Many Kurkans died after they were taken as slaves. This child would share that fate. One last time, the King looked down and met those bright golden eyes.

They still shone, filled with the ferocity of beasts, and the King felt a shiver down his spine, followed swiftly by a flash of rage. How could he feel fear before a child? He couldn’t understand it, and it made him want to immediately wring the boy’s neck.

But the King suppressed these emotions. To show his anger was to admit his weakness. The child would die anyway. He would never see those golden eyes again.

***

The child’s name was Isha.

He never knew his parents’ faces. He was born during a civil war within Kurkan, and his parents were drawn into it to fight against the purists, only to be defeated.

The price of defeat was death.

His parents sacrificed their lives to save him, and their golden-eyed baby was taken in by other Kurkans. His life was not easy; he was an orphan, scavenging the battlefields to survive. Several times he escaped persecution from fanatical purists before he was finally captured, and sold to a slave trader like so many other half-breeds.

He was meant to die. But Isha survived, because the slave trader did not keep his promise to the King of Kurkan.

Instead, the slaver killed another Kurkan child of similar size, throwing him to wild animals to be torn to pieces. The ravaged remains were sent to the King, as proof of Isha’s death.

“I finally have pureblood, I can’t kill him.”

The slaver had mistaken him for a pureblooded Kurkan, and Isha made no attempt to correct him. The man likely wouldn’t believe him even if he did try to explain that he was a half-breed.

It was a cruel night.

Isha heard the screams of the child who died in his place. As he looked up at the countless stars scattered across the night sky, he could still smell that child’s blood. Isha’s life had been preserved by his death.

“May you rest like the sand of the desert…” he whispered, feeling helpless.

And with that feeble eulogy, Isha was taken to the auction house.

In that place, everything had a price. Both humans and Kurkans were sold together as if they were cattle, at prices that ranged from a few coins to precious jewels. No sane person could ever conceive the misery of that place.

Isha was considered a rarity there. All Kurkan slaves were valuable, but his appearance made him unique.

“What’s the situation in Estia?”

“Not bad. Easy to bring in fresh produce, as it’s close to the savages.”

The slavers were chatting amongst themselves. They sat with glasses of wine in their hands and nibbled from a wide variety of food on the plates before them. One of them swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away a bit of wine as he looked at Isha. Standing in a corner with both his wrists and ankles chained, Isha slowly turned his head toward the slaver. The man’s eyes were filled with interest.

“Is that him?”

“Yes,” said the slaver who had brought him to the auction house. His face was flushed with drunkenness. “He’s vicious, don’t go near him.”

“I don’t think so, he looks so calm.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the slaver snapped. “I killed a half-breed to keep this one alive. But then…”

He stopped and clicked his tongue.

“He’ll make a good profit, if he tames well.”

The other slavers laughed when he boasted that he would fetch the highest price at auction. After he showed them Isha, the slave called for one of the servants from outside the room.

“Take him away and teach him to be obedient.”

“Yes, sir.”

He was taken to a basement in the deepest part of the auction house, where the screams of slaves who had already been brought in pierced his ears. The servant’s smile was malicious as he grabbed Isha by the neck.

“Now you will learn to obey,” he said, and Isha bared his teeth. He had the feeling that he was going to live through hell.