Aarav's eyes burned as the harsh light struck him, blinding after so many weeks—months—trapped in the darkness. He squinted, instinctively raising his bound hands as though they might shield him.
It wasn't like the dim, flickering orange glow of the basement torches. No, this was different.
It was sunlight.
The real thing.
He staggered slightly, his stomach knotting up tight, a wave of nausea rising like bile in his throat. A strange feeling washed over him—something was happening, something big. His gut told him that much.
After a while, his eyes adjusted.
And what he saw chilled him.
Slaves. Slaves everywhere. As far as his gaze could stretch, nothing but rows and rows of hollow faces and frail bodies—skeletal frames wrapped in torn rags, eyes empty, spirits crushed long ago.
But amidst those ghost-like figures… two stood out.
A young man—beige-skinned, brown-haired—his body radiating vitality, his frame sturdy and well-built despite the tattered tunic hanging off him. His eyes, sharp and alive, were worlds apart from the broken gazes around him. He looked like he didn't belong here—as if fate had dropped a spark of life into a sea of death.
And then her.
A young woman, her face pale from the months without sunlight, but her delicate features were thrown into sharp relief under the golden rays. Her silky brown hair gleamed in the light, catching the attention of everyone she passed. Even tied and led like cattle, her eyes burned—brimming with fury and quiet defiance, refusing to die out like the others.
"She's not that tall… almost my same height!" Aarav muttered under his breath, the thought nagging at him as they moved along. But where are we going? Are we heading to the market?
He shook his head quickly, brushing the distraction away. Focus on what matters. He knew he looked different from the rest—he felt different. There was still a radiance to him, a life in his body that caught glances as he passed. But despite that, when he compared himself to these slaves, his stature felt small. He was of normal height—taller than most back in his world—but here? Here, Seriah's height seemed about average for a woman, and the men were a few inches taller… some even giants.
A dull ache of inferiority gnawed at him.
Soon, they were led near some kind of river, and Aarav's heart sank.
"Strip!" the order came.
Without hesitation, the slaves began pulling off what little rags they had. Aarav's stomach twisted, his eyes widening. "No… not this!!"
He stood frozen for a moment, watching as Seriah hesitated too. Under the sun, her face was fully visible now—her pale skin seemed to glow, her soft features standing out clearly. She looked even younger than he'd thought—late teens, maybe seventeen or eighteen at most.
Aarav's eyes darted around—the slaves, her—and then he forced himself to look away. But despite himself, he glanced again… and again. His discomfort grew sharper, a pit settling deep in his gut.
"Why do we have to undress in front of them all?" he thought bitterly. And then the brutal answer hit him: That's right. We're less than human, aren't we?
Suddenly, a shout ripped through the tension.
"Are you blind, you dumb slaves?!" a slaver barked, storming forward, holding a bucket and pointing directly at Aarav and Seriah. "What are you standing around for?! I don't have all day!"
Seriah's expression changed, her body shaking as she hesitantly gripped her dress and began undressing, just as the slaver demanded. Aarav's fists clenched at his sides. Gritting his teeth, he peeled off his old, tattered tunic, exposing himself once again under the harsh sunlight—a feeling he hated, but had no choice but to endure.
Do it, he told himself grimly. Just do it and get it over with.
And then—
SPLASH!
Seriah gasped, clutching herself tightly, her whole body trembling violently as cold water drenched her fragile form. Her feet staggered, her breath sharp and ragged. The slaver's expression darkened with a sick grin, licking his lips as he hurled another bucket over her. And another. And another.
Aarav's blood boiled. His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.
Fucking pervert!
Without thinking, he stepped forward, fists clenched tight, and placed himself in front of Seriah—shielding her, his eyes pointedly turned away, not daring to look. He stood like a wall between her and the leering slaver.
The man's grin twisted in rage. "You damn dog! Can't you see what I'm up to?!"
He hurled a bucket of freezing water straight at Aarav's chest. But Aarav didn't flinch. He barely felt the cold now—the water washed over his skin, soaking his hair, cleansing the dust and sweat from his body. But his eyes stayed locked ahead, his fists clenched tighter than ever.
The slaver stepped closer, eyes burning with fury and twisted amusement. But just then, another voice rang out.
"It's time for branding! Don't fuck around!"
The slaver paused, his grin returning. His gaze flicked between Aarav and Seriah, his eyes lingering far too long.
"I'll see you," he muttered darkly, before turning away, his sinister laugh trailing behind him as he disappeared.
Aarav stood still, fists trembling—not from the cold, but from rage.
Aarav looked back—and froze. Seriah was nowhere to be seen.
Panic shot through him like lightning. "Seriah!" he shouted, his voice cracking as his eyes darted around. But no one was there. His heart thudded wildly in his chest.
And then… he spotted her.
She hadn't gone anywhere. She was kneeling right there, crumpled on the ground, her small frame shivering as she stared blankly at the sky. Her ember-like eyes—usually sharp, full of some quiet fire—were glassy now, hollow. Her whole expression was numb, as if she'd shut herself off from everything around her.
She said nothing. Did nothing. Just… stared.
Aarav's chest tightened painfully. Without thinking, he rushed to her side and pulled out the same ragged cloth that had been tossed to him—the one meant to be his blanket. By sheer luck, he'd kept it. Maybe the slavers had allowed it, or maybe they'd just found it too much of a hassle to take it from him. He didn't know, and he didn't care.
He wrapped the thin cloth around Seriah's trembling shoulders, pulling it close around her, as if that could somehow shield her from everything. Then, gently, he patted her shoulder, unsure what else to do. His hand lingered there, offering whatever small comfort he could.
Time passed in heavy silence.
His mind wouldn't let him rest. Branding… they said something about branding, he remembered grimly. His jaw tightened, a shadow passing over his face.
He'd seen it before—how they marked the slaves like livestock, searing a burning-hot crest into their skin. His stomach twisted at the memory, and a cold, creeping chill ran down his spine.
He knew he was strong—stronger than most. But how strong… that, he still didn't know.
And as he stood in line, trembling, he realized something deep down: his body might not be affected the same way as the others. Yet, despite that, fear still gripped him tight. He could hear the screams—countless slaves howling in agony as the branding iron seared their skin—and each cry felt like a knife twisting deeper into his gut.
Closer. And closer.
Now it was his turn. Behind him, Seriah was trembling violently, her small body shaking like a leaf. He clenched his fists, his mind racing. What can I even do? He didn't have an answer. But one thing was clear—he didn't want her to suffer, no matter what.
The slaver yanked him forward, forcing him down onto a stone slab. Or… tried to.
Aarav's body refused to bend.
The slavers' eyes widened in shock. But Aarav, sensing the danger of resistance, slowly and deliberately lowered himself down—on his own terms. The slavers exchanged baffled glances, murmuring under their breath, unsure what to make of it.
There were twenty… no, maybe twenty-five of them in total, all circling, watching.
Aarav gripped the stone. At first, his hands pressed lightly—but then his grip tightened, and he felt the grit of sand under his fingertips. No one seemed to notice, but he felt it, and it left him rattled inside.
Then—sizzle—the branding iron pressed into his bare chest.
Aarav flinched instinctively, blinking hard. But… nothing. No pain. No burn. Just… heat—and then, nothing at all.
The slaver's eyes shot open, baffled.
He tried again—pressing harder this time. And again.
Still nothing.
The slaver's arms began to tremble. His confident sneer was gone, replaced with unease. He stumbled back, staring wide-eyed at Aarav—then dropped to his knees, the branding iron slipping from his grip.
"It's… it's a blessed one!" the man gasped, voice shaking with fear.
A hush fell over the group. More slavers dropped to their knees, murmuring in disbelief, some making strange hand signs as if warding off evil—or showing reverence.
Aarav stared at them, his own heart thundering in his chest, utterly baffled.
Seriah's expression mirrored his—her wide eyes locked on him, her face a perfect picture of shock and disbelief.
"A Blessed One?"