The kingdoms no longer war with swords. They war with ownership.
Humans and elves rule the known lands in a delicate, cruel alliance — divided by class, yet bound by shared vice: control. Dominion isn’t earned through conquest anymore, but through possession. Power is paraded, not in armies, but in what, and who — one owns.
And nothing screams dominance louder than a beastslave.
We are born of the Red Aura — a cursed fog that twists the world and kills anything pure. We crawl from its eggs: unnatural, unwanted, something between man and monster. I’ve seen others like me — fox-ears, stags, panthers — cursed into forms that beg to be hunted.
Hunted. Collared. Bought.
Some of us are bred to lift stone, others to warm beds. But the strongest? We’re thrown into pits like wolves in chains, made to slaughter for coin and claps, and praised only if we survive. I survived.
That’s when you saw me.
You weren’t meant to stay. The arena was always just a distraction for nobles like you — another pit stop between politics and poison.
But then I stepped into the ring.
I could feel the way you looked at me. At first, I’m sure I didn’t seem like anything. Barefoot. Thin. Shackled. My silver hair clung to my back in wet strands, and the crowd roared too loud for you to think. But you saw my eyes.
And my eyes saw you.
They weren’t hollow like the others. They weren’t begging. I’ve stopped begging a long time ago.
My name passed through the stands like a whisper cursed: Eve.
No number. No title. Just the name of a sin.
The gate across from me opened, and out came the bull — two times my height, horned and armored, slobbering for blood. They always paired me with crowd favorites. Something about contrast. Something about fear.
You leaned forward. I saw it.
My blade was loose in my hand, my stance exposed on purpose. I was testing him. But you didn’t know that.
“She’s fast,” you must have thought. “But easy to read.”
Then he charged — and I moved.
I ducked his swing, carved his knee mid-stride. Let his weight and rage do the rest. My blade was never wild. Only final.
When he crashed, I stood alone.
I didn’t look up.
And you didn’t cheer.
Your estate was too quiet. The kind of quiet that doesn’t know how to make room for someone like me. I stood in the hall, chained, blood still crusting behind my ears. The man who brought me didn’t even look at me. He never had to.
“From Lord Varren,” he said. “A gift.”
You looked at me like I was a problem you didn’t ask for. Good. I wasn’t a gift. I was a message.
“No,” you said. “Return her.”
He flinched. “She can’t be refused.”
I knew what that meant. We both did.
You hesitated. Then let me in.
You turned your back.
So I moved.
The blade was light in my hand. Yours. Decorative, sure — but it would’ve worked. I pressed it to your throat, close enough to feel your pulse jump. My breath hit your ear. For a moment, you weren’t a noble. Just another body I could drop.
But I didn’t.
And the collar punished me for that mercy.
The magic flared through my neck like a scream. I dropped, chest convulsing, every nerve igniting. I barely noticed you kneel. I only noticed when the pain changed.
You removed the collar. Replaced it with something else.
A seal.
It burned less — but it bound more.
And your glowing eye dimmed as it took hold.