The sound of rattling iron was the first thing Kairo heard.
Not birds. Not drills. Not Igron's usual teasing voice.
Just chains.
His eyes snapped open to dim torchlight flickering against damp stone walls. A stench of mold and rust filled the air. His wrists were bound in thick shackles, cold iron digging into pale skin. The same chains weighed on his ankles, linked to the wall behind him.
He turned his head. The others were there too—Selaih, Renn, Callen, the youngest girl Mira—all slumped, groggy, their small bodies tethered like cattle waiting for slaughter. Igron was awake, glaring into the shadows with teeth clenched, illusion sparks crackling faintly before fizzling against the suppressive runes carved into the floor.
"Mana seals," Igron spat, his voice low. "She knew exactly what she was doing."
Steps echoed in the dark corridor. The mistress entered, her silken dress brushing the stone, torchlight painting her face in cruel amber. She looked them over not as children, not as students—but as property.
"Good," she said, satisfied. "All of you survived the first year. Stronger. Sharper. More valuable."
Her eyes lingered on Selaih. The corner of her mouth curled into a smile.
"And some of you… priceless."
Selaih shrank back, her wrists straining against her chains, the faint celestial spark in her aura glowing even through the seals.
Kairo pulled against his shackles, the metal biting into his flesh. A low growl escaped his throat—an unfamiliar sound, even to him.
The mistress only chuckled.
"Save your strength, boy. You'll fetch your worth soon enough."
She turned, her voice echoing down the corridor.
"Prepare the wagons. Tomorrow, the buyers arrive."