The Best Menu!

Inside a prison. Or rather, a holding chamber. There was no trace of light, not a single flicker to chase away the swallowing darkness.

From beyond the thick stone walls, distant sounds bled into the silence. Cheers, sharp and jagged, mixed with cries that seemed to take turns, voices echoing like a crude chorus of unseen revelers.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Somewhere, unseen droplets of water fell steadily, their rhythm cutting into the oppressive stillness.
Within that suffocating blackness, a figure sat slumped upon the cold floor. His posture was bent forward, his head bowed low, the sight of him enough to stir pity in even the hardest of hearts.

Both of his hands were shackled by thick bands of dark iron, bound together by a chain equally black. His wrists bore the heavy weight, making every movement a torment. He could not stretch freely, could not even raise a hand to scratch the itch crawling across his back.

His legs fared no better. Only one was chained, the right, fastened to an enormous ball of blackened iron. The weight was grotesque, as though he were some terrible beast that might destroy a city if ever loosed.

The prisoner was a young man with hair of pale blond, not the radiant gold of a charming Protagonist, but tangled, dirty, clumped with grease, dulled by neglect. Strands clung limply against his hollow cheeks, hair that once might have shone now reduced to lifeless straw.

And his face… it bore the sharp edges of starvation. Cheekbones jutted like broken fragments of shell, carving shadows into his skin. His lips were cracked, drained of color, and his golden eyes had no light, they never did.

He wore no shirt, his bare torso laid open to the cold air, revealing a canvas of scars. Thin cuts, long slashes, the merciless tracks of whips. All etched across his flesh as if he were no man but parchment for cruelty.

Every breath he drew rattled from his chest, heavy, labored. He inhaled with difficulty, then forced the air out through his mouth, repeating it over and over without pause, as though life itself clung stubbornly to him.

Thud. Thud.

Heavy footsteps struck the stone floor in the distance. The sound grew closer, each impact harsh, echoing along the silent corridor.

Thud!

The tread landed heavier now.

Creak.

The door groaned open.

Stepping through was a bald man, his figure broad and his shoulders scarred. His attire, rough and practical, bore marks of countless battles, declaring without words that he was a fighter of grim experience.

He moved toward the cell where the chained blond prisoner waited. Producing a large iron key, he slid it into the lock, turning it with practiced ease.

“Your turn has come, Prince,” the bald man spoke, his voice rough, laced with disdain.

The prisoner kept his head bowed. His breaths grew louder, harsher.
The bald man frowned.

“Are you deaf?” he demanded, glaring at the prisoner.

Grinding his teeth, the guard drew a whip from his belt with visible irritation.

“You force my hand, Prince.” His sneer twisted with malice as he stepped forward, whip raised high.

For a fleeting instant, his eyes blinked. When they opened—

The blond prisoner was already on his feet. Shackles clanged, the black chain stretched taut as he surged forward with startling speed.

The guard froze in shock. How could a man so gaunt, shackled with a massive iron ball, can move so fiercely?

Before he could retreat, the chain lashed around his neck.

“Khhhekhh!” the bald man gasped, clawing desperately at the iron that bit into his throat.

But the blond man pulled tighter. His thin arms, though weak, were merciless in their grip.

The guard’s face darkened, turning shades of blue, froth spilling from his mouth as he flailed. He struck the prisoner’s ribs with frantic elbows, blows born of desperation.

The prisoner responded by raising his leg, driving his heel sharply into the back of the guard’s knee. The man collapsed to the stone floor, forced to kneel.

Cold, pitiless golden eyes stared down at him. There was no sympathy there, no hesitation. Only the instinct to strike back at one who meant to hurt him.

Creak.

The door opened again.

A man entered, dressed in crimson. A red vest beneath a long red coat, a red fedora shading his eyes. His steps were confident as he beheld the sight. His men strangled mercilessly by the shackled blond.

“Wretched slave! Release him at once!” the man barked, his voice sharp with authority.

At his words, the collar around the prisoner’s neck shimmered, the embedded orange crystal glowing faintly. At once, strength drained from the blond man’s body. His limbs grew heavy, his grip faltered, and he collapsed back into helplessness.

The bald guard crashed to the ground, his body limp. His face was blue, foam still clinging at his lips. Lifeless.

The fedora man’s eyes widened, then narrowed again. He sighed through clenched teeth. His dangerous slave had killed yet another subordinate.

“Ha…” a bitter laugh slipped from his throat.

“Well done. You’ve taken another of my men. The count now runs in double digits. How deeply I loathe you, boy.” His voice carried the weight of hatred, drawn from wounds long festering.

The blond prisoner said nothing, only breathed heavily once more.

“You are fortunate,” the fedora man continued. “Were this not the day of your sale, I would see your back lashed a hundred times over. No… a thousand.” His black eyes burned into the prisoner’s.

“Do you hear me? Today, you shall be sold. Does that not please you?”

 Silence, the prisoner’s gaze remained upon the corpse he had felled.

The fedora man spared the dead guard a glance, exhaling at the thought of compensation owed to the family. Then his eyes returned to the chained blond.

“Freedom awaits, perhaps. If fortune smiles. If not… your next master will treat you worse than I ever did.”

He massaged the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Do you know the cost of your insolence? Your own body has paid the price. That thin frame of yours, that starvation, that is your doing. Had you not slain every man sent to your cell, I would not have cut your rations.”

And yet, despite his words, he allowed a crooked smile. “Even so… you are my most valuable asset. And today, you will fetch a fine price from the filth that call themselves nobles.”

He seized the prisoner’s hair, forcing his head upward. Their eyes met, gold against black.

“So at least,” he whispered, “show me a smile. Flex those hardened muscles you still possess.”

Despite his starved state, the prisoner’s lean body carried definition, as though beneath the hunger still lay the shadow of a knight.

The fedora man chuckled. “Heh. With those looks, perhaps some aging lady of nobility will keep you as her plaything.”

The prisoner only stared, his eyes sharp, Were it not for the shackles and the cursed collar, every soul in the room would already lie dead at his feet.

The fedora man’s grin widened at the defiance in his eyes. “Do your best on stage. Make me rich with the price of your miserable life.”

He released his grip and turned away. “Follow me.”

The collar glowed again. Against his will, the blond prisoner rose and stepped forward, his body moving like a puppet bound by unseen strings.
They walked the dim stone corridor, torches lining the walls. 

Their footsteps echoed endlessly until they reached a spiraling staircase. Upward they climbed, the prisoner’s eyes boring into the back of his master with seething hatred.

At last, they reached the top, where crimson curtains hung before them.
The fedora man faced him once more.

“Remember. No speaking. No shouting. No raging before the buyers, understood?” He slapped the prisoner’s cheek lightly.

The collar gleamed again, cutting off the blond man’s attempt to reply. His throat locked as if stuffed with stone.

“Good,” the fedora man murmured. “Now, let us see how high you sell.”

He drew back the curtain slowly. A flood of dazzling light pierced the prisoner’s eyes, forcing him to squint, his sight overwhelmed after months in blackness.

The roar of the crowd hit like a storm. Cheers, stomps upon wooden floors, fists pounding on tables.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the fedora man bellowed, striking his chest before bowing low. “I present to you the finest delicacy I have ever offered in my lifetime!”

At his command, the collar flared once more. The prisoner stepped forward into the open, chains rattling, his head lifted toward the audience. His body, scarred and ragged, radiated strength despite its wounds. His eyes, hollow yet burning faintly with resistance, locked onto the sea of nobles before him.

Hundreds filled the great chamber, their seats rising tier by tier like an opera house. Masks hid their faces, but their eager stares were plain to see.

“Behold! The Fallen Prince of a Fallen Kingdom—”

The hall trembled with anticipation, canes tapping, fans snapping shut, every noble ready to bid.

“Lucien Von Vaelthrone!”

----

Author's Note

First off, thanks for reading! Second, what do you guys think of this first chapter? Don’t forget to drop a comment, hit that like, and add it to your library :)