The cart stank of rot and decay, a nauseating blend of old blood, sweat, and something unidentifiable that made my stomach churn. The wooden planks beneath us were slick with grime, and the air inside was thick, almost unbreathable. Every breath felt like swallowing poison, and I fought the urge to gag, knowing that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. The stench clung to my skin, my hair, and my clothes as if it were trying to claim me, to mark me as one of its own. I could feel it seeping into my pores, a reminder that I was no longer clean, no longer free.

Lyra and I huddled together, our bodies pressed against the cold metal crate that separated us from the men outside. The crate was rusted and jagged, its edges biting into my back, but I welcomed the pain. It was a distraction, something to focus on other than the fear that threatened to overwhelm me. Lyra's body was warm against mine, her presence a small comfort in the darkness. She didn't speak, but her silence was louder than any words. It screamed of fear, of desperation, of a shared understanding that we were in a place where hope went to die.

The cart jolted forward, the wheels creaking under the weight of its human cargo. My heart raced as the reality of our situation sank in deeper. We were being taken somewhere, and whatever awaited us was worse than the hell we had just left. I could feel the weight of the other women and children around us, their fear palpable in the cramped space. Some of them whimpered softly, their cries muffled by the darkness. Others were silent, their faces hollow and resigned. They had been here longer than us, their spirits broken, their hope extinguished. I could see it in their eyes—they had given up.

Lyra's hand found mine in the darkness, her grip tight and trembling. She didn't speak, but the fear in her eyes was enough to tell me everything I needed to know. We were in this together, whatever "this" was. I squeezed her hand, trying to convey some semblance of reassurance, but I wasn't sure if it was for her or myself. My fear was a living thing, clawing at my chest, threatening to consume me.

The cart rumbled on, the wheels against the uneven ground echoing in the stillness of the night. The moonlight filtered through the cracks in the wooden slats, casting eerie shadows across the faces of the women and children around us. I tried to steady my breathing, to focus on anything other than the fear that threatened to consume me. But it was impossible. Every bump, every creak of the cart, sent a fresh wave of panic through me.

I glanced at Lyra, her face pale and drawn in the dim light. She was younger than I had initially thought, maybe sixteen or seventeen, but the hardness in her eyes made her seem older. I had wanted to ask her how long she had been here, and what she knew about the men who had taken us, but the words stuck in my throat. There was no point in asking questions when the answers only worsen things.

The cart came to a sudden halt, the abrupt stop sending us all lurching forward. My heart pounded as the sound of heavy boots approached. The metal grate creaked open, and the men began pulling women and children out one by one. I could hear their voices, low and menacing, as they barked orders and shoved people into line. My stomach twisted as I realised, we were being sorted, like cattle at a market.

Lyra's grip on my hand tightened as one of the men reached for her. He yanked her out of the cart, his rough hands gripping her arm as he inspected her with a cold, calculating gaze. She didn't resist, her face a mask of fear and resignation. I wanted to scream, to fight back, but I knew it would be useless. These men were too strong, too ruthless. Any attempt to resist would only make things worse.

When it was my turn, I felt a hand clamp down on my arm, pulling me out of the cart with a force that made my shoulder ache. I stumbled, my legs weak and unsteady, but the man didn't care. He shoved me into line, his eyes scanning me with the same cold indifference he had shown the others. I could feel his gaze lingering on me, and I knew what he was thinking. I was young and relatively unharmed, and that made me valuable.

The leader, the man with the scar and the dark, hollow eyes, stepped forward. He moved slowly, deliberately, his presence commanding the attention of everyone around him. His eyes swept over the line of women and children, and I could feel the weight of his gaze as it landed on me. He didn't say anything, but the way he looked at me sent a chill down my spine. There was something in his eyes, something dark and calculating, that made me feel like a piece of meat being appraised for sale.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"This one," he said, his voice low and gravelly, as he pointed to me. "She'll fetch a good price."

The men around him smirked, their eyes glinting with a cruel amusement that made my blood run cold. I could feel their gazes lingering on me, appraising me like a piece of meat. The captain's scarred face twisted into a grin as he gave the order to place me and Lyra in the "good pile."

The men around him nodded, they moved to obey his orders. I felt a hand on my back, shoving me forward, and I stumbled, my legs barely able to support me. Lyra was pushed along beside me, her face pale and drawn. We were being herded like animals, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.

The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy of the woods, casting an eerie glow over the makeshift camp. I could hear the soldiers moving around, their laughter and crude jokes cutting through the night air. The camp was alive with activity, but it was a dark, twisted kind of energy—one that made my skin crawl. I could feel the weight of their eyes on me, appraising me like I was nothing more than a piece of meat.

As we were escorted through the camp, I couldn't help but notice the details I had missed before. Lyra's red skin, kissed by what seemed like the fire element, glowed faintly in the firelight, and her green eyes, though shining like emeralds, carried a dullness that spoke of pain and loss. She was beautiful, but her beauty was marred by the weight of whatever horrors she had endured. Her hair, tangled and matted, still held a faint shimmer, as if it had once been vibrant and full of life.

The other women around us, though mostly human in appearance, had subtle features that set them apart. Some had hair in colours that didn't exist in nature—vivid blues, deep purples, and even silvers that caught the light in strange ways. Others had sharper teeth, their canines slightly elongated, or eyes that glowed faintly in the dark. One woman had scales that shimmered along her arms, while another's ears were slightly pointed, like those of an elf. These weren't just human women—they were beings from different worlds, different species, all trapped in this nightmare together.

My stomach churned as I realised the truth. These men weren't just trafficking humans—they were dealing in lives from across the realms. The soldiers, with their polished uniforms and badges of honour, were nothing more than glorified slavers. The sight of their medals, symbols of supposed valour, made me sick to my stomach. How could men who claimed to serve and protect be involved in something so vile?

As we were led through the camp, I caught glimpses of shadows moving in the tents. The flickering firelight revealed scenes that made my stomach turn—women, naked and trembling, forced to dance for leering men who cheered and groaned in delight. Some of the men reached out, grabbing at the women, forcing them into acts that made me want to look away. But I couldn't. I couldn't remove my eyes from the horror, the realisation dawning on me that this could be my fate.

Lyra's grip on my arm tightened, her nails digging into my skin as if she could sense my thoughts. "Don't look," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the noise. "Don't give them the satisfaction."

But it was impossible not to look. We passed a tent where a woman with the curves of a beast—part animal, part human—was being led away by a man who looked important, his eyes gleaming with greed and lust. The men around us howled in excitement, their voices rising in a cacophony of depravity. I felt bile rise in my throat, the taste of it bitter and acrid.

Finally, we arrived at a large cage, its bars rusted and stained with what I could only assume was blood. Inside, other captives huddled together, their eyes hollow and their bodies bruised. The guard shoved me and Lyra inside, his voice stern as he barked, "Wait here. We'll be back for you soon."

The cage door clanged shut, the sound final and ominous. I sank to the ground, my legs giving out beneath me. The other captives glanced at me, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and resignation. Lyra sat beside me, her body trembling as she leaned against the cold metal bars.

My mind raced, my thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of fear and anger. What was this place? Where were we being taken? And what would happen to us when we got there? I looked at Lyra, her red skin glowing faintly in the dim light, and wondered how someone could still be so strong.

The camp around us buzzed with activity, the soldiers' laughter and the cries of the captives blending into a symphony of despair. I closed my eyes, trying to block it all out, but the images of what I had seen burned into my mind. The women forced to dance, the beast-like woman being led away, the men with their badges of honour and their twisted smiles—it was all too much.

"We'll find a way out," Lyra whispered, her voice trembling but determined. "We have to."

I nodded, though I wasn't sure I believed it. The cage felt like a prison, the bars closing in around me, suffocating me. But I couldn't give up. Not yet. I had to hold on to the hope that somehow, we would escape this nightmare.

The night stretched on, the firelight flickering in the distance as the camp settled into an uneasy quiet. But I knew the quiet was deceptive. The real horror was just beginning.