[Prior to David's journey to Valemir County.]
Three hundred miles south of Thistlebrook, in a very different kind of rain, a hooded figure moved like liquid darkness through the slave market of Karven Port. Unlike Valemir's relatively regulated comrce, Karven operated beyond imperial oversight, a haven for transactions the empire officially condemned while tacitly permitting beneath layers of political silence.
The auction block stood at the market's centre, a crude wooden platform where human rchandise was displayed for potential buyers. Today's offerings were particularly grim, prisoners of war from the latest border skirmish with the Southern Confederacy, their bodies bearing the marks of recent conflict, cruel treatnt, and harsh captivity.
Among them stood a woman whose bearing set her apart despite her circumstances. Tall and powerfully built, with short-cropped hair the colour of burnished copper, she maintained a warrior's posture even in chains. While other captives hunched their shoulders or averted their gaze, she stared directly at potential buyers with open contempt.
"Next we have a special prize," the auctioneer announced, moving to stand beside the copper-haired woman. "A genuine Crimson Knight of the Southern Vanguard, captured during the battle of Shallow Ford. Trained in multiple weapons disciplines and possessing significant magical resistance. Imagine the prestige of having such a warrior in your household guard, or the satisfaction of breaking such pride to more dostic purposes."
Laughter rippled through the crowd, crude suggestions called out by those who enjoyed the humiliation of the once-mighty. The woman, the knight, showed no reaction beyond a slight tightening of her jaw.
The hooded figure's eyes narrowed beneath the concealing fabric, observing the proceedings with predatory assessnt. The instructions had been clear: identify potential recruits according to established criteria, with particular attention to those possessing unique skills or backgrounds that might serve the growing network.
This Crimson Knight certainly qualified.
The bidding began, rapidly escalating as several rchant lords competed for the prestige of owning a captured enemy elite. The hooded figure waited, allowing the price to climb before making a move. When the bidding reached a natural plateau, a single finger raised, catching the auctioneer's attention with the subtle gesture.
"We have a new bidder," he announced, eyes widening slightly at the figure indicated on the bidding tablet. "The patron in the back offers double the current high bid."
Shocked murmurs spread through the crowd as other bidders reluctantly withdrew. No slave, even one as prestigious as a Crimson Knight, was worth such an extravagant sum to most practical buyers.
Within minutes, the transaction was complete. The hooded figure approached the auction block, where handlers were already preparing to transfer the knight into the buyer's custody.
"Remove those chains," ca the quiet command, a feminine voice carrying an authority that brooked no argunt despite its softness. "They're unnecessary and undignified."
The handlers exchanged uncertain glances before complying, unlocking the heavy manacles that bound the knight's wrists and ankles. As the last restraint fell away, the copper-haired woman straightened to her full height, rolling her shoulders to relieve muscles cramped from prolonged confinent.
For a mont, it seed she might attempt escape, a logical choice, given her newfound freedom of movent. Instead, the knight studied her new owner with calculating assessnt, clearly weighing potential outcos against available information.
"Follow ," the hooded figure said simply, turning away with the absolute expectation of obedience.
To her mild surprise, the knight did follow, maintaining a precise three steps behind as they navigated Karven's crowded streets. Neither spoke until they reached a small courtyard tucked between warehouses, where the hooded figure finally turned to face her purchase.
"You're wondering why I paid such an excessive sum for your freedom," she stated rather than asked, pulling back her hood to reveal sharp features and eyes that seed to evaluate every detail with rciless precision.
The knight's amber eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm wondering why you called it freedom when you clearly purchased ownership."
A hint of a smile touched the woman's lips. "Perceptive. Yes, legally I own you now. In practice, you have a choice to make." She gestured to the open courtyard around them. "You could attempt to overpower and escape. With your training, you might even succeed, though I wouldn't recomnd testing that theory."
The knight's expression remained neutral, but her stance shifted subtly, the unconscious preparation of a warrior assessing combat possibilities.
"Alternatively," the woman continued, her voice calm but edged with sothing ancient, "you could listen to an offer that might interest soone whose forr life no longer exists."
"What kind of offer?" the knight asked, wariness evident in her tone, though curiosity glinted just beneath the surface.
"Training. Purpose. A network of like-minded individuals serving a cause greater than imperial politics or southern independence." The woman reached slowly into her cloak, careful not to trigger alarm, and produced a small silver coin emblazoned with a stylized eye. "And eventually, power beyond what the Crimson Knights could have offered you. The kind of power forged in secrecy, shaped by sacrifice."
The knight stared at the coin, recognition flickering across her features. Her fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to reach for it. "Eden," she whispered, the na clearly familiar to her. "I thought it was just a rumour, shadow operatives moving through both imperial and confederacy territories, answering to neither governnt. Ghosts. Myths."
"We exist," the woman confird, her eyes glinting in the firelight, "though perhaps not exactly as the rumours suggest. You may call The Wheel. And you are?"
The knight hesitated. The wind stirred around them, carrying the scent of ash and old blood. Giving her na felt like stepping across a line she could never uncross. Finally, she spoke. "Valeria Crimsonhelm. Forr Captain of the Third Vanguard."
"Well, Captain Crimsonhelm," the Wheel said, pocketing the silver coin with a soft tallic click, "would you like to learn what exists beyond the limitations of your forr life? Beyond orders and flags, into sothing far more dangerous, and far more real?"
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