Chapter 1 — The Elven Warrior's Choice
The chains were cold that morning.
Not the biting kind of cold that numbs the skin—this one sank deeper, into her bones, into the silence that had become her world.
The girl knelt beside dozens of others in the muddy square, her wrists bound, her pale hair tangled from the night wind. Her eyes—soft, the color of faint amber—stared at the ground, never daring to meet the faces of those who came to buy.
The nobles whispered. Soldiers watched. The air smelled of rain and fear.
Then the crowd parted.
A tall figure walked through, quiet as shadow but heavier than any sound. His steps were slow, deliberate—like someone used to being obeyed without question. His cloak was dark green, embroidered with silver leaves that shimmered faintly under the light. His eyes were colder than steel.
An elf.
Even the traders bowed their heads as he passed.
She tried not to look, but something inside her—something foolish and small—made her lift her gaze. And in that single instant, the world stopped.
Those eyes found her.
Not the girls crying for mercy. Not the ones with silks or jewels around their necks.
Only her—thin, trembling, with hair like soft moonlight and a chain biting her skin.
He stopped in front of her. No words, no emotion.
Only silence.
Then he said, quietly, "I'll take this one."
The merchant stammered. "M-My lord, she's frail, barely worth—"
A single glance silenced him. The elf's hand reached for his pouch, tossing a handful of silver that sparkled as it hit the ground.
"Prepare her," he ordered.
And just like that—without knowing his name, his reason, or what fate awaited her beyond those gates—
the girl's life, which had belonged to no one, now belonged to him.