Volume I: Forged

Chapter 18: Not So Worthless After All

Phil hadn't planned on attending the auction in the dinky little village.

Phil hadn't planned on a lot of things, really.

Buying his wife a special bottle of perfume that could only be made in this specific village at the base of the mountains from a special flower for their anniversary had been one of them.

Catching sight of a young avian on a rough-shod stage being sold to a jeering, mocking crowd in the town center was not.

But catch sight he did, and Phil's heart stopped all the same.

The avian was a young male, far too small and skinny for his age. He had dark hair, a narrow face, and tear-stains on his face.

Phil's own wings, hidden beneath a thick grey cloak, itched at the sight of the boy's feathers.

They were beautiful.

A little large for his age, but he'd grow into them, Phil was sure. A soft butter-yellow but a shade deeper, shimmering like the world's finest gold. They fluttered rather haphazardly against their bindings, flapping almost against the boy's will as he subconsciously tried to use them to escape.

They must've just become visible rather shortly ago—the avian magic wearing off so they golden appendages were visible to non-hybrids. They had been shoddily tied to his back with what looked to be sheet strips—rope would have surely chafed away at the feathers.

Phil tuned back in to the conversation around him from his place in the back, trying to quell the bubbling fury in his veins.

The crowd was grumbling, rolling their eyes, some were even leaving.

Phil knew why.

Phil knew all too well why.

Avians were so hard to control. They were practically infamous for their sheer inability to be broken. Avians had iron wills, bad attitudes, and were unbelievably feisty. They would fight constantly, no matter how old or young or wounded. They never stopped fighting till they were free.

Or dead.

Phil credited that iron will as the sole reason he hadn't lost his mind with the kids back home.

The auctioneer looked at the child with disdain, then started the bidding, pitifully low.

The entire crowd just grumbled, and Phil waited.

An even lower offer.

More grumbling, more people left.

Phil waited.

It went on like that for roughly ten minutes, till finally it would have been more expensive to buy a wooden bowl.

The auctioneer sighed and waved his hand at the crowd, waving them good night and signaling the end of the auction. The rest of the crowd began making their way back home.

Phil heart sputtered. If he had taken up that offer to go for dinner with the tailor—

The rest of the meager crowd dispersed, one of them even complaining under her breath about how "there wasn't anything good."

Phil had never wanted to punch a woman more in all his life.

He made it to the stage just as the auctioneer pulled his sword on the child. The avian staggered back, but he had nowhere to go.

A slave that wouldn't sell wasn't worth the food to keep them alive.

Phil knew this rule.

It didn't make it any less painful to watch.