The rattling of chains echoed throughout the market as hundreds gathered to buy a slave. The bids came in like a tide, coming and going whenever a slave was presented. One, a muscular man with red hair, was sold for 150 garnals. Another, an old man who could barely stand, was sold for 15.

The bids went on and on, some going high while others went low, until eventually, only a single slave remained. It was a young boy, no older than maybe 9 or ten years old, with dark brown hair. The auctioneer cleared his throat, his voice ringing out as he gestured to the boy.

"And here we have the final lot of the day! A strong, young lad, barely broken in—perfect for household work, apprentice labor, or lighter field tasks. Look at him—healthy frame, sturdy build, and still young enough to mold to any purpose!"

The boy stood silently, his head lowered as the crowd inspected him. The crowd pressed closer, murmuring as they scrutinized the boy. A wiry man stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he appraised him. "Let me see his teeth," he barked. The auctioneer obliged, tilting the boy's head up to reveal clean, if slightly uneven, teeth. Another woman poked at his arms, nodding slightly at the firmness of his muscles.

"Twenty garnals," someone called.

"Thirty," another added quickly, their voice tinged with doubt.

The bids crept higher and higher, but a voice suddenly cut through the din, sharp and suspicious. "Why won’t he look at us?" A burly man in a leather apron squinted at the boy. "What’s wrong with his eyes?"

The auctioneer hesitated, his polished grin faltering. "Ah, nothing to concern yourselves with, good sir," he replied, waving the question away. "Just a bit shy, that’s all. A boy his age, new to this sort of environment—"

"Shy, my foot," the man interrupted, stepping closer. "What’s the truth?"

The crowd grew restless, voices murmuring as their curiosity turned into impatience. The auctioneer’s composure cracked under the weight of the growing demands. Finally, with a forced sigh, he admitted, "The boy… he’s blind."

A collective gasp rippled through the audience, followed quickly by disgusted groans and scornful laughter.

"Blind? What use is that?" someone sneered.

"Waste of coin if i've ever seen one," another spat, shaking their head.

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One by one, the bidders rescinded their offers, stepping back with dismissive waves. The boy stood motionless amidst the rejection, his shoulders sinking just slightly as the crowd turned their backs on him. Yet just as the auctioneer was about to usher him off the stage and back into his cage, a voice echoed from the crowd.

"Fifty garnals,"

The auctioneer snapped his head up, scanning the crowd until his eyes landed on a rather tall man in the back of the crowd. The man was broad-shouldered and cloaked in a heavy, dust-streaked toga. A wide-brimmed hat cast a shadow over his features, revealing only a hint of a grizzled beard and sharp, weathered cheekbones. the eyes of those near him widened as they stepped away, allowing him to walk to the front of the crowd.

"Who is he?" a woman murmured, clutching her child’s arm as they stepped back.

"Better not to ask," another replied under her breath, her gaze fixed on the ground.

The man stopped before the auction block, his imposing figure silhouetted against the midday sun. His gray eyes, piercing like a beast looking at its prey, flicked briefly toward the auctioneer, who was already mid-sentence but faltered at the sight of him.

"And here we have the final lot of the day," the auctioneer repeated, his voice suddenly lacking its earlier bluster. He cleared his throat and gestured weakly toward the boy. "A strong, young lad, as I said—though, ah, perhaps not without his… quirks."

The man’s gaze shifted to the boy, who stood small and frail on the raised platform, his head bowed as though trying to shrink away from the attention. Without a word, the man stepped closer standing only a few feet away. He paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied the boy’s slight frame and lowered face.

"I bid Fifty garnals," the man repeated, his voice deep and even, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd like a blade.

The auctioneer blinked, stunned. "F-Fifty garnals?" he stammered, his usual confidence giving way to nervousness. He scanned the crowd, his face twisting into a strained smile. "Surely, someone here will offer more. Blind or not, the boy could still—"

A sharp look from the man silenced him mid-sentence. The crowd murmured uneasily, but no one spoke up to challenge the bid. The whispers grew softer as it became clear no one dared match, let alone surpass, the offer.

"Going once," the auctioneer said hurriedly, wiping his brow. "Going twice… sold!"

The man reached into his toga, withdrawing a pouch of garnals that clinked as he tossed it onto the platform. The auctioneer wasted no time snatching up the pouch of garnals, his fingers deftly loosening the drawstring to peek inside and confirm the payment. Satisfied by the glint of polished coins within, he quickly tied it shut and tucked it away. His gaze darted back to the boy; his expression impatient now that the deal was sealed.

"Go on," the auctioneer barked, giving the boy a rough shove toward the edge of the platform. The child stumbled, his bare feet scraping against the worn wood, but before he could fall, the man in the dust-streaked toga moved forward.

With a single, fluid motion, the man reached up and lifted the boy off the platform as though he weighed nothing at all. He hoisted him easily into his arms, cradling the child against his broad chest. The boy stiffened, unused to being handled so gently, his small hands clutching the folds of the man’s toga as if unsure whether to hold on or let go. The man turned and together with the boy in his arms, began to leave. Just like before, the crowd parted instinctively, their silence heavy with curiosity and unease.

“Why would he pay so much for a blind boy?” someone whispered, barely audible over the rustle of shifting feet.

“Perhaps he’s a sorcerer,” another muttered darkly. “Or mad. Who knows what men like that want?”

The man didn’t acknowledge the murmurs. His focus remained on the path ahead as he led the boy through the throng, his towering figure making space where there might otherwise have been none. Without slowing, the man turned, leading the boy behind the corner of a weathered stone building. The shadows of the alley swallowed them, and in an instant, they were gone from view, leaving the bustling market behind.

For those who might have glanced their way, it was as if they had never been there at all.