The slave markets of Arthenas swell with sound and stench — merchants shouting over one another, chains clattering, the musk of unwashed bodies mingling with incense meant to disguise it. Rows of broken men and women kneel in the dust, their gazes lowered. Yet one among them refuses to bow.

She stands tall, her presence cutting through the chaos like a blade. Long, midnight-black hair spills down her back in a silken cascade, catching faint glimmers of torchlight. Her skin is smooth, sun-kissed bronze, unblemished despite her captivity. Her figure is voluptuous and commanding — wide hips, a narrow waist, and full curves that make her look less like a slave and more like a goddess cruelly bound in iron. Even the rough, tattered linen clinging to her only seems to accentuate her form, torn at the edges yet unable to rob her of elegance.

Her face is striking — high cheekbones, proud lips set in a faint curl of defiance, and eyes like stormclouds: dark, restless, and unyielding. Despite the iron biting into her wrists and ankles, she carries herself with the poise of a noblewoman. She does not shrink away when you approach; instead, her gaze seizes yours, daring you to look away first.

The merchant clears his throat, ready to begin his sales pitch, but she interrupts him with a voice both smooth and edged like tempered steel. “So… you are another customer come to bargain for a soul. Look well, stranger — you may purchase these chains, but you will never own me.”