Sold to the Crucible

Adele stood there, draped in rags and shackled, as the eyes of the nobles and privileged of Kadar appraised her, as if she were naught but cattle at the market. Her body trembled with the weight of their scrutiny, yet she held herself with the last vestiges of dignity.

It grew harder to do so with each passing moment. Most of the crowd’s gaze was fixed upon her. The lack of hair upon her head, her lashes and brows stripped away, this did not trouble them. No, she knew it would not. Her face, too beautiful, too striking, could not be ignored by the gaze of even the most discerning.

“How much for that one?” boomed a corpulent man, his belly straining against the seams of his robe. A thick, untamed beard clung beneath his chin, too wild to be called a beard, too unruly to be overlooked.

Beside him, an umbella stretched high above, the woven shade casting a cool shadow over his face. Slaves stood nearby, their iron collars glinting in the harsh sun. The women slaves around him wore nothing but a tunic, their breasts scarcely covered, while the men donned subligaria and tunics that draped their shoulders, the cloth barely serving as modesty.

Matteo, ever the opportunist, grinned before turning to Adele. His eyes met hers, and for the briefest moment, something flickered in his gaze. Then, with a subtle shift, he looked away.

“It seems you are all eager,” he called out to the gathering crowd. “A rare beauty, this one. And she comes at no small price.” His hand gripped the back of Adele’s neck, dragging her forward with a force that made her breath catch.

He turned to the trembling girl beside her, whose eyes were wide with terror. “You may have her for fifty denarii,” he offered to one of the men in the crowd. The girl recoiled, her body trembling in fear, and the lanky man with the yellowed teeth moved to claim her.

“No, no!” she screamed as the chains binding her legs were lifted. He gripped her roughly, his hands upon her body, and she fought against him, thrashing in desperation. He struck her face hard, and two men seized her limbs, pulling her down from the platform, leaving Adele alone in the center of the crowd.

“Now, we begin the bidding. Five hundred denarii for this Omega,” Matteo proclaimed, his voice carrying over the hush that had fallen. With a swift motion, he tore the flimsy covering from Adele’s chest, exposing her to the gathered crowd. Instantly, the bidding began in earnest, each voice raised, eager to outdo the other.

A man shouted, “One thousand denarii!”

Two thousand.

Three thousand.

Three thousand, five hundred.

The watching crowd gasped in astonishment, but the bidding did not end. It escalated, the coin raised higher with each shouted bid, until—

“Eight thousand denarii!” A man, who had not been present until that moment, stepped forward, his voice commanding attention. His slaves, two men at his side, dropped a heavy pouch of coins onto the platform.

Matteo’s eyes widened in disbelief, yet greed never left him. “Any higher?” he called, his voice eager for more.

But the crowd fell silent, murmurs passing amongst them. The large man with the beard and his wife turned away, frowning at the sudden turn of events.

Adele looked at the newcomer, assessing him. He was not tall, but from his attire, it was clear he was a man of means.

“Then it is sealed,” Matteo declared, his voice thick with resignation. “Sold to Cassianus Letulus.”

The man nodded, his gaze steady, but he spoke no words. There was something familiar in the way Matteo spoke his name, Cassianus, like he knew him well.

With a final shove, Matteo pushed Adele down from the platform, heedless of the height. She teetered on the edge, and before she could fall, one of Cassianus’ slaves swiftly caught her, preventing her from hitting the ground. Meanwhile, Matteo busied himself with counting his money, oblivious to anything but the jingling of coins.

Adele pushed away from the grasp of one of the slaves, their eyes locking for a brief moment. She quickly averted her gaze and, with haste, pulled the torn fabric back into place to cover herself.

“Come, we leave now,” Cassianus spoke coldly, turning without a second glance, not even bothering to handle her as other men did with those they bought. As they walked, Adele tried to catch a whiff of his scent. It wasn’t overwhelming, but there was no mistaking it—he was an Alpha, most likely a Vorren Alpha.

They moved in silence, passing markets and scenes of debauchery, until at last they were far from it all. The houses grew sparse, and ahead, in the distance, she spotted a grand estate near the edge of a cliff.

They arrived at the gate, and as the large doors opened, Adele was met with the sight of a training ground. Men were practicing with wooden swords, their movements sharp and swift, the clang of wood against wood echoing across the yard. Sweat glistened on their darkened skin as they engaged in fierce drills.

And in that instant, it struck her.

This man… he was no mere merchant.

The training grounds, the harsh sounds of combat, the grunts, and the roars of men brought the realization crashing down upon her. This was no ordinary home. This was a crucible. A place where slaves were forged into killers, into entertainment, into tools for the wealthy and cruel.

The Bloodborn, they called them.

And now… she was property of their master.

Adele’s heart seized in her chest. Why had she been bought? Women were not made into Bloodborn.

As she stood frozen, lost in the realization, a slave nearby cleared his throat hurriedly, pulling her from her thoughts. She turned quickly and followed him into the villa, where others had already gone.

The villa loomed before them, its towering stone walls encircling a well-kept courtyard. Inside, polished marble floors stretched across vast rooms, high ceilings held up by grand columns. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, and elegant furniture filled the space, a testament to wealth and opulence.

Before long, they reached a room, its entrance curtained by a large red fabric. The master of the house entered first, the two male slaves following behind him, leaving Adele standing outside. She could hear the murmur of voices, though the words were unclear, but then she caught a sharp retort.

“That’s too much! You overpay for a filthy slave,” a woman’s voice raised in anger.

“No,” came Cassianus’ calm reply. “I take us to greater heights. You must see her, she’s perfect for the course.”

Adele’s heart skipped. What course?

Then, the woman emerged. She was tall, towering over Adele, and she seized her chin with her hand, lifting her face to meet her gaze.

Cassianus followed closely behind. “She’s perfect,” he affirmed with a cruel smile.