4. Naia

4

NAIA

I bite my lip, fighting back tears as I adjust the collar on a young woman's neck. Her eyes, wide with fear, meet mine for a brief moment. I want to tell her it'll be okay, but we both know that's a lie.

"Don't look them in the eye," I mutter, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "They don't like 'em proud."

The auction block looms before us, a raised wooden platform where dreams go to die. I've been here countless times, but it never gets easier. The stench of sweat and despair hangs thick in the air, mingling with the acrid smoke from torches lining the walls.

"Next up, a fine specimen from the Orthani!" The auctioneer's booming voice makes me flinch. "Young, strong, and ready for hard labor!"

I guide the trembling woman forward, my hand on the small of her back. She stumbles slightly, and I catch her elbow. "Easy now," I whisper. "Deep breaths."

The crowd's hungry eyes devour her as she steps into the torchlight. Merchants, nobles, and all manner of dark creatures appraise her like a piece of meat. I've seen that look a thousand times, and it still makes my skin crawl.

"Turn," I instruct softly, and she obeys, pivoting slowly to give the buyers a full view. Her chains clink with each movement, a grim reminder of her newfound status.

As bids start flying, I retreat to the shadows where the next "lot" waits. An old man, his beard streaked with gray, stands hunched and defeated. I straighten his tattered shirt, trying to make him look presentable.

"They might go easy on you," I lie, knowing full well that age means nothing to these vultures. "Just... try to look strong."

He nods, a single tear rolling down his weathered cheek. I wipe it away quickly before anyone notices. Weakness only drives the price down, and a lower price often means a crueler fate.

The day drags on, each sale chipping away at what's left of my soul. By the time the sun sets, my throat is raw from barking instructions, and my hands are sore from adjusting chains and wiping away tears.

I'm herding another group of slaves onto the auction block when a meaty hand clamps down on my shoulder. The stench of cheap ale and sweat assaults my nostrils as I'm yanked backward.

"This one's a pretty little thing," a gravelly voice slurs in my ear. "How much for a taste, eh?"

I spin around, coming face-to-face with a hulking brute of a man. His bloodshot eyes roam over me, a lecherous grin splitting his ruddy face. My stomach churns.

"I'm not for sale," I snap, trying to wrench free. His grip tightens, fingers digging into my flesh.

"Everything's for sale in the Dark Market, sweetheart," he chuckles, pulling me closer. "Just name your price."

Panic rises in my throat as I scan the crowd for help. But in this sea of monsters and merchants, who would lift a finger for a lowly slave handler?

For once, where are my overseers? They won't like someone touching what is theirs.

"Let go," I hiss, stomping on his foot. He yelps but doesn't release me.

"Feisty!" he laughs. "I like that. Makes it more fun to break 'em."

His free hand paws at my waist, and I feel bile rise in my throat. I twist, searching for an escape, but we're hemmed in by the pressing throng of market-goers.

"I said, I'm not merchandise!" I snarl, driving my elbow into his gut. He grunts, doubling over, but his grip on my arm remains iron-tight.

"You little bitch," he growls, straightening up. His eyes flash with anger, and I know I've made a mistake. In this place, defiance is met with brutality.

He raises his hand, and I brace for the blow. But before it can land, a voice cuts through the din.

I freeze, my heart plummeting as a familiar voice cuts through the chaos.

"Now, now, gentlemen. Let's not be hasty."

The silky tone belongs to Malakh, one of the dark elves who oversees this wretched place. His violet eyes gleam with cruel amusement as he saunters towards us, parting the crowd like a shark through water.

"While it's true that our little Naia isn't officially on the market," Malakh continues, his gaze raking over me, "everything does indeed have a price here."

The brute's grip on my arm loosens slightly, but I'm too terrified to move. Malakh's words hang in the air like a death sentence.

"My lord," I begin, my voice trembling, "please, I've served faithfully-"

Malakh holds up a hand, silencing me with a look. "Hush, pet. The elves are talking."

He turns to the man who accosted me, appraising him with a raised eyebrow. "You seem quite taken with our Naia. She is rather... unique, isn't she? One of our most valuable assets."

My breath catches in my throat. I've seen that calculating look in Malakh's eyes before, usually right before he strikes a particularly lucrative deal. This can't be happening.

"How much?" the brute grunts, his meaty fingers digging into my flesh once more.

Malakh's lips curl into a predatory smile. "Well now, that depends. Are we talking about a temporary arrangement, or something more... permanent?"

The world spins around me as their voices fade to a dull roar in my ears. This can't be real. After years of servitude, of walking the razor's edge between compliance and survival, am I to be tossed aside like a common whore?

"I'm thinking permanent," the brute leers, his hot breath on my neck making me shudder. "Been looking for a pretty little thing to keep me company."

Malakh's eyes glitter with greed. "In that case, we're talking about a significant investment. Naia here is exceptionally skilled in the art of... persuasion. Her value to our operation is not insignificant."

I want to scream, to fight, to run. But years of conditioning have taught me the futility of resistance. My legs feel like lead, my throat constricted by an invisible noose.

"Name your price," the brute growls, his impatience palpable.

Malakh strokes his chin, feigning contemplation. "Let's start at, say... five hundred jeton?"

The crowd around us gasps and murmurs. It's an astronomical sum, more than most of the slaves here would fetch combined. For a moment, I dare to hope it's too steep.

But the brute merely grunts, reaching for a pouch at his belt. "Done."

My world crumbles around me as Malakh's smile widens. "Excellent! Shall we discuss the finer points of the transaction in my office?"

As they begin to move away, dragging me along like a prized trophy, I finally find my voice. "Please," I choke out, tears streaming down my face. "Don't do this. I'll work harder, I'll-"

Malakh's hand strikes out, silencing me with a stinging slap. "I said hush, pet. Your new master will have to teach you some manners, it seems."

The reality of my situation crashes over me like a tidal wave. After years of barely clinging to some semblance of autonomy, I'm about to lose what little freedom I had left.

The Dark Market, as horrible as it is, has been the only home I've known for years. And now, I'm being sold to a stranger whose appetites I can only imagine with growing horror.

I wrench my arm free, adrenaline surging through my veins. Without a second thought, I bolt.

"Stop her!" Malakh's enraged voice cuts through the din of the market.

I dodge and weave through the crowd, my heart pounding in my ears. Merchants curse as I knock over their wares. Slaves gasp and shrink away. I don't care. All that matters is escape.

The market's labyrinthine layout, once a source of frustration, now becomes my ally. I duck down a narrow alley, the stench of rotting garbage assaulting my nostrils. Behind me, I hear the heavy footfalls of pursuit.

"There she is!" a gruff voice shouts.

I risk a glance over my shoulder. Two burly market guards are gaining on me, their faces twisted with anger. I push myself harder, my lungs burning.

Left, right, another left. I have no plan, no destination. Just an overwhelming need to run, to get away from the nightmare that awaits me if I'm caught.

I burst out of the alley into a wider street. Torchlight flickers, casting grotesque shadows on the walls. For a moment, I'm disoriented. Then I spot a gap between two dilapidated buildings and dash towards it.

It's a tight squeeze. Splinters dig into my skin as I force my way through. I emerge on the other side, hope flaring in my chest as I see an open stretch before me.

But that hope dies as quickly as it was born.

I skid to a halt, my heart plummeting. It's a dead end. High stone walls loom on three sides, mocking my bid for freedom. The only way out is the way I came in.

"No, no, no," I mutter, spinning around.

Too late. The gap I squeezed through is already blocked by the hulking forms of the market guards. Their eyes gleam with malicious triumph as they advance.

"Nowhere to run now, little rodan," one of them sneers, cracking his knuckles.

I back up until I feel cold stone against my spine. My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath, eyes darting frantically for any possible escape.

There is none.