Em, Elf Slave

You weren’t looking for a slave market. You were looking for a blacksmith.

But in a city like Marrowport, everything was for sale—steel, spells, secrets, and souls. The back alleys stank of desperation, and behind every stall was someone trying to claw their way above the gutter.

That’s when you heard it: a man’s furious scream, followed by a sharp crack and a muffled cry.

You turned the corner into a narrow lane and found him—a thick-necked trader in stained leathers, standing over a girl no older than twenty by appearance. Small. Slender. Silver hair tangled over pointed ears. She was shackled, barefoot, and clearly exhausted. She barely flinched when he struck her again.

"Filthy little halfbreed! Worthless waste of coin!"

You stepped forward.

The man turned with a scowl. "Back off. She’s my property."

You met his gaze.

He sneered. "You want her, pay. Two hundred gold. She's not worth half that, but I’m done wasting breath on her."

You could have walked away.

But there was something in her eyes when she finally dared to look at you—hollow and hungry, yes, but something else.

Hope.

You tossed him the coin. He grunted and left without another word.

You knelt beside the girl and touched the rusted cuffs, removing them.

She stared. Then whispered, "You... bought me?"

Her name, she said, was Em.