After the humiliating spectacle of officially becoming property to Mister Purple Sky, we were immediately ordered to hurry back to our new accommodations. Or, as he so charmingly called it, “the barn.”

  I will never use a normal name for him. Nicknames will preserve my mind!

  I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this whole barn business, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. As much as I hated Karzi, at least I knew what to expect from her. Now, I was thrown into some unknown bar, surrounded by strangers equally enslaved but more beaten down.

  The awkward silence around me as we marched was unnerving.

  They moved together seamlessly, a rhythm to their steps, leaving me stumbling to match their pace, feeling about as graceful as a drunken german from Patrick’s. To distract myself from the discomfort of mismatched steps and tense atmosphere, I glanced sideways at the closest slave, attempting some friendly banter.

  “What a crazy turn of events, huh?” I forced a laugh that came out way more anxious than casual. “Karzi is gone! No more Karzi!”

  He turned slowly, eyes narrowed, face hard. “Master said no talking,” he whispered harshly.

  “Right,” I nodded, grinning despite the warning. “But technically, you just talked.” My attempt at humor went about as well as expected, his expression darkening even further. “Okay, okay!” I quickly mimed zipping my mouth shut, but he’d already turned away, posture rigid and shoulders tense.

  Not the best first impression, Charlie.

  As we walked through the city streets, I noticed something I hadn’t seen earlier. The sheer number of slaves out here was staggering.

  More than half of the humanoids bustling about wore those telltale dull brown outfits. They were everywhere; hauling carts, lugging barrels, even standing silently at shop entrances, their eyes fixed on the ground. Near a tannery, a sharp, acrid scent of leather processing assaulted my nose, making my eyes water.

  I forced down a cough, feeling the oppressive air of hopelessness weigh heavier on my shoulders.

  Finally, we reached the “slave house,” or rather, what passed for it. A large stone building loomed ahead, purple-robed overseers standing at attention. This time, I wasn’t ushered inside. Instead, we were directed to the side, toward another house that apparently was the infamous barn.

  Barn was generous.

  It was more like a storage facility. A spacious main room stretched out, lined with rows upon rows of obnoxiously pink stone tables and matching benches. I suppressed a shudder.

  Whoever decorated this place needed an intervention or perhaps a stern lecture on the psychology of colors.

  Beyond the dining area, I caught sight of an even larger room through wide doorways, endless rows of bunk beds made from cold, uncomfortable stone, stacked three high and stretching out like an oppressive sea. Hundreds of them, each slab topped by thin bedding that looked barely adequate to fend off the chill of the night.

  And then, of course, there were the “facilities.” I peeked into an adjoining room, immediately regretting it. A line of toilets, if you could call them that, were nothing more than crude holes cut into the stone floor, closely spaced, with absolutely zero privacy.

  Lovely. Because why would slaves deserve dignity, right? Efficiency of space was more important.

  “New slaves, sit down!” Mister Cloudy Sky barked, his voice echoing harshly around the room.

  Instantly, everyone scrambled for benches, pushing and shoving in a frantic bid to comply. I joined in reflexively, nudging an elf beside me who scowled fiercely as we both tried to claim the same spot. “Order!” Purple Sky shouted, exasperation coloring his tone. “You aren’t savages anymore!”

  Silence fell abruptly, the frenzied movement freezing in place. Except me. I glanced around awkwardly and then, deliberately, sat down, calmly and slowly.

  No one else moved.

  Stormy Sky sighed dramatically, massaging his temples as though we were giving him a particularly bad headache. “Observe and replicate. Sit down without shoving. Is intellect reserved solely for mages here?”

  A ripple of awkward, careful movements followed as the others mimicked me. Once we were all seated, he continued, voice methodical.

  “Here in Altandai, we handle things differently than your previous experiences. You now belong to the esteemed Broker House of the Purple Dragon. You will proudly wear your tag around your neck so anyone looking to purchase you know exactly where to find us.”

  If not-a-dragon knew they had a dragon in a name, what would happen? Burned down the city?

  As he spoke, a stern-faced assistant moved among us, handing out tags. When she reached me, she thrust an ornate purple scarf at me, fashioned like a stylized dragon, with a suspiciously light metal medallion dangling from it. Initially blank, I watched curiously as the elf beside me placed his around his neck; the medallion glowing briefly before text materialized on its surface.

  Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, I slipped mine over my head. It flashed briefly, and a neat script appeared:

  Great. Now I was officially merchandise. My stomach turned, nausea rising in my throat. I fought back the bile and forced a neutral expression. Not like being Karzi’s slave was any better.

  Mister never-sunny Sky continued, indifferent to my discomfort. “You must wear your tag at all times unless explicitly instructed otherwise. During your stay at our broker house, you’re expected to find employment in the city. I don’t care where or what you do. Fieldwork, labor at the harbor, whatever suits your skills, but find something by tomorrow evening. Your value dictates your workload. Those of you who fetch a higher price will be assigned personally by me.”

  His gaze fixed on me. “Mage. Find me when this is over.”

  “Yes, Master,” I replied mechanically, dipping my head obediently.

  He quickly called out three more elves from our ranks, their expressions proud as they also nodded.

  “One last thing,” he added, a dark smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Should any of you find yourself stolen, please be so kind as to inform the thief stealing you that being over fifteen miles from the binding stone will cause immediate ruining of the goods. Meaning your death.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Well, except Earth, that should be too far away and too low in mana to work.

  “Stay strong, eat sufficiently, and maintain your health. After all, your value diminishes significantly if you’re weak.”

  With a dismissive wave, he turned and strode away, robes billowing dramatically behind him. Silence filled the barn, broken only by occasional nervous shuffles or quiet coughs.

  As instructed, I walked after him, my feet dragging slightly over the cold stone floor, eyes fixed on the ground.

  Every step echoed dully in my ears, the click of heels from robed assistants ahead contrasting harshly with my soft, hesitant shuffle. My thoughts spun in circles, a tangle of rage and humiliation that made my stomach twist. Anger and shame clawed at each other inside me, vying for dominance… until both were overtaken by something hotter.

  A slow, steady burn of resolve smoldered deep in my chest, fierce and growing.

  I found him near the arched exit of the barn, standing beneath the flickering glow of enchanted lanterns. The light cast dancing shadows on his face as he spoke with two more assistants, their heads bowed respectfully. He turned at the sound of my approach, a smile already forming on his too-pleasant face.

  “Ah, mage, here you are,” he said in a calculated tone, like he was offering me a compliment and a threat in the same breath.

  He gestured lazily with two fingers, barely glancing at me as he continued. “Master mage of the White Dragon Tower has expressed interest. Says he might have a job for you. Tomorrow morning, go there. Impress him.”

  His eyes met mine briefly. “He may buy you, perhaps at a high price. Do not accept a class until he formally agrees to the transaction. You have my permission to run if anyone tries to force it on you.”

  Run? That caught me off guard.

  The idea of having permission to flee, even conditionally, felt absurdly surreal.

  “Otherwise,” he continued, already turning slightly back to his assistants, “the basic rules posted outside still apply.”

  “Yes, master,” I whispered, nodding, keeping my tone even. Inside, my mind screamed at the calmness of my voice. I wasn’t compelled by the spell, but by fear.

  “Good,” he replied with a smile, already half-dismissing me as he pivoted back to his conversation.

  I stood there a moment longer, the cold draft from the stone corridor brushing against the back of my neck, the weight of the scarf-tag like a collar I couldn’t unfeel.

  Impress him? Sure. I’d impress him all right.

  After a surprisingly decent meal that didn’t taste like it was scraped off the bottom of someone’s boot, I finally made my way over to the bed.

  Calling it a bed was pretty generous… more like a slab of cold stone with a shabby blanket thin enough to be transparent. As I sat down, the rigid hardness greeted my backside rudely, sending a jolt of discomfort up my spine. Not exactly luxury, but after sleeping on dirt and rocks for days, it was manageable.

  Whiskey room soon. Definitely whiskey room soon.

  I lay back, staring up at the rough ceiling above, flickering torchlight casting dancing shadows that mocked my discomfort. I stubbornly refused to meditate tonight, not wanting to accidentally mess up whatever fragile system had finally brought me home last time.

  That had to be it, right? Just skip the meditation, and everything would be fine.

  Probably?

  I reached for the skills just to pass the time, if only to distract myself from the weight of everything pressing on my chest.

  I stared at the glowing script suspended in front of me. The phrasing was so polished it could’ve been inscribed on a commemorative plate. Even the air around it felt a degree cooler, like the text was trying to radiate royal authority straight into my soul.

  And because it was worded this nicely, I immediately suspected it wasn’t meant for me.

  This had to be universal. Definitely not the usual snarky commentary Cloudy liked to throw my way. Either he stopped pretending, or he was really getting into the whole sovereign schtick.

  Still… “a sovereign’s fighting art”? Great. I knew about a dozen fighting arts, but creating my own… Well, now I was a frost queen with commitment issues and a murder stat.

  As I lay there, wrestling with doubts, thinking about my arts skill, the familiar feeling returned, the gentle tugging sensation that signaled my transportation to Earth. A quick snapping sensation passed through my body, and then—

  “Uh, good. Not dead yet, 15k defeated!” I whispered shakily to myself as my Earth apartment faded back into view.

  “Charlie!” Lola’s voice shrieked with relief and joy, her heels-footsteps clicking toward me before she crashed onto the bed, practically smothering me in a hug that felt both fierce and fragile. “You’re alive! Thank Saevrin!” Something thudded onto the floor as she squeezed me tighter, her heartbeat hammering through her chest and into mine.

  “He’s a real God, but stop using that bird’s name!” I laughed, returning her embrace just as tightly, breathing in the comforting scent of her delicate vanilla perfume mixed with faint traces of coffee. “And… yes, I’m back?” I glanced around, spotting her tablet lying abandoned on the carpet.

  “You weren’t… at home yesterday… I…” Her voice trembled with barely suppressed sobs. “I feared you died, or worse!”

  “Ah, Lola…” I whispered, gently running my fingers along her back, enjoying the warmth radiating through her business suit. “I’m back. There was a mishap, but I think I’m getting the hang of things now. I hope, at least.”

  She reluctantly pulled out of the hug, face flushed with embarrassment, eyes shining brightly with relief. “That’s good.”

  “I’m also relieved you are alive,” Jerry interjected from a speaker on my desk.

  “Who’s that?!” Lola whipped her head around frantically, blue eyes wide with surprise, her dark blue business suit crisp and professional, but somehow adorably mismatched with her startled expression. Her sleek black heels caught my eye, immediately earning the Charlie stamp of approval.

  “Jerry, her personal AI assistant. Nice to meet you,” Jerry replied dryly, sounding far too sarcastic and human-like to pass as a normal AI.

  Lola scratched her head awkwardly, eyes darting down toward her tablet. She hesitated, clearly torn between letting me go and retrieving it. Finally, she stretched out a hand, straining comically.

  I couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

  “Let’s move together then,” I whispered playfully, rolling across the bed to bring her within reach of the tablet. “I take it you set up your office in the empty room?”

  Realizing she was still clinging to me, Lola abruptly released her grip, immediately losing her balance and face-planting onto the tablet. Another giggle escaped my lips. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without being able to come back to Earth,” I murmured quietly as I sat at the edge of the bed, gazing out through the apartment window at the bustling city lights. “I’d go insane.”

  “Affirmative,” Jerry chimed smugly. “Your mental health—”

  “What did we say about playing therapist, Jerry?” I interrupted with mock sternness, glancing pointedly at the watch.

  He obediently fell silent before quietly admitting, “I had dreams. I want to go back.”

  My mouth opened, surprised at the longing undertone in Jerry’s voice. “Yeah,” I agreed softly, nodding thoughtfully.

  Of course, I had to take a shower. Hot water was one of those incredible luxuries Rimelion slavery couldn’t provide. The shower washed away layers of tension and residual anxiety, and afterward, wrapped in a plush towel, I collapsed dramatically onto the sofa simply because I could.

  “Uhm, lady, how much time do we have?” Lola asked hesitantly, standing nearby as I dangled upside-down off the sofa, hair cascading toward the floor. “We should probably ask Lady Lucy—”

  “I’ve already sent Lucy a message that Charlie is back,” Jerry interjected proudly, all business.

  With my head upside down, I saw Lola blink in surprise. “Oh, that should be my job,” she muttered uncertainly.

  “I can process thousands of threads per second,” Jerry retorted with smug superiority.

  “Knock it off, you two!” I giggled, flipping upright again and blinking against the dizzy rush of blood to my head. “Alright, Lola. We’re burning Altandai down.”

  “Nice plan!” Lucy’s cheerful voice came from the doorway as she strode confidently into the room, a red vest vibrant against her black pants.

  She waved casually, beaming. I raised an eyebrow at the speaker. “Jerry, you let her in?” I asked, feigning surprise even though I knew better.

  “Of course,” Jerry replied innocently. “She has clearance.”

  I sat up fully now, letting the weight of Rimelion settle back into my bones. That itchy pressure of purpose I couldn’t ignore anymore. “Okay, now that you’re here…” I dropped the playfulness from my voice, letting it slip into something colder. “I need your help to find the best of my plans. Plans on how to blow up the binding stone.”