CHAPTER 22: SOLD

They journeyed for days, stopping only at intervals for brief moments of rest. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Lauren had her first makeshift meal: a stale, crusty piece of bread and over-dried meat. It was nothing but a reminder of their dire situation. The extent of their captors' generosity had been limited to a single skin of water shared among the entire group—too little for such a long journey.

At first, the journey had been a quiet one. It was as though the wagon itself had been swallowed by the silence, broken only by the occasional sniffles and quiet sobs of the other captives. The sound of the wheels creaking and the muffled footsteps of the guards were all that could be heard. At night, when they stopped, they tried to curl around each other, seeking even the smallest amount of warmth in the cramped space of the wagon. But even in that, there was little comfort.

While their captors gathered around the fire, laughing and drinking, Lauren lay awake, gazing up at the stars. She wondered what she was living for—what her existence meant now. She thought back to everything that had happened to her: the day she was kidnapped, the loss of Moa, the endless suffering. The weight of everything crushed her chest, and no matter how hard she tried to hold it in, she began to break.

Her chest felt so tight it was as if she couldn't breathe. Her emotions surged, overwhelming her. She looked around; everyone else was asleep, unaware of her turmoil. She wanted to reach out, to cry to someone, but there was no one. The tears flowed quietly, a silent storm of sorrow that she had never allowed herself to express before. She missed Moa so terribly. Would she be looking for her? Would she ever see her again?

Lauren had promised herself she would remain unshakable—strong, unyielding—but that promise had shattered. She wept uncontrollably, her sobs silent but aching.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the silence, soft but unmistakable.

"It's okay, everything will be fine."

Lauren's heart skipped a beat. She snapped her head up, searching the darkness for the source of the voice. Her eyes settled on a boy sitting just across from her. He had ginger hair, a little older than her, with an expression that was surprisingly calm, even kind. He smiled gently, as if trying to reassure her without needing to speak too much.

Lauren blinked in confusion, still processing what had just happened. She hadn't even realized how loud her sobs had been.

"Did I wake you?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

The boy smiled again, his green eyes gleaming softly in the dim light of the wagon. "My name is Sar," he said, "and no, you didn't wake me. I've been awake. Besides, you weren't being loud. I only noticed because I focused on you."

Lauren exhaled a deep sigh, not realizing how much tension she'd been holding in. "I'm Lauren," she replied quietly.

Sar gave a slight nod. "Nice to meet you, Lauren."

And just like that, it was the only real conversation Lauren had had in days.

The night passed without incident, and when the first light of dawn broke through the sky, they continued their journey. The monotony of the road seemed endless, but something in the air felt different today.

Their captors were unusually chatty, exchanging amused glances as they occasionally looked back at the people in the wagon. Lauren noticed their strange, almost smug smiles. It reminded her of the look she had whenever she caught a large game during her hunts. She felt a sliver of fear deep within her; it was a look of pride, but one that hinted at something far darker. Something was about to happen.

Her heart raced as the unease began to settle in her stomach. She tried to dismiss it, to force herself to remain calm, but the fear kept creeping up, sinking into her bones. In an effort to keep control, Lauren dug her nails into her palm so tightly that blood welled up, but the pain only kept her focused. She would not break. Not again.

Suddenly, the chatter of the captors died down, and the air felt thick with tension. Lauren's senses sharpened, and she glanced around nervously. The environment had changed subtly. They were moving down a gentle slope into a shady, isolated area. Her eyes darted across the path, trying to gauge what was coming. It was too quiet—too still.

Then, the wagon came to a sudden halt.

"Get down!" one of the captors barked. The command was sharp, cold, and laced with something menacing. They all scrambled to get out, the dust kicking up around their feet as they hurried to obey.

Lauren's eyes swept across the faces of the other prisoners, and for a moment, the shared panic in their expressions spoke volumes. Everyone was thinking the same thing. What was happening? What was about to happen?

Summoning every ounce of courage, Lauren turned to the closest captor, her voice trembling. "Why did we stop here?" she asked, trying to sound braver than she felt.

The man didn't answer with words—he answered with a brutal smack to her face, his hand striking her so hard that her lips split and blood filled her mouth. She staggered back, stunned. Pain exploded in her head, but her eyes blazed with defiance.

"Don't speak unless spoken to, runt," the man hissed, his voice low and venomous.

The others murmured in fear, but Lauren couldn't look away. The rage burned inside her, but she kept her silence.

The captor turned to the rest of the group, his voice louder now. "From here, we move on foot. Buckle up, brats. Move it!"

In a single, disjointed line, they began to walk. Lauren could feel the tension hanging in the air, and it seemed to increase with every step they took. The path grew darker as they moved further into the shaded area, and the silence was now thick with dread. They had arrived.

Then, a loud, jarring laugh broke the stillness.

Every head turned toward the sound. Standing at the edge of the path was a man on horseback, dressed in extravagant clothing that screamed wealth. He looked out of place in this lonely, deserted place, but he carried himself with the air of someone used to power, someone accustomed to having everything at his command.

Lauren's heart thudded in her chest. He was a Lord, a figure from the capital. But what was he doing here, so far from the city? What did he want with them?

The man surveyed the group, his eyes scanning the captives with a detached indifference. He extended his hand as if counting them. "There are twenty of them," he remarked coldly to the leader of the kidnappers.

Lauren's stomach churned. This was real. This was no longer just a kidnapping—it was something far worse.

"I need the best ten," the Lord continued, his voice smooth and commanding. "The rest—do with them what you will. Feel free to dispose of them."

His words hung in the air like a death sentence, and the panic in the group was instantaneous. The captives turned in all directions, scrambling in terror. It was a desperate, animalistic instinct to run.

The captors seemed almost amused by this, as though they were watching a game unfold. Their twisted sense of joy made Lauren's stomach twist in disgust.

Lauren froze. The fear gripped her so tightly that it felt like her body had shut down. Her muscles refused to respond. She wanted to run, wanted to fight, but her legs wouldn't move. She was paralyzed by terror. Sweat poured down her face, and she struggled to breathe as the adrenaline surged in her veins, but nothing happened. Her body refused to cooperate.

Then the chaos began.

The captors drew their swords, and in a flurry of motion, screams filled the air. Three heads rolled from their bodies, and the others were cut down one by one. The ground was slick with blood, the air thick with the metallic scent of death. Lauren's heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn't move. She was rooted to the spot, trembling uncontrollably.

The screams, the cries for mercy—one by one, they died down. Then, silence, broken only by the soft whimpers of the remaining captives.

One of the captors turned to the survivors, his expression cold and unfeeling. "Remain here," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "If you move, you'll meet the same fate as the others."

He turned and walked off in the direction the Lord had gone, leaving them behind in the eerie silence of the aftermath.

Lauren's legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground, her body trembling violently. She gasped for air, struggling to breathe. Her chest tightened, and panic surged within her. It was as though she were suffocating.

But then, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

She looked up to see Sar standing beside her. He looked calm, but his eyes were wide with fear.

He survived.

Relief flooded her, and she smiled weakly at him. He gently let her rest against him, offering her the only comfort she had in that moment of devastation. As they waited for whatever came next, Lauren clung to the small sliver of hope that she might somehow escape this fate.

The captor returned, carrying a heavy sack over his shoulder. His companions surrounded him, and with a sickening sense of satisfaction, he began to open the sack, sharing its contents among them.

Lauren's eyes widened in horror as she realized what was happening. It was their reward—gold, perhaps, for a job well done. The captors had succeeded in delivering their prize, and now they were free to do as they pleased.

The leader turned to the remaining captives, his expression almost dismissive. "It was nice doing business with you," he said. "Try to survive if you can."

And just like that, they disappeared into the shadows, leaving Lauren and the others behind.

Lauren's eyes followed their retreating figures until they were out of sight. A cold realization settled in her gut, and she whispered, almost to herself, "I've been sold into slavery."