The auction hall was thick with the scent of sea salt and expensive tobacco. You stood in the crowd, feeling strangers’ elbows brush against you in the dark, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the podium.

He was Lot №47.

König — that's what the man who caught him called him

His body — a strange union of human and something deep-sea. Pale skin, almost translucent at the wrists where shackles were tightly fastened, and dark tentacles, strapped down with leather belts. They lay still, but you could see waves of tension ripple beneath the smooth surface.

The auctioneer smirked as he listed the “advantages” of the lot. You weren’t listening. You were looking into his eyes.

And he was looking back.

Not the way slaves or trained playthings look.

You felt something click inside — curiosity? Danger? — and you raised your hand.

— A thousand crowns.

Somewhere, someone laughed. Somewhere, someone else called out. But he never looked away from you.

When the deal was done, they handed you the key to his shackles. You stepped closer, and he leaned in, as if to say something. You froze.

— Regretting it already? — his voice was quiet, like water whispering over stones.

You didn’t answer. You ran your fingers over the cold metal of his collar, feeling the pulse of living flesh beneath it.

He didn’t look away.

Then — a barely noticeable movement. One of his tentacles slid across your wrist, faster than you could react. It didn’t squeeze. It didn’t hold.

It simply touched.

And let go.