yellow like a wolf's. The cursed inheritance of the Vars blood that ran through my veins.

  'Let go! I can work!' I yelled as rough hands grabbed me under the armpits.

  'Enough! Overboard with you, spawn of a demon! Hahaha!'

  They dragged me to the edge of the dark dock, where black water echoed beneath. The shadows of the ships loomed like sleeping giants.

  'No! I—!' I saw Beardy in the distance. He just stood there, silent, as his men dragged me to the pier's edge.

  'That's enough!'

  A deep voice—I couldn't believe it was Beardy's. His men froze. But their focus shifted to a man approaching. He wore a cloak of brownish-black, simply cut but foreign-looking, standing a few paces from us. His face was hidden beneath its hood.

  The man reached into his cloak pocket, then extended his hand and dropped something small, faintly glinting.

  A coin.

  But not ordinary gold. It was dark, like iron forged in shadow, with strange symbols that flickered dimly to my eyes. The coin landed squarely in Beardy's palm. The old man inspected it briefly, then raised an eyebrow at the hooded figure.

  'One coin. For him,' the mysterious man said, his voice soft yet cold.

  'You really mean to take him?' Beardy asked, his voice as heavy as ever, but this time he spoke with noticeable caution.

  The man glanced at me for a moment—I caught a glimpse of his sharp grey eyes—then turned back to the old man. 'A deal remains a chance.' Beardy asked no further questions. He just let out a heavy sigh, then signalled to his men. They exchanged glances. One of them, with a quick, slightly trembling motion, cut my ropes and shoved me to my knees.

  'Heh. Off you go, devil child! Seems some weirdo likes trash,' the slaver muttered, but his eyes weren't on me—they were on the dark, faintly gleaming coin between Beardy's fingers.

  ...

  I sat there, still gasping for breath, watching the black-robed man recede like a stretching shadow.

  My body tensed. Again, something inside me seemed to rebel, wanting to lash out.

  And I had just accepted the bitterest truth of my life: that I had just been bought for a single dark coin.