Threads of Fate

Varian and Kai: Year 489

The black market in the city of Ithrion was hidden beneath layers of shadow, filth, and desperation. The narrow alleyways led to secret auctions where human lives were bought and sold for the price of a spellstone or a rare sigil. Varian had always avoided such places, his magic and reputation too valuable to be tainted by the filth of slavery. But today was different.

His boots crunched on the wet cobblestone as he walked through the marketplace, ignoring the leering glances of traders and mercenaries who hawked their wares—everything from forbidden sigils to cursed artifacts. Yet, it wasn't the illegal magic that held Varian's attention today. His eyes scanned the slave pens, where a handful of figures stood chained, their faces hollow and their mana pools nearly drained.

Slavery, especially mana slavery, was outlawed in many kingdoms, but here, on the fringes of the Silverveil Kingdom, such practices still thrived. Mana slaves—those who possessed a spark of magic but had been siphoned repeatedly—were among the most profitable commodities. Drained until their bodies could no longer produce mana, they were often discarded once they became useless, their magic spent like coin in a well​.

Varian wasn't interested in purchasing anyone. He had come for an artifact, a relic said to hold ancient magic, but as he passed the rows of chained figures, his gaze fell on a boy, thin and trembling, who sat slumped against the bars of a cage. The boy's skin was marred with dirt and scars, his clothes little more than tattered rags. His hair, matted and filthy, obscured his face, but Varian could sense it—a faint, flickering pulse of mana that had not yet been extinguished.

"Not worth the coin," the slaver growled, noticing Varian's interest. "He's broken. Been drained too many times. Barely has enough magic to fuel a single sigil now."

Varian narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to the cage. The boy didn't move, didn't even seem to notice Varian's presence. His breaths were shallow, each one a struggle. The slaver's words gnawed at Varian's mind. Broken. The word was familiar—too familiar. He had seen it in others, in mages who had pushed their magic too far and lost themselves in the process. But this boy wasn't a mage by choice. He had been used, drained for his magic like a well tapped dry.

"Open it," Varian said, his voice cold.

The slaver hesitated but complied, the heavy metal door creaking as it swung open. Varian stepped inside, kneeling before the boy. Up close, he could see the bruises, the cuts, the lifelessness in the boy's eyes—eyes that had once held the light of magic but now seemed empty.

"What's your name?" Varian asked quietly.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper, the boy answered, "Kai."

Varian nodded. He could sense the faintest flicker of magic within Kai, a spark that hadn't yet died. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough to give the boy a chance. Enough to make Varian's decision clear.

"I'll take him," Varian said, standing up. The slaver raised an eyebrow but shrugged, more than happy to rid himself of what he considered a worthless investment. With a quick exchange of coin, the transaction was done, and the slaver unlocked Kai's chains, his manacles clattering to the ground.

As Varian helped Kai to his feet, the boy stumbled, his body weak from months—perhaps years—of mistreatment. Varian caught him, his arms steady as he lifted the boy with surprising ease.

"We're leaving," Varian said softly. "You're safe now."

Kai didn't respond, but his eyes flickered for a moment—just a glimmer of life that hadn't been there before.

Three years had passed since Varian had taken Kai from the slave market in Ithrion. In those years, the boy had transformed. No longer the fragile, beaten figure from that day, Kai now stood taller, stronger. His once hollow eyes now held a quiet intensity, the spark of life that Varian had seen in him slowly growing into something brighter.