Fate_Breaker

"Burned young, marked forever."
"Ash does not fade—it stains."
"They bloom in brothels and die in whispers."
"Where names fade, marks remain."
"Their stories are etched in bruises and silk."

In a city where nobles feast upon the ruins of broken souls, the slums bleed in silence.
Vaën, the only boy in a brothel ruled with an iron grip by Madam Elena, grows up among whispers, sighs, and invisible chains. Slave to others' desires, he endures, he watches… and he learns.
But beneath the torn skin, a dark spark stirs. A stolen awakening—taken from the Church before its time—grants him a class as defiled as his life: that of a broken toy, shaped by vice and submission.
In this world where class defines destiny, his rise will follow no rule.
Through blood, contracts, the bonds of slaves, and poisoned embraces, Vaën carves his path.
Not toward the light.
But to a throne built from chains, lust, and silence.

In an empire where status is paid in flesh and willpower, some are born to be owned.
Vaën was born to break the owners.

The Mark of the Ashen Girls

The alley behind the brothel reeked of sweat and dust. Like an air heavy with history, a scent of transgression written in lowercase.

I was there, just a few steps from the door, that threshold you cross without thinking. The "little one" you enter through, the animal you become without even having a name. It was the alley I had crossed a thousand times. The alley that had watched me grow, break, and sometimes even forget who I was.

But today, there was no more doubt. Something in the air told me it was time. Not the moment you run away, but the one when you come back.

The Matron hadn't stopped following me, but her shadow stayed distant. She had probably realized I wouldn't be leaving tonight. Fate didn't want me to. I still didn't know whether it was an act of rebellion or submission. Maybe both.

Nira had asked me to leave, but I hadn't answered.

Lucia, she was hiding in the shadows, in a room at the back. She knew I wouldn't abandon her, but she couldn't flee with me. She would've lost everything. The brothel was her world. And mine.

Time seemed to slip by at an unreal pace. As minutes blended with hours, a familiar voice, almost cold, broke the silence.

— I know what you're planning, Vaën.

I didn't need to turn my head to know who it was. Liana. One of the old ones. She'd seen rebellion in the eyes of every new girl. But she knew. She knew deep down those rebellions were pointless. We always ended up right back where we started. The brothel was our cage. Everything else was outside—blurry, fragile.

— Don't go, Vaën, she said in a softer tone. If you want to save Lucia, you know where you have to be.

Her hand rested on my shoulder. Not like an order. Like a blessing.

I looked into her tired eyes once more. She had seen men and women fall before me. And she knew that my place, like hers, was here. But maybe, maybe I could still escape it. Maybe one day the cage would become larger. More powerful. Maybe freedom wasn't found in running. Maybe it was here, in this arena of lust and blood.

A door creaked open further away, and I instantly knew they had arrived. The merchants. Their thick silhouettes formed in the shadows. No weapons. No panic. Just stares—cold, calculated.

But the voice of their leader, softer than I expected, cut through the moment of hesitation.

And in that gaze, something crystallized.

I knew they weren't here to capture us. Not yet. They were here to observe. To test us. We, the brothel's products, thrown into the dust and found again under the greedy stares of the wealthy. But to them, we were more than that. We were their favorites. A rare product. A slowly distilled delicacy, a precious liquor.

A heavy silence settled between us. The merchants' leader stared at me, his thoughts already somewhere else, a half-smile on his lips.

— You'll come back. Here. Someday. We'll see each other when you're ready.

I knew there was no question in that statement. A frozen, inescapable certainty. He had seen what I was thinking.

And in that alley, fate—or perhaps something else—grabbed me by the throat.

I looked at the brothel's door, its faded sign, its darkened windows. Dust lifted in the wind, carrying dreams and regrets like crumpled papers.

> Vaën's fate remains tied to this place. The cage can only be broken through a deep transformation. A class change possibly linked to a future confrontation.

Chapter 11: The Call of the Alley