Nathan's voice came out weaker than he intended, barely more than a rasp. The slaver outside the cage tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his scarred face like a crack in old leather.
"What happened?" the man repeated, his tone mocking. "You got caught, Elf."
"That's what happened. Now shut your mouth before I decide to break those pretty teeth of yours."
Nathan's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. His mind was still trying to catch up with reality, sorting through fragments of memory that didn't quite fit together.
Starting from the fire that leads to his death, and a mysterious voice calling him king. And now this, chains, cages, and a body that wasn't his own.
The slaver turned away, barking orders at someone Nathan couldn't see. Moments later, rough hands grabbed him by the arms, yanking him upright.
His legs buckled beneath him, weak and uncoordinated, but the guards didn't care. They dragged him out of the cage and into the blinding sunlight.
Nathan squinted against the glare, his eyes slowly adjusting to the scene before him. They were in a massive courtyard paved with cracked stone, surrounded by tall wooden platforms and iron pens.
Hundreds of people milled about, some dressed in fine silks and others in common wool, all of them browsing the merchandise on display. The merchandise being people.
Nathan's stomach turned as he took it all in. Men and women stood chained to posts, their faces blank with resignation. Children huddled together in cramped cages, their eyes wide with terror. And everywhere, were Elves.
But not like him. Every single one of them was female. They stood in neat rows on raised platforms, their wrists bound with enchanted silver chains that glowed faintly in the sunlight.
Their skin ranged from pale ivory to warm amber, their hair cascading in shades of gold, silver, and copper. They were beautiful in a way that seemed almost unnatural, like living sculptures carved by a master artist.
And they were utterly broken. Nathan could see it in their eyes, that hollow emptiness that came from having every shred of dignity stripped away. Some stared at nothing, their expressions vacant.
Others trembled quietly, tears streaming down their faces. A few tried to cover themselves with their hands, but the chains made it difficult.
The guards shoved Nathan forward, and he stumbled, his bare feet scraping against the hot stone. They led him through the crowd, past leering faces and grasping hands, until they reached a smaller platform near the center of the market.
A portly man in expensive robes waited there, his fingers glittering with rings. He looked Nathan up and down with the critical eye of someone appraising livestock, then turned to the slaver with a frown.
"You said you had something special, Grevik. This better not be another waste of my time."
Grevik, the scarred slaver, grinned wider. "Oh, it's special all right. Take a closer look, Master Torvald."
Torvald stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he examined Nathan's face, his pointed ears, the strange silver sheen of his skin. Then his gaze dropped lower, and his expression changed completely.
"By the gods," Torvald breathed, his eyes going wide. "Is that—"
"A male," Grevik confirmed, practically vibrating with excitement.
"A male Elf. First one I've ever seen in thirty years of trading."
Torvald's hand shot out, grabbing Nathan's chin and tilting his head from side to side. Nathan jerked back instinctively, but the chains held him in place. The merchant's fingers were cold and clammy, making Nathan felt his skin crawl at the touch.
"Impossible," Torvald muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Male Elves don't exist."
"Everyone knows that. They're a single-gender race, all female, blessed by the old gods to serve mankind."
"Well, this one exists," Grevik said, his grin never faltering. "Found him in the western raids."
"Confused as a newborn when we dragged him out of the forest. Doesn't even speak proper Common yet."
That was a lie, Nathan realized. He understood every word they were saying, even though the language itself was foreign. Some strange magic at work, perhaps, translating their speech directly into his mind.
Torvald released Nathan's chin and stepped back, his expression shifting from shock to calculation. "If word of this gets out, every noble house in the kingdom will want him."
"The Church too, probably. They'll say he's an abomination or a miracle, depending on which faction gets to him first."
"That's why I came to you first," Grevik said, lowering his voice.
"We split the profit, you handle the auction, and we both walk away richer than kings."
Torvald hesitated, clearly weighing the risks against the potential fortune. Finally, he nodded. "Get him cleaned up and presentable. I want him on the auction block within the hour."
Nathan's blood ran cold. Auction block. They were going to sell him like a piece of furniture, and from the way they were talking, the bidding would be fierce.
The guards dragged him away again, this time toward a stone building at the edge of the courtyard. Inside, they stripped away his chains and shoved him into a shallow basin filled with frigid water. Rough brushes scrubbed at his skin until it burned, and someone poured a bucket of foul-smelling soap over his head.
Nathan endured it in silence, his mind racing. He needed to escape, but how? His body was weak, unfamiliar, and surrounded by armed men who wouldn't hesitate to beat him unconscious if he tried anything. For now, all he could do was watch and wait for an opportunity.
When they were finished, they dressed him in a simple white tunic that barely reached his thighs, leaving most of his legs exposed. The fabric was thin and translucent, clearly meant to show off the merchandise rather than provide any real modesty.
Then they led him back outside, up a set of wooden steps to the largest platform in the market. A crowd had already gathered, larger than before. Word must have spread fast.
Nathan could see nobles in their fine clothes pushing their way to the front, their eyes gleaming with interest. Merchants whispered to each other, making quick calculations. Even a few robed figures that looked like clergy stood at the back, their expressions unreadable.
Torvald climbed onto the platform beside Nathan, raising his hands for silence. The crowd quieted almost immediately, their attention fixed on the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Torvald began, his voice carrying across the courtyard with practiced ease.
"Today I present to you something truly extraordinary. Something that defies all known history and lore."
He gestured dramatically toward Nathan. "Behold, a male Elf!"
The crowd erupted into noise. Gasps, shouts of disbelief, angry accusations that it was a trick or a hoax. Torvald let them have their moment, then raised his hands again.
"I assure you, this is no deception. My personal mages have verified his authenticity. He is pure-blooded Elvish, with all the markers of their race. And yes, he is undeniably male."
A woman in blue silk near the front called out, "How is that possible? Elves are all female!"
"A question for the scholars, my lady," Torvald replied smoothly. "But the fact remains, he exists. And he is for sale."
"Shall we start the bidding at five thousand gold?"
"Ten thousand!" someone shouted immediately.
"Fifteen!"
"Twenty thousand, and I'll throw in a trade contract for spices from the eastern shores!"
The bids came fast and furious, numbers climbing higher and higher as the crowd descended into a frenzy. Nathan stood there, frozen, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He watched the faces below him, saw the greed, the curiosity, the hunger in their eyes.
They didn't see him as a person. They saw him as a thing, a prize to be won and possessed.
Something hot and bitter coiled in Nathan's chest, spreading through his veins like poison. It wasn't fear anymore. It was rage, pure and searing, building with every shouted bid and leering smile.
These people had reduced an entire race to slavery, stripped them of their dignity and freedom, treated them like objects to be bought and sold. And now they wanted to do the same to him.
Nathan's nails bit into his palms hard enough to draw blood. His vision seemed to sharpen, the colors around him growing more vivid, almost painfully bright. He could feel something stirring deep inside him with an ancient and wild that had been sleeping until now.
The voice from his death echoed in his memory. "Your soul remembers the forest."
"Return, Elf King."
Nathan lifted his head, staring out at the crowd with eyes that burned with cold fury. If they wanted to make him a slave, they were welcome to try. But they would regret it.