In a corner of the Argahan Kingdom, near the Espera region, there lived a child. At such a tender age, with no family, he was waiting in line at the market to be sold as a slave. His frail body revealed his weakness, and the scars on his skin told of the harsh treatment he had endured.
Rain continued to pour, washing over the cobblestone streets, while a heavy silence hung over the market. The shouts of the slave traders mixed with the patter of raindrops.
The boy rubbed his chained wrists and kept his eyes on the ground. Just then, an elderly man murmured,
"That child…" and approached him with his cane, examining him closely.
The trader said, "He's strong. Good arms. He'll work."
The old man looked into the boy's eyes and noticed a spark beneath the fear.
"I need someone to help in my inn's kitchen," he said. "But what I see here… he's no ordinary slave. I'll treat him like a son."
The trader shrugged. "Pay me, and he's yours."
The old innkeeper pulled out a pouch of gold. "Agreed."
The boy lifted his head in astonishment. For the first time, someone was buying him not with greed in their eyes, but with compassion.
"Come on, little one, it's a long journey," said the old man.
…
An hour into their journey, the innkeeper began to introduce himself.
"I'm Gurkant Desir. I run a small inn in Espera," he said. Then he asked, "What's your name?"
The boy seemed not to understand and remained silent.
The old man asked again, "What is your name, child?"
Shyly, the boy turned toward him and spoke:
"A slave cannot have a name, so I have none."
Gurkant paused for a moment, then smiled.
"Then your name shall be Aelir. How does that sound?"
Tears welled up in the boy's eyes. He could only whisper,
"Thank you."
Along the way, the two grew fond of each other, and by the time they reached the inn, they had become friends.