The city of Vostrum emerged on the horizon like a vision from another world, its towering sandstone walls reflecting the golden midday sun. As our ship glided closer to the harbor, the city's grandeur became more apparent. Elegant domes and spires punctuated the skyline, their surfaces gleaming like polished brass. The port teemed with activity, a cacophony of clanking chains, shouted orders, and the occasional laughter of sailors mingling with the distant cries of seagulls.

The air was thick with the pungent mix of aromas—spices from the farthest reaches of Calradia, rich textiles being unloaded from merchant ships, and the acrid stench of tar and unwashed sailors. The contrast between the beauty of Vostrum's architecture and the harsh realities of its bustling port was striking, almost overwhelming.

Rich’s death hung over us like a dark cloud, casting a somber shadow on our arrival. His body, carefully wrapped in a makeshift shroud stitched together from the ship’s supplies, was cradled with reverence by Nathanos and Leon. The silence among us was palpable, broken only by the mournful creak of the wooden docks as our feet met solid ground.

We moved with purpose but no haste, heading toward a secluded spot outside the city walls. Rich was from Aserai lands, and it was important to us that his burial honored the customs of his people. We found a small patch of earth surrounded by sparse vegetation, where the clear land stretched endlessly under the burning sun.

Under the guidance of Sora and Aserai recruits, who seemed to know more about Aserai customs than I did, we prepared his final resting place. Leon and Nathanos dug the grave with solemn determination, their sweat mingling with the dry sand. The wind carried the faint aroma of sage and dust, a bittersweet scent that felt fitting for the moment.

Before lowering Rich into the earth, Silvana, standing with her arms crossed and her eyes rimmed red, stepped forward. “He was young, brave, and loyal,” she said, her voice steady but heavy with grief. “He fought for us when it mattered most. May his soul find peace.”

The burial was simple but heartfelt. We recited words of respect, and Abda placed a small vial of herbs near his body—a gesture rooted in her knowledge of medicinal traditions, meant to symbolize healing and protection in the afterlife. As the last handful of sand covered the grave, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of responsibility press harder on my shoulders. Rich had trusted me, and though his death was the result of the dangers we all willingly faced, it didn’t make the loss any easier to bear.

After a moment of silence, we turned back toward Vostrum. The captured raiders, now bound and sullen, were followed under close watch by Leon and Nathanos. Their faces were masks of defiance, but their weary steps betrayed their exhaustion.

As we passed through the gates of Vostrum, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Inside, the city buzzed with energy, a stark contrast to the solemn quiet of Rich’s burial. The streets were paved with smooth stone, and lined with shops displaying everything from luxurious silks to intricately designed weapons. Hawkers shouted over one another, advertising their wares, while caravans moved slowly through the narrow lanes, their drivers urging pack animals forward with impatient shouts.

Yet, beneath the city’s bustling exterior lay a grim undercurrent. Vostrum was infamous for its slave market, and it didn’t take long to see why.

The closer we got to the central plaza, the more evident it became. Wooden platforms had been erected in a broad, open area, and atop them stood rows of people in chains—men, women, and even children. Their expressions ranged from blank resignation to barely concealed fury. The heavy chains around their wrists and ankles clinked with every movement, a stark reminder of their captivity.

The air here was different, tainted with despair and cruelty. The sharp tang of iron from the chains mixed with the oppressive heat, and the shouts of traders bartering for human lives echoed through the plaza. It was a sight that turned my stomach, and I wasn’t alone.

“This is barbaric... Even children?” Silvana muttered under her breath, her hand tightening.

Sora, standing beside me, nodded grimly. “It’s a reminder of how far we still have to go. No law-abiding citizen should ever have to go through this” she said softly. Her usual fire was subdued, replaced by a quiet anger that simmered beneath the surface.

We approached one of the overseers, a heavyset man with a thick beard and a ledger in his hands. He glanced up as we approached, his sharp eyes flicking over the bound raiders behind us.

“You looking to sell?” he asked, his tone brisk and businesslike.

“They’re raiders,” I replied, keeping my voice even. “Pirates from Kakdwip who attacked us on the sea.”

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The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the moral justification. “Raiders or not, they’re still worth something. How many?”

“Seven,” Leon answered curtly.

The overseer stepped closer, inspecting the captives with a practiced eye. He pulled at one man’s arm, checking his muscle tone, then examined another’s teeth like he was appraising livestock. The raiders glared at him, but their defiance was muted by the reality of their situation.

“Not bad,” the overseer said finally. “I’ll give you a hundred denars per head. Two hundred for the big one.”

I clenched my fists at the casual way he spoke, as if he were buying horses or grain. But I forced myself to focus. This was the reality of the world we were in, and while I couldn’t change it overnight, I could make sure the denars we earned would go toward our group’s survival.

After some haggling, we settled on a fair price and handed over the raiders. As they were led away, their chains rattling loudly against the stone, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were complicit in something deeply wrong.

“You did what you had to,” Sora said quietly, as if reading my thoughts.

“I know,” I replied, though the words felt hollow.

The denars we received were enough to restock our supplies and cover our lodging in Vostrum. But as we moved away from the slave market and back toward the relative normalcy of the city’s bustling streets, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of what we had witnessed.

For every raider we sold, there were countless innocents on those platforms, their lives reduced to mere commodities. It was a stark reminder of the darker side of Calradia—a side I knew I couldn’t ignore, no matter how uncomfortable it made me.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Vostrum in shades of gold and crimson, I found myself standing on a balcony overlooking the city. The sight was breathtaking, but my mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of the choices we’d made and the road ahead.

That night, the stars above seemed impossibly bright, their cold light stark against the inky darkness of the sky. I sat apart from the group, the crackling fire a distant sound behind me. My thoughts churned relentlessly, a chaotic swirl of guilt, loss, and uncertainty.

Rich’s death replayed in my mind in vivid detail—the flash of steel, the dull thud of his body hitting the deck, and the stunned silence that followed. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone die, but it felt different. He’d been one of us, a part of our growing family. Losing him felt like losing a piece of myself, a wound that no amount of denars or victories could mend.

The battle, the chaos of the slave market, the choices I’d made—all of it weighed on me like a leaden chain. Had I done the right thing? Was I leading this group down a path we could survive, or was I simply dragging us toward ruin?

I barely noticed Sora approach until she sat down beside me, her presence a quiet but steady comfort. She didn’t speak at first, allowing the silence to stretch between us like a fragile thread. The flickering firelight behind us cast long shadows, her features softened by its glow.

“You did what you had to,” she said finally, her voice low but firm.

“Did I?” I whispered, the words catching in my throat. “Rich is dead, Sora. He trusted me, and now he’s gone. And those raiders…” I trailed off, unable to articulate the gnawing guilt that had taken root in my chest.

Sora didn’t respond immediately. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. Her touch was warm, grounding me in the present. “This world is harsh, Augustus,” she said, her tone heavy with understanding. “It tests us in ways we never imagined. But you… you’re doing something that matters. You’re giving people a chance—people like me, like Abda, like Nathanos. You’re making it better, little by little.”

Her words struck a chord, reverberating through the tangle of my thoughts. I wanted to believe her, to hold on to the hope she offered, but doubt was a persistent shadow. “It doesn’t feel like enough,” I admitted. “Not when the cost is so high.”

Sora shifted closer, her hand still on my shoulder. “It’s never going to feel like enough,” she said softly. “But every choice you make, every fight you endure, it matters. You’re keeping us together. That’s more than most can say in a place like this.”

I glanced at her, her eyes steady and unwavering. There was something in her gaze—a quiet strength, an unspoken trust—that gave me the smallest sliver of solace.

For a while, we sat in silence, the stars above us a silent audience to our unspoken fears and hopes. The fire behind us crackled softly, the sound a gentle counterpoint to the distant hum of the sleeping city.

“I just don’t want Rich’s death to be meaningless,” I said finally, my voice barely audible.

“It won’t be,” Sora replied with quiet certainty. “You’ll make sure of that. And so will we.”

Her words didn’t erase the weight I carried, but they offered a fragile strength, a reminder that I wasn’t bearing this burden alone. As the night deepened and the chill of the desert air settled around us, I felt a flicker of resolve ignite within me.

The city of Vostrum lay behind us, its shadows and complexities a testament to the world we were trying to navigate. The road ahead would be long and fraught with challenges, but I knew one thing for certain: I owed it to Rich, to my group, and to myself to keep moving forward.

As Sora and I sat together beneath the vast expanse of stars, I silently vowed to honor Rich’s memory—not just with words, but with action. His sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. It would be a reminder of what we were fighting for and why we couldn’t afford to falter.

The journey was far from over, but as I sat there with Sora’s hand steadying me, I felt a glimmer of hope for the first time in days.