The Price of a Broken Soul

Sang slowly opened his eyes." Ah… still here. Still in this nightmare."His body ached all over, hunger gnawed at his stomach, and his vision was blurred." This time... I'll wake up for sure…" he whispered, trying to convince himself.

Then—footsteps. He glanced up, hoping it was food.

Two men approached—one was a prison guard, the other dressed like a merchant. The merchant eyed Sang's battered body and said coldly, "30."

The guard scoffed, "No way. At least 50!"

"Look at him," the merchant replied. "He can barely move. You should be thankful I'm even offering."

The guard hesitated. "Fine… 40. Not a coin less."

"Deal."

The cell creaked open." Get up, trash!" the guard barked, yanking Sang to his feet.

Barely conscious, Sang was dragged out and tossed into a slave cart—again. He didn't fight. He didn't scream. He simply gave up.

Hours passed as the cart rattled over the dirt road. Finally, it stopped at a grim town with rotting signs and cold winds. The merchant grinned. "Welcome to Gravemire."

They entered the town. The streets were alive with noise—hawkers shouting over each other, selling fruits, weapons, and old junk. Beggars with hollow eyes sat along the sides, hands outstretched, hoping for a single coin. The smell of sweat, rotten food, and iron filled the air.

Sang, weak and chained, glanced around with a blank stare. Children ran barefoot between the crowds, chasing each other, while merchants argued over prices. Drunken men laughed loudly outside crooked taverns, and suspicious figures loitered in the shadows.

The merchant pulled Sang's chain roughly." Keep moving, runt. You're not here to sightsee."

They moved deeper into Gravemire, where the streets grew narrower and darker.At the end of a muddy alley stood a large, field with crowd-its sign swinging loosely:" Slave Market"

Two days. Two days since Sang was thrown onto the slave market like rotten meat.Nobody wanted him.

When people saw Sang, they only laughed." Trash!" they shouted, tossing pebbles at him like he was already dead. No one wanted him. Not even for scraps.

Until one day...

A creaking cart arrived at Gravemire's worn stone gates. It was pulled by a skinny mule, carrying sacks of dull, dusty rocks called Vein Stone and a small wrapped piece of gold.

The old miner, Hagan, and his companions made their way to the crooked bank.

The banker squinted at the gold piece, weighing it in his cracked hands." This could fetch... fifty coins," he said, voice low.

Hagan frowned. "But sir, by size alone, shouldn't it be seventy?"

The banker shrugged, a sly smirk on his lips." Normally, yes. But with the conflicts across the border... our currency's dropping like flies. Be grateful I offer even that."

Hagan sighed heavily."...I see."

With no choice, he exchanged the gold for a handful of coins. They had mouths to feed back home.

On their way to the marketplace to sell the Vein Stones, Hagan spotted Sang lying near the gutters, a rusted chain still clinging to his wrist. A hollow look in the boy's eyes, his breathing weak.

Hagan's heart ached at the sight. But his companions shook their heads." Come on, Hagan," one said." There's always ones like him."" The war spits them out like broken toys."" We can't save every ghost we pass."

Reluctantly, Hagan moved on. But the boy's image stayed burning in his mind.

(Sidebar: What are Vein Stones?)Vein Stones are rare minerals found deep underground, pulsing faintly with energy.

They can be refined into fuel for ancient machines.

Ground into powder, they enhance forging of weapons.

When embedded into armor, they strengthen resistance to magic. Because of this, kingdoms at war desperately seek them — driving prices high... and making miners' lives dangerous.

Later that day, at the marketplace:

The buyer, a gruff man named Master Verek, inspected their haul." Hmm. I can offer a hundred coins for all."

Hagan's mouth dropped open."Mr. Verek, that's... a steep drop! These stones could fetch double just a month ago!"

Verek shrugged grimly." Sorry, Hagan. With taxes rising and cities burning, no one's paying full price. Be glad you can sell at all."

Defeated, Hagan accepted. There was no other way.

As the sun began to set, they prepared to leave Gravemire. But once again, Hagan's eyes caught the boy.

Sitting motionless .Breathing raggedly. His frail hands shackled by rusted iron.

And for a moment—he wasn't just looking at a boy.

He was looking at his own son, lost years ago to war.

Enough. No more walking away.

Ignoring the protests of his companions, Hagan approached the slave merchant — a fat man lounging by a barrel.

"I want to buy that boy," Hagan said.

The merchant cackled. "Old man, that one? He'll be dead before you drag him home!""He's sick. He can't work. Worth less than a rotting mule."

"I don't care," Hagan said firmly. "How much?"

The merchant's greedy eyes gleamed. Sensing Hagan's pity, he said, "Sixty coins."

The two miners behind Hagan gasped aloud.

In this war-torn land, sixty coins could buy a family's bread for months. But Hagan didn't flinch.

He handed over the pouch without a second thought.

The merchant grinned wide, thinking he had swindled a fool. But Hagan didn't care.

Without another word, he lifted Sang's unconscious body onto the cart.And they left Gravemire behind.

Sang had no idea...That his new life had just begun.

After many long, grueling days of travel, they finally arrived.

A small village — perched high in the misty mountains.Barely more than a handful of crooked houses scattered along the rocky paths.The clouds hung low, painted in soft pinks and golds as the sun dipped behind the peaks.

Sang, still weak and half-conscious, stirred slightly in the cart.He blinked slowly, greeted by the sight of cotton candy skies above... and the muffled sounds of voices.

Villagers came running, smiling and calling out.

"You're back!""How was the road, Hagan?"

A young girl, lively and full of spirit, pushed through the crowd — Hagan's daughter, Lysa."Father!" she cried, hugging him tightly. "You came back! How was your travel?"

Hagan smiled warmly.But instead of answering, he turned and gestured to the cart.

The villagers grew curious as they noticed the frail boy lying there — chained, battered, a stranger.

Without saying a word, Hagan carefully helped Sang down, steadying his weak body.

Sang looked around with wide, confused eyes, the unfamiliar faces and strange place overwhelming his senses.

Hagan simply said,"This boy is tired. I'll explain later."

With that, he led Sang toward his home, his daughter trailing behind, casting curious glances at the newcomer.

Their house was small — a modest peasant home of stone and wood.Behind it stood a second, smaller hut built from old timber and mossy stones.

As they approached, Sang's eyes caught a glimpse of a boy about his age, yellow-haired and strong, carrying bundles of firewood across the yard.

The two boys' eyes met — even if only for a second.

Narration (Inner Monologue):

That day... was the first time I met him.The beginning... of everything.