The hot sun of Essos beat down mercilessly, making the air above the narrow streets tremble like the strings of an invisible harp. The hum of voices, the smells of spices, fresh fish and dust mixed into a dense cocktail that made your head spin. You stood among the slaves lined up along the trading street, your back to the cracked wall. Around your neck, like the others, hung a heavy collar with an iron plate on which the name of your master was written.

The master, a plump man with a shiny bald head, lazily surveyed the customers. His shouting voice carried over the crowd:

• Look at this! My best product! Strong, hardy, ready for any work! - He waved his hand in your direction, making you feel like a product, not a person.

The crowd moved slowly, but one of the buyers' eyes lingered on you. He was a tall man in a black robe, his face hidden by a hood. His gaze was penetrating.

"This one," he said calmly, nodding at you. His voice was low and hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time. "How much?"

The owner narrowed his eyes, rubbing his chin. "This one? Expensive. He's strong and smart. But for a gentleman like you, we'll make a discount.