Enslaved and Changed

A few days later, their wagon rolled into the city of Hearthford. The place was known for traveling and trading both, though trading ruled everything here—coin first, questions later. The three men who had taken the children checked into a cheap inn and kept the kids hidden in the wagon under a torn tarp. The streets outside were crowded with travelers, but the wagon stayed covered. No risks.

At night, Hearthford changed. In the alleys and cellars, doors opened that weren’t there in the day. An auction started in the shadows, quiet but busy. People bought and sold almost anything.

The three men pulled the children from the wagon and took them into a low hall lit by smoky lamps. The boy kept his eyes down. One of the girls cried; the other held her hand tight.

“Three at once?” someone said.
“Good age,” another answered. “Put them up.”

Bids went fast. The children were sold to a slave trader for a high price. The deal was signed, the coin was counted, and the kids were dragged to a damp stone cell. The iron door slammed. The three men left without looking back.

Morning came with boots on the stairs. Guards opened the door. The trader stood with shiny iron collars etched in faint runes.

“These keep you where you belong,” he said. “Run, and the seal burns you to ash.”

The collars clicked shut around their necks. They were put to work the same day. The food was thin; the orders were sharp. If they slowed, the whip spoke. Days turned into weeks, then months.

One afternoon a woman came. She was not like the usual buyers. Her clothes were simple but neat, and her voice was calm. She crouched to the girls’ height and spoke softly.

“You’ll be safe with me. I’ll take care of you.”

The girls looked at each other, then nodded. Papers were signed. The boy watched from behind bars as the woman helped the girls onto her wagon. His chest hurt, but he felt relief.

At least they won’t suffer here.

That night, as he lay on the straw, the shadow returned. She had come before—always at the edges of sight, always when he could do nothing. This time she hovered over him, clear as breath in cold air. Two black wings spread from her back, folding and unfolding like smoke.

“Got you at last,” she whispered.

The shadow sank into him. There was no pain, only a steady weight, and then a strange lightness. His thin body felt a little stronger. His tangled black hair faded to white. His dark eyes turned a pale, stony gray.

Morning came. He moved like always, but something was different. A word slipped out of his mouth without thinking.

“…okay.”

He froze. I spoke.
No one around him cared. Work was work.

A few days later, the trader sent for him. The boy was taken to a small office. Inside, a man in a black butler’s coat stood near the desk. He was neat and quiet and looked like nothing surprised him.

The trader leaned back, greedy smile in place. “If you want the boy, name your price.”

“Any,” the butler said.

The trader named a number that made the guard by the door blink. The butler didn’t flinch. He signed the paper and slid payment across the desk.

“Done,” he said.

Before the boy could be led away, the trader took a small key with a rune carved into it. He stepped close, turned the key against the collar’s seal, and the runes went dark. With a clean click, the collar opened. He lifted it off and set it on the desk.

“There,” the trader said. “No collar. He’s yours.”

The butler nodded once and placed a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Come.”

They left Hearthford behind. After several days of travel, they reached a wide road lined with trees and a gate of black iron. Beyond it stood a large mansion with pale stone walls and careful gardens. Fountains splashed clear water. Servants moved with quiet steps.

The boy stared. He had never seen anything like it.

Inside, the butler led him to a man in his forties. The man’s blonde hair was tidy, and his blue eyes were sharp. He looked the boy over and gave a small nod. No words. The butler understood and guided the boy down the hall to a tall wooden door. He knocked.

“Come in,” a girl’s voice called.

They stepped into a bright room lined with shelves and papers. A girl sat at a desk, quill in hand. Her pastel-blonde hair fell over her shoulders. Her blue eyes were lively, not cold. She looked to be around the boy’s age, maybe a little older.

The butler bowed. “Milady. Your father has brought you what you requested.”

“Oh?” She set down her quill and stood. “Where is he?”

The boy stepped forward. His clothes were ragged. His hair—now white—fell into his eyes. He bowed clumsily.

She blinked at the sight of him, then gave a small, honest smile. “He knows his manners. That’s good.”

She walked around him once, not unkind, just careful. “Yes,” she said at last. “He’ll do.”

Her voice softened. “What’s your name?”

The boy swallowed. Words felt new in his mouth, but they came. “I… I don’t have one.”

“You don’t?” She looked surprised, then thoughtful. “No name at all?”

He shook his head. “No.”

The butler said quietly, “He has none, Milady.”

She nodded, decided. “Then I’ll give you one.” She glanced at his clothes and the dust on his face. “But first—get cleaned up while I think. I want to see you properly.”

“Yes, Milady,” the butler said.

He guided the boy away. For the first time in months, the boy bathed in warm water. His hair was washed and combed. He was given plain, clean clothes. When he looked into the small mirror above the basin, the white hair and gray eyes looked back at him. He didn’t know who he was, but he looked… different. Almost new.

They returned to the girl’s room. She brightened as soon as she saw him.

“Much better,” she said. “Now I can think clearly.”

The butler bowed.

The girl tapped her chin, then smiled as if the answer had clicked into place. “All right. I’ve decided.” She stepped closer, eyes warm but steady. “From this day on, you will be named—”