I sat in the back of the carriage, staring at the cold, splintered wood beneath me. The rattling wheels couldn’t calm the storm inside; my heart was shattered, but no tears would come. I repeated to myself: I would not break.

After hours, the carriage stopped. A tall man dragged me out, shoving me forward toward a large building, shadowed by smaller ones. At the door, he nodded to a figure who eyed me coldly. "An elf?" he murmured, then grabbed my wrists, pinning them behind my back..

"She’s a difficult one," the first man muttered. "Violent."

The guard chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting as he met my defiant stare. "They all are at first. They learn quickly."

I glared at him and he smiled, mockingly.

He shoved me inside, sending me crashing to the floor. I stumbled into the dim room, the air thick with sweat and iron. My body hit the ground, but I didn’t stay there. I spat on the floor and lifted my chin. They wouldn’t see fear in my eyes—not yet.

"You bastard! I’ll kill you!" I sneered, my voice hoarse with anger.

The man merely smiled; the door creaking shut in my face without a word. I glared at it for a moment, seething, until I realized I wasn’t alone.

Around me, other children were bound, some younger, some older. Fear radiated from their faces. Some, like me, had been sold. Others, I imagined, had been taken.

I backed into the corner, curling into myself. I had to run.

I wasn’t stupid. I could already imagine what might happen next. Slave. That word made my skin crawl.

As the night wore on, I heard the faint sounds of sobbing, whispers too low to catch, until they were silenced by the deep, guttural cries that filled the room at dawn.

The traders arrived.

I was dragged outside with the others, my heart thudding in my chest as we were lined up in rows. Knees on the dirt, we were made to kneel like animals, the weight of what was happening pressing on me, suffocating.

"Why are we here?" I thought. "What will they do to us?"

Then one of the other children—a girl, human, older than me—was pulled from the line. She fought, screamed, but her struggles only earned her a brutal punch to the gut. She gasped, choking on her own blood, and crumpled, limp, to the ground.

I couldn’t stop staring at her, my heart twisting with fear and pity.

A man stepped forward, his boots echoing as he approached. His presence was chilling, his gaze locking onto us like ice. Without a word, we knew he was in control—he was their leader..

"You bastards!" A voice broke the silence. A boy, a human male, probably nineteen, stood tall despite the trembling fear in his voice. “Monsters! You’re no better than animals! What are you going to do? Kill us all?”

I tensed. His courage struck me as either pure defiance or utter madness.

“You have a loose tongue don’t you” The leader smiled, slow and predatory, as he stepped toward the boy. “Slaves don’t speak.”

“I’m not a slave,” the boy spat, his voice still firm despite the terror creeping into his eyes.

The leader chuckled darkly, signalling for one of his men to step forward.

The man held a rusted, jagged instrument in his hands—a cruel, scissor-like tool, the edges sharp and stained. The leader stepped back, and the man gripped the boy’s head, shoving the instrument into his mouth.

The boy screamed; his voice muffled as the jagged blades cut into his tongue. The sound was gut-wrenching, a raw, agonizing cry that filled the air.

I couldn’t look away.

"Run," the voice in my head screamed, a desperate whisper of survival.

Before I could react, a girl nearby bolted toward the exit, her body trembling with fear. She barely made it two steps before a spear pierced her body, and she fell, lifeless, to the dirt with a sickening thud.

I felt my stomach churn, but I forced myself to watch. The leader’s voice cut through the chaos, cold and final.

“Welcome to your new lives.”

The words were like a death sentence. "Some of you may still believe you’re someone— a daughter, a son, a sister, a warrior, perhaps a wife” he laughed so did his men. “But hear me now: whoever you were no longer matters. That person is gone, stripped away the moment you crossed into our world.”

"From this day forward, you belong to us. Your bodies, your strength, even your breath—all serve our purpose. Some of you will resist. I won’t explain what happens if you do," he said with a smile, revealing his decaying teeth.

My eyes moved from the dead girl to the boy that had lost his tongue.

“If you’re still living in your delusion that you will make it out of here. Wake up. You belong to us!” he said and the man holding the half-conscious girl pulled her o the middle of the yard.

He pressed her chest on the table in the middle holding her down as the leader brought out the long rod that was sticking out a barrel of fire."

“Our mark will seal your place here, a reminder of what you are now and forever: property.” he said raising the branding iron in his hands.

The girl was stripped and her back was bare for the leader.

“No! Please!” the girl cried as she tried to move but she was held down.

The leader pressed the iron on her upper back and the girl screamed in pain. She thrashed and kicked but she was held down. Her agonizing scream reverbing.

"Do not look to those beside you for sympathy or mercy. You will find none. Accept this reality, and your life may be easier. We hold your fate. Obey, and your existence might be bearable. Resist, and you will suffer beyond imagination."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Remember, no one will come for you. No one will save you. This mark will be a testament to that truth. And when it sears your skin, you will know—every ounce of your old self has been burned away”

“Welcome to your future."

The leader smiled and chills ran down my spine. I watched as each person was taken and branded with the iron.

Finally, it was my turn. Rough hands seized me, wrenching my arms behind my back until my shoulders burned. I kicked, cursed, fought with everything left in me, but it made no difference. They dragged me to the center of the yard, where a thick metal rod glowed red-hot in the fire. My heart sank as I saw it—a broken circle with a line slashed through it, edges searing and hungry.

The iron seared into my back, agony splitting my world apart. My skin burned, the stench of flesh filling the air as my screams echoed against the walls. The mark they left on me felt like a piece of my soul was carved away. Even after the iron was pulled, the pain lingered, draining my strength, my voice reduced to a hoarse whisper.

They dragged me away, tossing me beside the others. Fresh waves of pain surged through my back, stinging my eyes with tears. I no longer resisted. The fire inside me flickered, dimming to embers with each passing moment.

The next day, they came for my hands. I tried to cling to my anger, to pull my fingers back, to hold onto anything—but they forced each one straight, their iron grip unyielding. My fingernails splintered and tore, ripped out one by one, leaving bloody, throbbing tips. When they were done, my hands were numb to all but the raw, pulsing ache where my nails had once been.

In the dark, I cradled my broken fingers, numb to everything but the constant, pulsing pain. Each day, they’d stripped more from me. The brand on my back burned with every move—a reminder that Caelith, the girl I’d once been, was gone. What remained was someone they owned.

I shivered, curling into myself as the weight of it all settled. This was no nightmare I could wake from; this was my life now. And I had to survive it.

The next morning, they moved us, forcing metal collars around our necks. The chill of it seeped through me, heavy and final, as it locked into place.

“These collars!” the man announced with a twisted grin, stepping forward. “Let me show you a demostration.” He yanked a trembling child from the crowd, handing her a loaded gun. “If anyone disobeys or tries to run, this is what happens.” He held her arm steady, forcing her to aim at herself. As she cried and pleaded, thorns sprouted from the collar, sinking into her neck and sending waves of agonizing, aetheric energy straight to her mind.

The child couldn’t withstand the agony as the thorns burrowed deeper into her neck, flooding her mind with unbearable pain. Her screams filled the room, a sound that struck fear deep into my heart. Finally, unable to endure any longer, she pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed as her skull ruptured, scattering brain matter across the floor. A scream died in my throat, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. My eyes widened in horror.

“See that?” the man chuckled darkly.

“Enough of that, Zarek,” said another man, stepping out of the shadows. This one wore an eyepatch over his left eye, leaving only a single piercing, icy-blue gaze fixed on Zarek with chilling indifference.

Zarek laughed, almost mocking. “This is so much fun, Darius—”

“Stop wasting the goods,” Darius replied, his tone ice-cold, his gaze unwavering.

Zarek’s smile vanished. He dropped the child’s headless body and stomped over to Darius, standing nose to nose with him, his voice a low growl. “You don’t tell me what to do, asshole.”

Darius remained unfazed, barely glancing at him. “Clean up your mess. We have work to do.”

Seething, Zarek glared, but after a tense moment, he turned away. Darius faced us, his gaze sweeping across the crowd like a blade.

“I’m Darius,” he said, his voice calm but devoid of warmth. As his gaze passed over me, I felt myself shrink back, his disinterest somehow more terrifying than Zarek’s cruelty. He was tall, broad-shouldered, radiating a quiet authority. His one blue eye gleamed, sharp and unfeeling, while the eyepatch hinted at countless battles.

“I don’t know you...and I don’t care,” he began, his voice carrying across the room. “Like Zarek just showed you—rebel, and you’re dead.” His gaze swept the group, pausing on each of us. “Listen, and you make this easier for us and for yourselves.”

“I know your wondering where you are…well” he scratched his brow before continuing. “This is Ashfang Keep and we are known as the Void Talons, you belong to us meaning you do what we want” he said. “Soon enough we will find what each of you would do best…that’s not why I’m here…

He gestured to a girl beside me, and she flinched as he motioned her forward.

“Lirael,” Darius called, and a woman with raven-black hair tinted midnight blue stepped up. She looked at the girl, then turned to Darius, who gave her a slight nod.

Lirael raised her hand, murmuring a spell under her breath, her voice a haunting hum. The girl trembled, looking bewildered. Around Lirael’s fingers, a faint blue light appeared, forming a ring of energy that circled the girl before fading back into Lirael’s palm. She glanced at Darius.

“No.”

Darius nodded and gestured for the girl to step aside, then continued, each new person undergoing the same strange spell.

Lirael, judging from her abilities she’s definitely from the rouge class.

When it was finally my turn, I swallowed hard, standing before Lirael. She casted her spell once more barely looked at me before turning to Darius.

“She’s a summoner,” she said simply.

Darius’s eye landed on me, and he gave a slight nod. “Good.”

The others were herded to one side, but I, along with a handful of others, was led to a different area. As we walked, I glanced back at the main group. They wouldn’t all be put to work; I realized with a sick feeling. Many would be sold off for... other purposes, some into forced prostitution, others for unspeakable experiments. My stomach turned, and I fought to keep my expression blank.

The situation felt as hopeless as ever. Being told my class a "Summoner" was far from a privilege; it was practically a death sentence at this point—especially for a child like me.

There are six classes that exist in this realm: Warriors, who wield Potency for raw strength; Mages, masters of Elementum for powerful offensive and defensive spells; Guardians, shield-bearers who use Healaura for buffs, debuffs, and basic healing; Casters, skilled in Healaura for healing, defense, and enhancements; Rangers, adept gunslingers with expertise in firearms, crafting, and arcane arts; Archers, specialists in ranged weaponry and magic; Rogues, agile spellcasters with stealthy abilities; and Summoners, who command and summon creatures to aid them..

As a Summoner, my role was to summon creatures, compelled to obey or risk the deadly collar around my neck. The job was grueling, and most Summoners didn’t survive long. Slaves like us were considered dispensable, even ideal for such perilous work. Normal people were too valuable to waste.

Darius, our cold and unyielding leader, left no room for defiance. I, the youngest and only elf, found brief comfort in Isolde, a cheerful human girl. Despite the horrors around us, her constant smile and optimism became my solace, a fleeting escape from the harsh reality we lived in. And we quickly grew close. She seemed to find a way to calm my restless thoughts, always smiling and urging me to see the brighter side.

“Don’t be nervous,” she whispered to me one night, sensing my fear about our first mission.

I stared at her, trying to understand the source of her optimism.

“We would survive it. They gave us weapons…

“They gave us a stick!” I pointed out.

“At least it’s better than nothing” she said, giving a reassuring smile and I sighed.

“Worrying won’t help. Just stay calm.”

She died the next day. We were supposed to tame the creature we hunted but one wrong move took her life, she was ripped in half by the claws of the manjibug.

I froze, my stomach churning as I took in the gruesome sight: Isolde’s body lay mangled, half-consumed by a mire carnivore-bug, her lifeless eyes wide with terror. I couldn’t contain my horror; I stumbled back, choking on my own scream as I vomited.

Each mission after that was more harrowing than the last. They were using us as bait, throwing us to monsters and wild beasts like nothing more than expendable tools. Every day, more of us died, shredded to pieces while their screams filled the air.

As if things weren’t grim enough, the men in Darius’s faction began seeking "entertainment." It started with unwanted touches, then groping, and soon escalated to worse. Resistance was futile. Among them was Zarek, the same brute who had nearly clashed with Darius. His cruelty sank to new lows daily, and there was nothing I wanted more than to see him suffer.

I wasn’t alone in my torment, but as an elf—young and striking—I became a target. At twelve, I endured horrors that made me wish for the courage to end it, like one girl had. I envied her freedom, longed for escape, yet clung to life, torn between the fear of death and the agony of living.

Every mission, I emerged bloodied and battered but alive, barely. And every night, I warmed the bed of disgusting horny men.