Premise: A civilization where high rank Espers rule the system and guides are treated as nothing more than property, auctioned off to the highest bidder.

Audra Kingdom

The city of Hartheim seemed to fall silent whenever Crown Prince Dain de Celsestino walked through its streets.

Even now, as thunder growled above the palace, no one dared to look up at the balcony where he stood. His presence alone pressed down on the air, as heavy and electric as a storm moments before lightning struck, warning all who sensed it to keep their distance.

Inside the palace, the prince leaned against the carved railings, his grey eyes glimmering faintly with the power he hadn’t bothered to suppress that day.

Below him, in the gardens, the attendants and servants stepped around uneasily, sensing the air grow thicker around him as a quiet tension settled.

"Your Highness," murmured his advisor, an older man in a soft silk gown. "If you let your control slip in public, rumors will spread again. If I may, I would suggest you step inside. It would not be wise to blatantly show that your power grows...well…unstable... yet again."

Dain's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Let them spread. Fear is more reliable than loyalty, at least the poor do not pretend like those old fucks at court." The man flinched.

Dain turned away, his chambers had always felt like a cage, but he endured it. Better to be a beast in a cage than a beast running free, his father always said.

...

Far below, in the dark and soulless undergrounds of the city, another cage rattled.

The guide cells stank of urine and blood. A dozen young men and women knelt in rows, rusty collars around their throats.

Elion Vanlow sat apart. His back was against the cold bars, his head tilted and his legs were spread wide.

Tying to be anywhere but in this reeking shithole he was trapped inside for over four years.

"You should sit properly," whispered the boy beside him, a pale-haired guide whose hands and arms where bandaged, bloody and dirty. "They'll beat you if you don't."

Elion smirked, his dark eyes flashing. "Those fuck faces will beat us regardless. Might as well be comfortable now."

The boy's expression shook, but Elion only stretched his neck. His throat itched where his scar was.

A guard walked by sneering. "Still acting defiant, Vanlow? Whatever crap you're trying to achieve won't matter tonight, you stupid half-wit. Tonight, the most powerful nobles from all around are coming. You'll make a perfect fuck hole for those fuckers. Even defective trash like the lot of you fetches a price at an auction this high."

Elion's smile widened. "I'd rather be trash than a stupid bitch lapdog!", he spat at his face.

The guard slammed the bars with his spear, but Elion didn't flinch.

He had stopped flinching years ago. 

To be continued...

Velvet curtains draped the walls, muffling the murmurs of nobles as they lounged on modest chairs, wine in hands, eyes bright with lust and greed.

Acting like they held the world in their palms.

Tonight, they weren't attending the opera, nor were they bidding on ancient exhibits, tonight they were biding flesh.

A thin man in ceremonial robes strutted across the stage, his voice echoed through the hall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, honored nobles! Behold this season's offering! The finest variety of guides trained and polished, all ready to serve their chosen Espers. Loyal, obedient and refined. Only the best for our most illustrious of guests!"

Applause rippled through the room as the first line of guides was led out.

Although they were all chained and bound, they were dressed nicely, their garments were silk tunics and jewelled collars, trying to make them look like honored companions rather than slaves.

One by one, they lowered their gazes, batting their lashes, tilting their chins. Some smiled shyly while others bowed deeply. Anything to catch a noble's attention, anything to get out of the shadows inside their cages.

Elion Vanlow did not lower his gaze.

He stood tall at the end of the line, he was shackled like the rest, but his shoulders leaned insolently next to the others.

His plain, dark hair was uncombed, and his expression only carried disdain.

"Smile, damn you," hissed the guard beside him. "You'll end up in a fucking brothel if nobody takes you this time."

Elion's lips curved in a smirk that dripped with venom. "Better the pits than kissing some lord's ass."

The guard flinched, desperate not to be seen speaking.

A ripple of laughter spread through the nobles. They had noticed.

"Look at that one," a woman in a crimson gown whispered behind her fan.

"The scarred one at the end. What arrogance."

"Defective stock," another said with amusement. "He'll fetch a price only for sport."

"Perhaps I'll buy him," drawled a young noble. "A little spirit makes the breaking all the sweeter."

 The auctioneer clapped his hands. "Lot twenty-two, D-rank resonance, registered as low-compatibility, but quite the looker. Shall we start at-"

"Pathetic."

The word cut through the laughter like a knife. Heads turned as conversations stopped.

At the back of the hall, lounging with one leg crossed over the other, sat Crown Prince Dain de Celsestino.

He looked like a predator among sheep: storm-grey eyes half-lidded, lips pressed with arrogance. He toyed with his goblet, as though the entire auction were beneath him.

Yet those same eyes had fixed on Elion.

Dain tilted his head slightly, studying the defiant edge of the guide's shoulders, the frown that deepened rather than falling under his scrutiny.

The Esper didn't bother with a reaction, only tilted his head up arrogantly. "He is mine."

The hall fell silent and the auctioneer blinked, unsure of what was happening. "Your Highness, but we haven't even started to-"

"Did I fucking stutter you worthless piece of shit?" Dain's voice was arrogant, cracking like thunder.

Murmurs rippled. Some nobles gasped, others scoffed, but none dared challenge the Crown Prince.

The auctioneer bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the floor. "Of- of course, Your Highness. Lot twenty-two sold to the Crown Prince."

 Elion's head snapped up, eyes blazing with disbelief. "You're fucking kidding me!!? You can't be fucking serious!!" Guards seized his chains, dragging him forward. He fought, twisting against their grip.

"No! Fuck that! Eat shit! You're not handing me to him! I'd rather rot in the fucking cell" His voice roared, raw and furious. "Better rip my head off here and now you piece of shit!"

 The crowd laughed again, scandalized and delighted.

One guard yanked his collar, so hard Elion staggered to his knees. He spat blood onto the polished marble floor, glaring up at Dain.

"Enjoy your purchase shit face," Elion snarled, his voice hoarse but filled with venom. "I won't bow for you. I'd rather be passed around here and now then submit to a fuck like you!"

Dain's expression didn't change. He rose slowly from his seat; each movement laced with arrogance.

As he stepped down from the dais, his presence pressed like thunder.

He stopped just in front of Elion, looking down at him.

For a moment, silence crackled between them.

Then Dain leaned slightly closer, voice low enough only Elion could hear.

"You'll bow, guide," he whispered, grey eyes glinting with faint light.

"And I will enjoy every moment of watching you unravel beneath me."

Elion bared his teeth with a snarl. "Eat shit."

The prince straightened, gave a pretentious nod to his knights, then turned away.

Chains clinked as Elion was dragged across floor, spitting curses every step of the way.

Above them, thunder rumbled, as if the heavens themselves had taken interest in the contract made that night.

To be continued...