The fire raged for nearly an hour before the bucket chain finally managed to quench the worst of it. By then, most of the warehouse's contents had been destroyed, and the building itself was a blackened shell, its roof partially collapsed.
Merchants whose goods had been stored inside gathered around Kaelan, their expressions ranging from concern to outright hostility.
"My entire shipment of pepper, destroyed!" lamented a Volantene trader. "Who will compensate me for this loss?"
"And my silks!" added a Lyseni woman, her pale face flushed with anger. "You guaranteed protection from damage!"
Kaelan raised his hands, projecting a calm he didn't feel. "My guarantee stands," he assured them. "All losses will be reimbursed in full, with an additional 2 percent for your inconvenience. Please see my associate Mykos tomorrow with an accounting of your goods."
This declaration mollified most of the merchants, though a few continued to grumble as they dispersed. The harbormaster arrived shortly thereafter, surveying the damage with a grimace.
"Unfortunate timing," he remarked, giving Kaelan a sidelong glance. "Fires happen, of course, but rarely in warehouses so well-maintained."
"Indeed," Kaelan replied evenly. "Almost as if it were deliberate."
The harbormaster's expression revealed nothing. "A serious accusation. Do you have evidence?"
"Not yet," Kaelan admitted. "But I intend to find it."
After the harbormaster departed, Mykos pulled Kaelan aside, his weathered face grim. "This is the test I warned of," he said quietly. "Someone wants to see how you respond to pressure."
"Then they'll get their answer," Kaelan replied, a hard edge entering his voice. "I'll honor my guarantees to the merchants—that's non-negotiable. But I'll also find who did this."
"And then?"
"Then they'll learn that I'm not easily intimidated."
Mykos studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. But you need better protection. Warehouse guards aren't enough. You need personal security."
Kaelan knew the old warrior was right. The fire was likely just the first move in a larger game—a warning, perhaps, or an attempt to drain his resources through compensation payments. Either way, it indicated that someone saw him as enough of a threat to target directly.
"Sellswords?" he suggested, already knowing Mykos's likely response.
The old man shook his head. "Unreliable. Loyalty only to coin. Could be bought by your enemies."
"I'm not purchasing slaves, Mykos." Kaelan's tone was firm.
"Didn't suggest it," Mykos replied with a slight shrug. "Though in Qarth, an Unsullied guard is considered the gold standard. Unquestioning loyalty, unmatched discipline."
"And complete subjugation," Kaelan countered, unable to keep the distaste from his voice. "I won't participate in that system."
Mykos's expression remained impassive, but something like respect flickered in his eyes. "Your choice. But consider this—Unsullied already enslaved. Purchasing them changes nothing about their condition, except perhaps their master."
Kaelan fell silent, mulling over the moral calculus. In his previous life, the ethics had been clear-cut: slavery was an abomination, full stop. But here in Essos, the reality was more complex. The Unsullied were already slaves. Refusing to purchase them wouldn't free them—it would simply mean they served someone else, potentially someone far crueler.
And if he did buy them... could he do what Daenerys had done in the story? Free them, but offer them employment by choice?
The thought gnawed at him throughout the day as he dealt with the aftermath of the fire. By evening, exhaustion had set in, but sleep eluded him. His mind kept circling back to the same dilemma—the need for protection weighed against his moral objections to slavery.
In the early hours before dawn, Kaelan reached a decision. He didn't like it, but pragmatism demanded action. If he failed to establish his security, all his other plans would be for naught.
When morning came, he sought out Mykos, who had spent the night organizing guards for the remaining warehouses.
"I need information," Kaelan said without preamble. "About purchasing Unsullied."
If Mykos was surprised by this reversal, he didn't show it. "Not common in Qarth," he replied. "Occasional ships from Astapor dock here with small numbers for sale. Expensive. Ten thousand honors each, at minimum."
"And when might such a ship next arrive?"
Mykos's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "One in port now. Docked yesterday. Won't stay long—Qartheen don't favor Astapori traders."
The reason went unspoken: despite being a slave-trading city itself, Qarth maintained a peculiar prejudice against the Dothraki and, by extension, any who traded extensively with them. The Qartheen claimed it was the smell of the horse-lords they objected to, but the real reason was more likely economic competition.
"Take me to them," Kaelan instructed.
The Astapori slave ship was a grim vessel, its wooden hull stained dark from years of sea travel. The distinctive stench of unwashed bodies, excrement, and despair wafted from its hold—the unmistakable odor of human chattel packed too tightly in too small a space.
Kaelan fought to keep his expression neutral as he boarded, Mykos at his side. The captain, a corpulent man with greasy black hair and a perpetual sneer, greeted them on deck.
"Buyers, are you?" he asked, eyeing Kaelan's modest attire with obvious skepticism. "I've bed slaves, labor slaves, skilled craftsmen. What's your pleasure?"
"Unsullied," Kaelan replied curtly.
The captain's eyebrows rose. "Expensive taste for one so young. How many do you seek?"
"Two."
"Two?" The captain laughed, revealing teeth stained red from sourleaf. "Boy, the Unsullied fight as a unit. What good are two?"
"My needs are specific," Kaelan said, his tone cooling. "Two Unsullied, or none at all."
The captain shrugged. "Your coin, your choice. Twenty thousand honors for the pair."
"Fifteen," Kaelan countered. "I've heard business is poor in Qarth for Astapori traders."
A flash of annoyance crossed the captain's face. "Eighteen, and I choose which two. Young ones, with years of service ahead."
"Sixteen, and I choose," Kaelan replied firmly.
After a moment's consideration, the captain nodded. "Done. Come, see the merchandise."
He led them below decks, where the stench intensified dramatically. The hold had been divided into sections, with different types of slaves segregated by wooden barriers. In one corner, perhaps thirty Unsullied stood in perfect formation, despite the rolling of the ship—each identical in their spiked caps and plain armor, each holding a spear perfectly upright.
"Finest soldiers in the world," the captain declared proudly. "Each worth a hundred ordinary men. Choose your two."
Kaelan moved slowly along the line, studying each impassive face. The Unsullied did not meet his gaze, staring fixedly ahead as they had been trained to do since childhood. Their expressions betrayed nothing—no hope, no fear, no individuality whatsoever.
It was monstrous. Every instinct screamed at Kaelan to turn and walk away from this abomination. But he forced himself to continue, aware that his choice here mattered—if not to the broken system of Essos, then at least to the two lives he could directly affect.
He finally selected two: one older warrior whose face bore a thin scar across one cheek, and a younger one who, despite his training, had eyes that seemed slightly more alert than his fellows.
"These two," Kaelan declared.
The captain seemed amused by his selections. "The scarred one is called Gray Flea. The younger is Three Spear. Both have completed their training, including the final test." He didn't elaborate on what that final test entailed, but Kaelan knew—the killing of an infant before its mother's eyes, the ultimate severing of human empathy.
"They'll do," Kaelan said, his voice carefully controlled.
The transaction was completed on deck, with Mykos examining the documentation that transferred ownership to Kaelan. Such paperwork was taken seriously in Qarth, where slavery was a regulated industry with specific legal protections—for the owners, naturally, not the slaves.
As they left the ship, the two Unsullied followed silently, their faces revealing nothing of their thoughts. They carried only their spears and shields, marching in perfect unison despite having no orders to do so.
"Take them to my residence," Kaelan instructed Mykos. "I'll join you shortly. There's a matter I need to attend to first."
Mykos nodded, leading the Unsullied away while Kaelan took a deliberately circuitous route through the market district. He wanted to be absolutely certain they weren't being followed before returning home.
When he finally arrived at his residence, he found Mykos standing guard outside while the two Unsullied waited inside, still at perfect attention despite having been left unattended.
"Thank you, Mykos," Kaelan said. "I'll handle matters from here."
The old warrior hesitated. "You sure?"
"I'm sure," Kaelan replied firmly. "Return to the warehouses. Focus on securing what remains of our inventory and beginning repairs."
After Mykos departed, Kaelan entered his home and closed the door behind him, studying the two impassive warriors. They stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on the far wall, showing no curiosity about their new surroundings or master.
"At ease," Kaelan said, unsure if that was the proper command but hoping they'd understand his intent.
Neither warrior moved.
Kaelan sighed, then tried again. "You may relax. Sit if you wish."
After a moment's hesitation, both Unsullied shifted their stance slightly, though neither made any move to sit.
"I am Kaelan Dhasir," he began, choosing his words carefully. "And I have something important to tell you both."
He approached them slowly, maintaining a respectful distance. "In Qarth, I am now your legal owner. That is what the documents say." He paused, making sure he had their attention despite their blank expressions. "But I do not believe in ownership of people. Where I come from, slavery is considered an abomination."
For the first time, a flicker of confusion crossed the older Unsullied's face—so brief Kaelan might have missed it if he hadn't been watching closely.
"What I'm trying to say is this: I purchased you because I needed protection, and because leaving you on that ship would have changed nothing about your condition. But now that you're here, you should know that I consider you free men."
Neither warrior reacted visibly to this declaration.
"If you wish to leave—to go wherever you choose—I will provide you with coin for passage, civilian clothes, and whatever else you need to start a new life." Kaelan spread his hands. "Or, if you prefer, you may stay and work for me as paid guards. The choice is yours."
Silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, the older Unsullied—Gray Flea—removed his helmet, revealing a close-shaved head and features weathered by years of hardship.
"This one does not understand," he said, his voice rough from disuse. "Master says we are... free?"
"Yes," Kaelan confirmed. "Free to go, or free to stay. And if you stay, you'll be paid for your service, like any other employee."
The younger Unsullied, Three Spear, also removed his helmet. His expression remained guarded, but there was undeniable confusion in his eyes.
"No one frees Unsullied," he stated flatly.
"Well, I do," Kaelan replied simply. "The choice is yours."
The two warriors exchanged a brief glance—the first sign of genuine communication Kaelan had seen between them.
"This one..." Gray Flea began hesitantly, then stopped, seeming to struggle with the concept. "This one knows only how to be Unsullied. Would serve."
"Same," Three Spear added, his voice little more than a whisper. "This one serves."
Kaelan nodded, unsurprised by their decision. Freedom was a terrifying concept for those who had never experienced it. "Very well. But I have conditions. First, you're not to refer to yourselves as 'this one.' You are men with names—use them. Second, I want your honest counsel, not blind obedience. If I give a foolish order, I expect you to tell me so. And third, if at any point you change your minds and wish to leave, you may do so with my blessing and support."
The two former slaves seemed utterly bewildered by these conditions, but after a moment, Gray Flea nodded slowly.
"Gray Flea... understands. Will serve with counsel." The words seemed to taste strange in his mouth, but he continued. "Three Spear and I will protect you."
"Thank you," Kaelan said sincerely. "Now, let's discuss your equipment. That armor won't do in Qarth—it marks you too clearly as Unsullied, which carries certain... expectations about your status and behavior. We need something different."
He moved to a chest in the corner of the room, withdrawing several bundles of fabric and leather. "I've been experimenting with some designs that might offer better protection while being less conspicuous. But I'll need your input on what would work best for your fighting style."
As he spread the materials on the table, Kaelan made a subtle gesture with his hand. From various hidden corners of the room, insects began to emerge—ants, beetles, spiders, even a few scorpions—moving with deliberate purpose toward the table.
Three Spear noticed first, his eyes widening as he instinctively reached for his spear. Gray Flea followed his gaze, and for the first time, genuine shock registered on his face.
"What sorcery is this?" the older warrior breathed, watching as the insects began organizing the materials, some cutting, others binding, creating patterns that were clearly deliberate.
"Not sorcery," Kaelan replied with a small smile.
He directed more insects to join the work, revealing the full extent of his control as thousands of tiny bodies moved in perfect coordination, each performing its assigned task with precision. Beetles stronger than their size should allow carried leather pieces into position. Spiders began weaving connecting threads with supernatural speed. Ants formed living chains to transport smaller components.
The two Unsullied watched in stunned silence, their legendary discipline momentarily forgotten as they witnessed something beyond their comprehension.
"This," Kaelan said quietly, "is why someone tried to burn my warehouse. This is why I needed protection. And this is why, together, we're going to change the way things work in Qarth."
Gray Flea and Three Spear exchanged another glance, but this time it wasn't confusion that passed between them—it was something closer to awe.
"Master of insects," Three Spear murmured, his voice barely audible.
"Not master," Kaelan corrected gently. "Partner. Just as I hope to be with you both."
As the insects continued their work, crafting armor unlike anything seen before in Qarth—or perhaps all of Essos—Kaelan sensed a shift in the room's atmosphere. The two former slaves were still wary, still processing the implications of both their newfound freedom and their new employer's strange abilities.
But there was something else now too: a spark of genuine interest, perhaps even the faintest beginning of hope.