"That depends on your prices, kind sir..." Sylvaris replied, his tone calm, measured—but carrying the unmistakable weight of a man who wasn't here to waste words.
"Hahaha! Young man, you've come to the right place. Come, come—tell me, which girl catches your eye?" the man said, gesturing grandly as he led Sylvaris through the wall of warriors. Mercenaries, most likely. The kind who'd rip a man's throat out the moment he gave them a reason.
"That one," Sylvaris said, pointing with lazy precision. "The one with the exotic hair and face."
He said it casually, like he was picking out fruit, though his gaze didn't shy away from the rest. He let his eyes roam freely over the rows of beauties trapped in their cages—bare, displayed like merchandise, all of them temptations in their own right. But he wasn't here to be a hero. He wasn't here to save them all. He didn't have the time, and he sure as hell didn't have the energy. He wanted one. Just one. And that was enough.
