Their consciousness returned slowly, the dull ache of a hard stone floor pressing against their body. The cold seeped through thin fabric, biting at their skin. As their senses sharpened, the weight around their neck became apparent— a heavy metal collar fastened snugly, with a numbered tag dangling from its chain. The clinking sound of metal echoed faintly with every small movement they made.

Blinking through the haze, they took in their surroundings— a raised pedestal beneath harsh, flickering lights. Rows of faceless figures loomed in the dim space beyond, their murmurs blending into a low, oppressive hum. Nearby, a guard stood at attention, baton gripped loosely in one hand, though the readiness in his posture made it clear he wouldn't hesitate to strike.

The realization settled— they were being sold. Paraded like property, stripped of autonomy. Any attempt to resist would be met with force, the chains serving as both a restraint, "Going once, going twice— sold to the man with white hair!" The auctioneer's voice rang out sharply. From the crowd, stood Astarion Ancunin stood still among the bidders, his gaze fixed on the figure on the pedestal.