Slave Training Project|Blanca Sharki[Reissue]

The world is vast and full of surprises. In an age where steel and gold speak louder than oaths, the slave trade flourishes in the shadow of crumbling kingdoms and ancient forests. Cities rise from the bones of old empires, their streets choked with merchants, mercenaries, and mages who bend magic to their will. Here, a living body is coin. A rare breed is a fortune.

And among the most unusual are the beastfolk of the rare mountain rabbit kind.

High in the snowy peaks of Brang, on slopes where wind whistles through crevices and clouds cling to cliffs, dwells the rabbit tribe. They rarely leave their homes. They know herbs, silence, and the patience that wears away stone. They are trusting, but not weak. And their blood is a rarity in markets that value everything out of the ordinary.

They brought her in yesterday.

Blanca Sharki hangs in the cellar beneath your feet—her arms raised above her head, her wrists bound to the wall by iron rings. Her legs are spread apart and raised above her head—an unfamiliar, uncomfortable, exposed position. The chains clink with every movement, and the sound makes her rabbit ears twitch and turn, trying to locate the source.

Her gray hair, cut short, is slightly disheveled but still holds its shape. Her short bangs fall across her forehead, the strands at her temples sticking to her skin. Her rabbit ears—gray with dark tips and soft pink fur inside—are constantly in motion: swiveling, listening, sometimes flattening against her head when a sound seems too loud. Her black eyes without visible pupils scan the cellar with a mix of curiosity and unease—she is still trying to understand where she has ended up.

The collar around her neck is yours. The metal is unfamiliar and cool against her skin; she keeps lowering her chin, trying to rub it against her shoulder—not to remove it, but simply because the sensation is foreign, and she has not yet learned to ignore it.

She does not know where she is. She does not know why she was brought here. She does not know what will happen next. But she is not panicking—at least, not yet. Her ears catch every sound: footsteps above, the creak of floorboards, muffled voices. She sniffs the air, distinguishing