Page 4

Four

T he bidding had started as a pulse. Now it was a storm.

Lights flared overhead, blinding and hot, illuminating the platform where Leonie stood encased in her floating cage. The space beyond was a swirl of motion and noise—a vast arena of glass and metal, brimming with creatures she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Dozens of bidders filled the surrounding tiers, their bodies shifting and twitching, limbs gesturing, devices flashing with competing offers.

Symbols burst across the air in radiant columns—glyphs and holograms in constant motion, each representing a value, a stake, a price. She didn’t recognize a single one.

Languages clashed like weapons. Some barked, some clicked, others hummed in dissonant chords. A nearby alien—slender, silver-skinned, with insectile eyes and too-long fingers—emitted a rapid stream of trills as its bid was registered. A guttural roar answered from across the room, where a massive red-skinned warrior slammed a clawed fist into the console in front of him. The weapon strapped to his back buzzed with restrained energy, glowing with static heat.

Another creature hissed nearby—scaly, sharp-jawed, eyes flickering like candle flames.

Leonie stood motionless in the center of it all, her heart a clenched fist in her chest.

Her knees were locked. Her throat was dry. The collar around her neck itched and throbbed faintly, a constant reminder that she wasn’t just being watched—she was owned . Or soon would be.

And the question that haunted her now wasn’t if she would be sold.

It was to whom.

The red-skinned warrior? All coiled muscle and snarling heat, who radiated violence like a furnace?

The skeletal grey alien, whose voice grated like metal and who stared at her like a puzzle to be dissected?

A hissing, bloblike dark blue shape with no discernible face, who kept uttering what sounded like her measurements?

She didn’t know which would be worse. Every time one raised a bidding device, her stomach twisted.

This is insane, she thought, panic spiking. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

But it was.

The lights pulsed again—red this time.

Final round.

The arena turned fevered. The red-skinned warrior bellowed something and slammed his device into the console. Sparks flew. His eyes—black and burning—never left her.

Others joined in with lightning-fast gestures, codes flashing through the air in bursts of color. The noise grew louder. Shriller. It was a wall of sound and want. The air itself felt charged, crackling with invisible energy. Her skin prickled. Her pulse thudded like thunder in her ears.

And then—like a dagger through flesh?—

A voice.

Not a bid. Not a number.

Just one word.

Spoken quietly.

Deep. Resonant. Impossible to ignore.

It came from the figure cloaked in shadow near the far edge of the platform. He had stood motionless until now—alone, arms folded, shrouded in flowing robes of black and deep violet. The hood obscured his face, but she had felt his presence the moment he entered. The air had shifted . The other bidders had stilled. Even the auctioneer had hesitated.

He hadn’t raised a device. Hadn’t moved.

Until now.

The word he spoke wasn’t shouted. It didn’t need to be. It rippled through the arena like an earthquake’s echo—low, lyrical, and final.

And just like that, the chaos collapsed.

Silence fell in an instant, as if the entire chamber had forgotten how to breathe.

The red-skinned warrior froze mid-motion, lips parted around a snarl. His expression flickered—not anger. Something closer to dread. The other bidders withdrew, one by one. Devices lowered. Eyes averted. Even the floating auctioneer, a grotesque amalgam of mechanical limbs and twitching stalk-eyes, dipped low and gave a metallic warble that signaled the end.

The lights dimmed.

The bidding was over.

No one contested it.

The masked figure had spoken.

And the entire room had obeyed.

Leonie gripped the bars of her cage, her palms clammy. Her breath came shallow and fast.

She didn’t understand the word.

But she understood the effect .

A section of the platform slid open beneath her. Her cage lifted gently, guided by invisible forces, and began to drift forward, off the stage, into the unknown.

Panic flared again. She pressed her forehead to the bars, desperate to see the figure as he moved to follow.

He walked in absolute silence.

His steps didn’t echo. The hem of his cloak whispered across the polished floor like mist over deep water. Every line of his body radiated control. Restraint. Power.

But not the raw, violent kind.

Something colder.

Something older.

The other bidders shrank back as he passed. Even the guards stationed along the walls avoided looking directly at him. No one followed. No one dared.

He was alone.

Because he didn’t need anyone.

Her heart thudded harder. She stared at him, trying to make sense of the fear and fascination crawling up her spine. She couldn’t see his face beneath the hood. Only a faint gleam of a mask: dark, smooth, and featureless except for a thin vertical line down the center.

He had spoken one word.

And now she was his.

She didn’t know who he was. Or what he was.

But she knew this: whatever he wanted her for… no one would stop him.

Not here.

Not in this place.

Not ever.