Intro - The Storm and the Cage

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...

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