He turned slowly to Renold. "I want her."
Renold let out a quiet sigh, one that seemed to carry the weight of too many resigned mornings.
"Very well, Master. I will make the arrangements."
***
The low hum of the magic train blended into the silence that pressed against Selene Vael's chest.
She sat near the window, her breath fogging the glass as snow-laced scenery blurred past—frozen forests, hills she once knew, now hollow with distance.
Her wrists rested in her lap, manacles of faintly glowing silver etched with containment runes. A light enchantment. Enough to remind her that she was no longer free.
She hadn't spoken since boarding.
The train moved from the glittering central capital—where she once walked the marble halls of Magic Academy—to the cold, quiet Western Province where her old home now stood tainted by scandal.
Her family's estate, once respected, now whispered of with scorn.
The news of her father's execution hadn't even come from an official.
She'd learned of it through hushed voices and half-concealed pity. Count Vael—her father—branded a traitor to the kingdom and sentenced without trial.
She stared at her reflection in the window. The face that stared back looked hollow. Pale. Like a ghost of a student who once dreamed only of spellwork and scholarship.
'He wouldn't have done this', she thought. 'He couldn't'.
Her father had been stern, yes. Ambitious. But not a man who would sell out his kingdom.
She had studied under him, eaten at his table, seen the stress behind his eyes as he tried to navigate the choking web of noble politics.
There had to be a scheme. A setup. She could feel it in her bones. But she had no power now to prove it.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her seat.
She lowered her head and whispered into the emptiness,
"I'll wait… and when the time comes, I'll break these chains."
Her voice shook.
"I'll prove he wasn't a traitor."
Then, after a long pause, she lifted her head and looked out at the snow again.
"But if someone tries to humiliate me… to touch me like I'm some pet to own…"
Her voice grew cold.
"I'll end it myself. I won't be anyone's toy."
She managed a faint, bitter smile.
"Haa... I have no regrets."
The train rolled onward, uncaring and steady. Ahead lay chains, silence, and a fate she hadn't chosen. But deep inside, Selene Vael clung to the only thing left untouched—her will.
***
Kael finally arrived at the holding facility—an unimpressive stone compound tucked behind the city's outer market ring. It looked more like an old warehouse than the place where nobles-turned-slaves awaited their final humiliation.
Renold led the way, his boots clicking crisply on the cold cobblestones.
"The train from the central province arrived not even an hour ago," he said, glancing at a sealed parchment in hand.
"She's already listed for tonight's auction. Public. Prime evening slot."
Kael exhaled, hands in his coat pockets.
"Ah. So she's the headliner. Great. Nothing says class like bidding wars over someone's ruined life."
Renold didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "I used a few connections to get us early access. Before she's... processed."
"Processed." Kael echoed the word like it was something you'd do to meat.
They passed through an iron gate flanked by two armored guards.
Neither asked questions.
Inside, the air smelled of old mana stones and disinfectant—like a hospital that had given up halfway through becoming one.
The holding rooms were divided by enchanted barriers that shimmered faintly, dull gray magic pulsing with containment runes.
Renold motioned toward one cell at the far end.
"She's in there," Renold said, his voice low. "Came quietly. No chains. No sedatives."
He hesitated, then added with a dry edge, "For now."
Kael didn't respond. He simply started forward, his footsteps muffled against the cold stone floor, each step deliberate—measured like someone approaching something fragile... or dangerous.
Soon, he reached her.
She was sitting on the cold, dirt-streaked floor, her posture weary but composed.
Even from a distance, Kael found himself caught off guard by her moonlit beauty—her face flawless, almost goddess-like, framed by strands of tangled silver hair.
Slowly, her eyes lifted, meeting his.
There she was—sitting on the floor, dressed in dirtied remnants of what once were academy robes. Dignity clung to her posture, even if the world had stripped her of everything else.
And there he stood—polished boots, fine cloak, trimmed collar. A noble through and through, at least in appearance.
The silence hung thick between them, heavy and uncomfortable.
Renold cleared his throat politely, the sound sharp in the quiet.
"So... this is where they keep the prodigies now?"
Kael said, tone light, trying far too hard to sound unaffected.
Selene didn't answer right away. Her gaze swept over him—top to bottom—as if trying to decide whether he was real, or just another disappointment dressed in gold.
Then she spoke, voice low but sharp.
"If you came to gloat, you're late. I've already heard every noble insult in the book. You'd just be repeating footnotes."
Kael blinked. "Gloat? Gods, no. I don't have the energy for smug today. I was aiming for 'slightly confused but generally well-meaning buyer.' How am I doing?"
She didn't smile. But her head tilted slightly, like she was sizing up a strange new animal.
"Poorly."
"Ah," Kael nodded. "So honest. Definitely not broken. That's refreshing."
Renold, standing behind him, cleared his throat again, less politely this time.
Kael glanced back. "What? I'm bonding."