Silence hung like a veil.
Even a heartbeat sounded loud here.
At his desk, Edgar dici was imrsed in work. The pen in his hand scratched steadily, each stroke slicing into silence like a blade.
Scribble.
Scratch.
Paper whispered under pressure.
Across the room, draped over a velvet chaise, lay William. Still.
Watching.
Eyes open.
Smile faint.
Breath steady.
The sun stood high, casting long rays through the stained glass, proud and arrogant—like the nobility it bathed.
Then—
KNOCK.
A voice pierced the quiet.
"May I co in, my lord?"
Edgar didn’t look up.
"Yes."
CLICK. The door opened.
A young man entered with the stiffness of training, an envelope cradled in both hands.
"My lord," he began, voice level.
"An auction is to be held at the Grand Hotel of the Fourth Governor. My master sends an invitation and hopes Your Grace will attend."
He extended the envelope.
David, ever still at Edgar’s side, received it without comnt.
Edgar finally glanced up, eyes flicking from the seal to the mountain of paperwork on his desk.
"Just a formality," he muttered.
His hand gestured vaguely toward the clutter.
"Tell your master I’m honored. But please... he mustn’t be disheartened if I don’t attend."
The servant bowed.
"Yes, my lord."
CLICK. The door closed again.
Silence returned—until it was broken by a thought.
Not spoken, but cold and clear in William’s mind:
Of course he won’t go.
To Edgar, auctions are nothing but theater—where the rich flaunt their wealth, and the poor applaud from the shadows.
William sat up, graceful, effortless.
He crossed the room, a faint noble smile touching his lips—well-practiced, precise.
"Father," he said, his voice warm, respectful.
"Allow to go in your place."
Edgar looked at him—silent.
William’s gaze held steady.
His voice was calm. Benevolent.
"You’re busy," he continued.
"And soone should represent the family. Appearances must be kept."
Edgar studied him.
Then:
"You don’t have to force yourself, son. The dici won’t lose favor over an auction."
A breath. A pause.
"But if you wish to go... take David."
William inclined his head in polite acceptance.
Wiz’s voice slipped in
"[WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR IN THIS AUCTION ]
William’s eyes drifted to the window.
He answered softly:
"A drug."
His tone was detached—almost bored.
"One that dulls the senses. Makes n fragile... no matter how strong they pretend to be."
His smile returned.
But this ti, it reached nowhere near his eyes..
Ti slipped away like smoke.
The morning sun had long vanished. Now, night ruled.
Clouds veiled the moon, and darkness stretched its fingers across the quiet streets.
CRACKLE.
CRACKLE.
The hum of tires against gravel broke the silence, until—
Stop.
The car eased to a halt in front of a towering hotel—its facade grand, illuminated by golden lanterns.
It stood in the prestige colony, just opposite the city’s bustling market—a world apart.
No shouting vendors. No crowded stalls. Only manicured gardens and silence dressed in velvet.
William stepped out.
He took in the scene without expression. The hotel was alive—noble families, minor governors, and wealthy rchants flowed through its entrance like a tide of silk and perfu.
Beside him, David scanned the crowd. His eyes caught familiar faces in the distance.
David:
"Would you mind waiting here, young master? I have to greet a few people. It won’t take long."
William gave a small nod.
David walked away with the quiet grace of a seasoned retainer.
William remained alone.
His gaze wandered—until it fell on the side of the building.
There, dragged through a service entrance, were slaves—chained, silent, their eyes hollow.
One of them, a young boy, looked up.
Their eyes t.
The boy’s stare was desperate. Pleading.
William looked back, unmoved.
No rcy. No sympathy. Their pain... was nothing but a ripple in the river of ti. Noticeable, yes—like a leaf drifting downstream. But utterly insignificant.
He turned away.
The world moved on.
BUMP.
William collided with soone.
He looked up. The figure before him was barely taller, cloaked in ornate dwarven noble attire. Jewels sparkled along the cuffs, and the man’s beard had been braided in traditional high-caste fashion.
Dwarf Noble (angrily):
"How dare you, boy. Do you know who I am?"
William said nothing.
Another fool, drunk on titles and na.
His face remained unreadable—polished marble.
Then, quietly:
"I, William of House dici... command you to obey ."
The dwarf’s defiance evaporated.
His eyes went dull, glazed.
He stood still.
From behind, David’s voice called out.
"Young master!"
William turned calmly.
"Let’s go," he said.
The dwarf remained frozen in place as the two walked away.
At the grand doors, they handed over the invitation.
The attendant glanced at the seal—and imdiately bowed low.
Attendant:
"Welco, esteed guests."
He stepped aside swiftly, whispering sothing to another staff mber before vanishing behind velvet curtains.
A mont later, a young human woman arrived—her uniform neat, her expression trained.
Once, a human in a dwarven establishnt would have raised eyebrows.
Now, with the founding of the trade center, it was routine.
She led them through polished halls, their footsteps silent on obsidian floors. Paintings of dwarven legends lined the walls, lit with soft magical glowstones.
They reached a private balcony suite.
The view was clear—the auction hall spread out below, tiers of seats descending into the heart of opulence.
The woman returned shortly, wheeling in a thin, obsidian-frad screen.
She tapped the side.
A ripple passed across it.
An essence tool.
The auction’s data, statistics, and high-bid summaries shimred onto the screen in sharp, glowing letters.
William smiled faintly.
They spent a fortune on this event.
Good. That ans whatever I seek... is here.
He sat, legs crossed, gaze sharpened.
The performance was about to begin.
The hall below was circular, built like an ancient coliseum—seats spiraling downward like steps carved into luxury. VIP rooms lood above, each a glass-walled sanctum, watching from on high like silent gods.
William stood at the edge of the room, hands clasped behind his back, gaze cool and unwavering.
A stage for wealth to dance. A temple where coin bought power—and people.
The lights suddenly went dark.
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Welco, ladies and gentlen."
A voice echoed through the room, smooth and rehearsed.
"I am Shahid, secretary to Governor Dazir—and I will be your host for tonight’s auction."
A single spotlight ignited on the stage.
William remained still. Calm. Observing.
"Let the auction... begin."
SNAP.
A tallic hum filled the air as a robotic figure marched onto the platform. Gleaming silver. chanized perfection.
Shahid:
"Honored guests, our first product of the evening—Category 5 Combat Automaton."
He gestured with an open palm.
"A rare and powerful weapon. Starting price: 50,000 Tanae."
A digital display behind him flashed 50,000.
David leaned in, whispering:
"Tanae is the dwarven currency, young master. Equal to one gold coin. We don’t carry it, but we can exchange."
William gave a faint nod.
Fifty thousand for a toy soldier. Extravagant.
But this is no auction—it’s a battlefield dressed in silk.
"55,000."
"60,000."
The bids climbed.
"70,000... Sold."
That could buy three mansions.
And yet, for them, it’s pocket change.
Shahid stepped forward again.
SNAP.
A small purple pouch materialized in a velvet box.
"Don’t be deceived by its size," he said, smiling.
"This rare drug can dull the senses of even the strongest beasts. For the weak... it’s lethal."
Starting bid: 20,000.
William’s eyes narrowed—just slightly.
This is what I ca for.
But he remained silent.
"21,000!"
"22,000!"
Then, a cold voice from across the hall:
"100,000."
Gasps followed. All heads turned toward Room 7.
William tilted his head, recognizing the voice. A slow smile crept onto his lips.
The arrogant dwarf from earlier...
"Sold!"
Inside Room 7, the dwarf noble turned to his guard, panicked.
"What did I just do? Why would I—?"
The guard had no answer.
In Room 3, William’s smirk widened.
"We got what we ca for, Wiz."
Pride makes the best puppet strings.
Ti passed. Product after product paraded across the stage.
Until the final announcent.
Shahid:
"And now... our last item of the evening."
From the shadows, a young elf girl was led onto the stage.
She couldn’t have been more than ten years old. Her golden eyes caught the light. Her raven hair fell like silk shadows down her back.
Shahid, with pride:
"A one-of-a-kind specin. Never in elven history has one been born with such eyes. Starting bid: 10,000 Tanae."
Below, the crowd buzzed with excitent, their expressions twisted in hunger.
William observed them in silence.
Look at them. Smiling. Celebrating.
To them, she is a treasure. No... a trophy.
"11,000!"
"12,000!"
The bidding rose.
William leaned forward.
"25,000."
David turned, surprised.
"Young master...?"
[Why her?]
Wiz asked in his mind.
William’s lips did not move.
"A pawn. Unshaped. Abandoned. The perfect vessel to mold. Loyalty is born from desperation—and I’ll give her purpose."
[Oh... I thought it was because she was pretty.]
The price surged—
"30,000!"
"35,000!"
"50,000!"
William raised his voice, calm:
"20,000thousand."
The room froze.
Even Shahid paused.
David:
"You can’t, young master—!"
He flinched.
"It’s too much... for a slave."
William slowly turned to him.
His voice was soft—but carved from ice:
"Didn’t you say I could buy anything I liked?"
David:
"I did, but—"
William stepped behind him, hands folded behind his back.
He leaned close, whispering:
"Look at them, David. Look at their faces."
Below, nobles grinned—excited, entertained.
"Do they look human to you?"
His tone grew colder. Detached.
"They’re demons in silk. Monsters who dress cruelty in laughter. If I leave her to them, she will be humiliated. Broken. Then discarded."
David follows rules. He clings to morality, even when the world spits on it.
Let’s see what breaks first—his ideals or his loyalty.
"So... what will you choose, David?"
David looked down at the girl. Then at the crowd.
Then back at William.
Sigh.
"As you wish, young master."
Shahid raised his hand.
"Going once... twice... sold! To Room 3."
SNAP.
The lights flared back on. The hall shimred with gold.
Shahid:
"Thank you, esteed guests. Our servants will escort you to your suites, and your purchases will be delivered shortly."
HOTEL ROOM
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of essence lanterns. Velvet curtains billowed slightly with the wind. Outside, the world carried on. Inside, ti felt still.
William sat on a leather sofa—legs crossed, posture composed
KNOCK. KNOCK.
A pause.
William (without looking up)
"Enter."
The door creaked open. A dwarven servant stepped inside, leading a young elf girl by the hand.
She was dressed in a simple black gown—clean, elegant. Her golden eyes shimred in the low light, and her raven hair frad a delicate face carved by fate too early.
Around her wrists glead a pair of silver bracelets. No chains. But not freedom.
The servant bowed silently and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
William (calmly, without turning)
"David... I’d like a mont alone with her."
David’s gaze lingered—just for a second.
He bowed slightly.
"As you wish, young master."
With quiet footsteps and no further word, he exited, the door closing softly behind him.
William’s eyes lingered on her wrists. A whisper slipped from his lips, soft as silk:
William
"Third Eye."
A ghostly ripple shimred in his irises. The bracelets glowed faintly, etched with different patterns.
Essence suppression tools. Crafted to dull the very soul of an elf.
William smiled. Calm. Polished.
He gestured gently toward the edge of the bed.
She hesitated. Then obeyed, sitting like a shadow draped in silk.
His voice was smooth. Gentle, almost fatherly.
"Do you have a na?"
Silence.
No defiance. No fear. Just... stillness.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Are you angry?"
Still, she said nothing.
The silence stretched—thick with sothing unspoken.
"Why is she silent?"
"Is it pride? Is it the last ember of dignity trying not to go out?"
"But can a slave afford dignity?"
He studied her, eyes sharp behind their softness.
"No... it’s not pride."
"It’s waiting."
"A child left at the gate too long. Hoping soone will co back."
His gaze t hers. Golden eyes, glimring with loss.
A slow, cold smile crept across his face.
"Are you waiting for soone?"
No response.
"Family?"
Nothing.
"A friend?"
Still.
William (leaning forward, voice like a knife)
"Your master?"
She flinched. Barely. But enough.
A chuckle escaped him—quiet, knowing.
"Ah. So that’s it."
He leaned back, folding one leg over the other.
William
"Shall I guess nas? One by one, until I find the one that still matters to you?"
He raised his hand to the earring on his left ear
It shimred.
His voice dropped, low and commanding:
"I, William of House dici... command you to obey ."
The air shifted.
The room fell colder.
The girl’s eyes widened—just a little.
A bond had been forged.
And for the first ti that night... the silence broke.
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