The town was called Ashford, and it smelled like piss and desperation.

  I'd been walking for another week since that girl in the forest, and the silence had gotten worse. Not unbearable—I wasn't that weak—but it gnawed at me like a persistent itch I couldn't scratch. Talking to Nightfall only went so far. The sword didn't talk back, and my own voice echoing in the empty woods was starting to sound pathetic even to me.

  So when I saw the slave auction in Ashford's central square, I stopped.

  Not because I cared about slavery. I didn't. This world was built on suffering, and pretending otherwise was just another lie people told themselves to sleep at night. No, I stopped because of the practicality of it.

  A slave couldn't betray me. Not with a proper crest binding them. They couldn't run, couldn't lie, couldn't stab me in the throat and smile while I bled out. Magic made loyalty absolute, and that was the only kind of loyalty worth having.

  Besides, if I got desperate, I could drain a little life force from them. Just enough to keep me sharp. They'd recover eventually—probably—and it wasn't like they had a choice in the matter.

  It was practical. Strategic. Nothing more.

  I pushed through the crowd toward the auction platform, ignoring the stares. I'd grown again over the past week—another inch taller, my frame filling out with muscle that shouldn't exist on a sixteen-year-old. The life force I'd been absorbing was accelerating my physical development, and people noticed. They always noticed.

  Good. Let them stare. Let them wonder.

  The auctioneer was a fat man with greasy hair and a voice like grinding metal. He was in the middle of selling off a middle-aged human woman when I arrived, spouting bullshit about her "excellent cooking skills" and "obedient nature." The woman looked dead inside, her eyes vacant and hollow.

  I felt nothing looking at her.

  The auction continued. A few more slaves were brought out—laborers, mostly, with the occasional "pleasure slave" that made my skin crawl. Not because I cared about their suffering, but because the whole spectacle was so transparently pathetic. These people buying slaves weren't powerful. They were weak, clinging to the only control they'd ever have in their miserable lives.

  Then she was brought out, and everything stopped.

  She was a dark elf.

  Tan skin, flawless despite the dirt and bruises. Long black hair that fell past her shoulders, streaked with silver like moonlight cutting through shadow. Her eyes were violet—haunted, empty, staring at nothing. She wore rags that barely covered her, and iron shackles bound her wrists and ankles.

  She didn't struggle. Didn't cry. Didn't beg.

  She just stood there, waiting for death like it was an old friend she'd been expecting.

  "Now this one's special, folks!" the auctioneer bellowed, grabbing her chin and forcing her head up. She didn't resist. "A dark elf! Rare as they come in these parts! Strong, durable, and—" He leered. "—exotic. Perfect for labor or... other purposes. We'll start the bidding at fifty gold!"

  The crowd murmured. Fifty gold was steep, but dark elves were rare. Exotic. Valuable.

  I should have walked away.

  I should have kept moving north, kept hunting, kept building my power in solitude like I'd planned. A slave was a liability. A distraction. Another mouth to feed, another variable I couldn't fully control.

  But I didn't walk away.

  Instead, I stepped forward and said, "One hundred gold."

  The crowd went silent. The auctioneer's eyes widened.

  "One hundred?" he repeated, like he couldn't believe his luck. "Going once—"

  "One hundred and fifty," someone else called out. A merchant, by the look of him. Fat and smug.

  I turned and looked at him. Just looked. Let him see the darkness in my eyes, the promise of what would happen if he kept bidding.

  He paled and shut his mouth.

  "One hundred gold," I repeated, my voice flat. "Final offer. Anyone else want to test me?"

  No one did.

  The auctioneer stammered through the rest of the process, and within minutes, I'd handed over the coin and received the slave crest—a small iron brand that would bind her to me permanently. The magic was simple but absolute. Once applied, she couldn't disobey a direct command, couldn't harm me, couldn't run.

  Perfect.

  They brought her down from the platform and shoved her toward me. She stumbled but didn't fall, her eyes still vacant and empty. Up close, I could see the scars on her arms, the bruises on her ribs, the way her hands trembled slightly despite her blank expression.

  She'd been broken. Thoroughly.

  "Name?" I asked.

  She didn't answer. Just stared at me with those haunted violet eyes, waiting for whatever came next.

  "Fine," I said. "Doesn't matter. Come on."

  I turned and walked away, and after a moment, she followed. The crest wasn't even applied yet, but she moved like a ghost, silent and obedient. Like she'd given up on everything, including the idea of resistance.

  Good. That made things easier.

  We left Ashford behind and headed into the forest. I didn't stop until we were far enough from the town that no one would hear us, then I set up camp in a small clearing. She stood at the edge of the firelight, still silent, still waiting.

  I pulled out the branding iron and heated it in the fire.

  "This is going to hurt," I said, not looking at her. "But it's necessary. Once the crest is applied, you'll be bound to me. You won't be able to disobey direct commands, and you won't be able to harm me. Understand?"

  She nodded once. Barely.

  "Good. Hold out your arm."

  She did. No hesitation. No fear. Just... compliance.

  I pressed the heated iron against her forearm, and the magic flared to life. Dark energy spiraled around the brand, sinking into her skin and binding her to me on a fundamental level. She didn't scream. Didn't flinch. Just stood there, staring at nothing while the magic burned into her flesh.

  When it was done, I pulled the iron away and inspected the mark. A black sigil, intricate and permanent. It pulsed faintly with dark energy, proof that the binding had taken.

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  "There," I said, tossing the iron aside. "Now you're mine."

  She looked down at the mark, then back at me. Still silent.

  "Sit," I commanded, testing the crest.

  She sat immediately, her movements mechanical.

  "Speak. Tell me your name."

  Her lips parted, and for the first time, I heard her voice. It was soft, broken, barely more than a whisper.

  "Kaelith."

  "Kaelith," I repeated. "Fine. That works."

  I turned away and started unpacking my supplies, pulling out dried meat and bread. I tossed half of it toward her without looking.

  "Eat."

  She stared at the food like she didn't understand what it was.

  "I said eat," I repeated, sharper this time. "You're no use to me if you starve."

  Slowly, hesitantly, she picked up the bread and took a small bite. Then another. She ate like someone who'd forgotten what food tasted like, mechanical and joyless.

  I watched her out of the corner of my eye, pretending I wasn't.

  She was beautiful. Even broken, even covered in dirt and scars, she was stunning in a way that made my chest tighten uncomfortably. The silver streaks in her hair caught the firelight, and her violet eyes—despite their emptiness—held a depth I couldn't look away from.

  I hated that I noticed.

  I hated that it mattered.

  "Why did you buy me?" she asked suddenly, her voice still soft but clearer now.

  I didn't answer right away. I poked at the fire with a stick, watching the flames dance.

  "Practical reasons," I said finally. "I needed someone who couldn't betray me. The crest ensures that. You're useful. That's all."

  "Will you kill me?"

  The question was so blunt, so matter-of-fact, that it caught me off guard.

  I looked at her. She wasn't afraid. Wasn't pleading. Just... asking. Like she genuinely didn't care either way.

  "Maybe," I said. "If you become a liability. Or if I need the life force. Haven't decided yet."

  She nodded, like that was a perfectly reasonable answer, and went back to eating.

  The silence stretched between us, but it wasn't the same silence I'd been drowning in for the past forty-three days. This was... different. Heavier, maybe, but not empty.

  I told myself it didn't matter. That she was just a tool, a warm body to keep the void at bay. That I'd drain her dry the moment it became convenient and move on without a second thought.

  But even as I thought it, I knew it was a lie.

  Because for the first time since I'd been reincarnated into this world, I didn't feel completely alone.

  And I hated myself for it.

  -

  The next few days fell into a rhythm.

  We traveled north, moving through forests and along dirt roads, avoiding towns when possible. Kaelith followed without complaint, silent and obedient. She never asked questions, never spoke unless I commanded her to, never showed any emotion beyond that hollow, broken stare.

  It should have been perfect.

  It wasn't.

  Because despite everything I told myself—despite the lies I repeated over and over in my head—I found myself... caring.

  Not in some sappy, romantic way. I wasn't that pathetic. But I noticed things. Small things. The way she flinched when I moved too quickly. The way she ate slowly, like she expected the food to be taken away. The way she stared at the fire at night, her eyes distant and haunted.

  I started giving her more food than I needed to. Started setting up camp earlier so she could rest. Started positioning myself between her and potential threats without even thinking about it.

  And I hated every second of it.

  "You're being stupid," I muttered to myself one night, staring at the stars while Kaelith slept on the other side of the fire. "She's a slave. A tool. Nothing more."

  Nightfall pulsed faintly at my side, like it was mocking me.

  "Shut up," I told the sword.

  Kaelith stirred, and I glanced over at her. She was curled up on the ground, shivering slightly despite the fire. I'd given her a blanket, but it wasn't enough.

  I should have left her to freeze. Should have let her suffer. It would have been easier.

  Instead, I stood up, walked over, and draped my cloak over her.

  She didn't wake up. Just pulled the cloak tighter around herself, her breathing evening out.

  I stared down at her for a long moment, my jaw clenched.

  "This doesn't mean anything," I whispered. "You're just... convenient. That's all."

  Another lie.

  I turned away and went back to my side of the fire, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest.

  -

  A week passed. Then two.

  Kaelith started talking more. Not much—just small responses when I asked her questions. But it was something. A crack in the wall she'd built around herself.

  "Do you have a family?" I asked one night, more to fill the silence than because I cared.

  She shook her head. "They're dead."

  "How?"

  "Slavers killed them. Took me instead."

  Her voice was flat, emotionless, like she was reciting facts about the weather.

  I nodded and didn't press further.

  But later that night, when I thought she was asleep, I heard her crying. Soft, quiet sobs that she tried to muffle with her hands.

  I should have ignored it. Should have let her cry herself out and moved on.

  Instead, I sat up and said, "Stop that."

  She froze, her sobs cutting off immediately.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean—"

  "I don't care if you cry," I interrupted. "Just do it quieter. You're keeping me awake."

  It was a lie. I'd been awake anyway, staring at the stars and trying not to think about how much I hated the hollow feeling in my chest.

  She nodded and curled up tighter, her crying stopping completely.

  I lay back down and closed my eyes, pretending I didn't feel like a complete bastard.

  -

  By the time we reached the next town, I'd aged again. Seventeen now, my body continuing its unnatural growth. Kaelith looked the same—still broken, still haunted, but maybe a little less hollow than before.

  Or maybe I was just imagining it.

  We stopped at an inn to resupply, and I left her in the room while I went to gather information. When I came back, she was sitting on the bed, staring at the wall.

  "You could have run," I said, closing the door behind me.

  She looked at me, confused. "The crest—"

  "I didn't command you to stay. You could have tried."

  She shook her head. "Where would I go?"

  It was a fair point. She had nothing. No family, no home, no future. Running would have been pointless.

  But the fact that she didn't even try...

  I sat down on the other bed and pulled out Nightfall, inspecting the blade.

  "Why do you keep me?" she asked suddenly.

  I didn't look at her. "I told you. You're useful."

  "I haven't done anything useful."

  "You will."

  "When?"

  "When I decide you will."

  She was quiet for a moment, then said, "You're lying."

  I looked up sharply. "What?"

  "You're lying," she repeated, her voice soft but certain. "You don't keep me because I'm useful. You keep me because... you're lonely."

  The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

  I stood up, my hand tightening around Nightfall's hilt. "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "I do," she said, and for the first time, there was something in her eyes besides emptiness. Something that looked almost like... understanding. "You're lonely. Just like me."

  "I'm not lonely," I snapped. "I don't need anyone. I never have."

  "Then why did you buy me?"

  "Because—" I stopped, the words catching in my throat.

  Because I was tired of the silence. Because I was tired of talking to a sword. Because I was tired of being alone.

  But I couldn't say that. Couldn't admit it.

  "Because you're convenient," I said finally, my voice cold. "That's all. Don't read into it."

  She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded and looked away.

  "Understood, Master."

  The word "Master" felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

  I turned and left the room, slamming the door behind me.

  -

  That night, I couldn't sleep.

  I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying her words over and over in my head.

  You're lonely. Just like me.

  She was right. I hated that she was right.

  I'd spent months convincing myself that I didn't need anyone, that companionship was a weakness, that I was stronger alone. But the truth was, I wasn't. I was just... empty. Hollow. A predator with nothing to hunt but my own thoughts.

  And Kaelith—broken, haunted, waiting for death—had seen through me in a way no one else ever had.

  I rolled over and looked at the other bed, where she was sleeping. Her face was peaceful for once, the tension gone from her features. The silver streaks in her hair caught the moonlight, and for a moment, she looked almost... serene.

  I told myself I'd kill her eventually. That she was just a temporary solution to a temporary problem. That once I was strong enough, once I'd destroyed my family and reshaped this world, I wouldn't need her anymore.

  But even as I thought it, I knew it was the biggest lie I'd ever told myself.

  Because the truth was, I didn't want to kill her.

  I wanted to protect her.

  And that terrified me more than anything else in this world.

  -

  The next morning, we left the inn and continued north.

  Kaelith walked beside me, silent as always, but there was something different about her now. A subtle shift in the way she carried herself, like she'd found some small piece of herself she'd thought was lost.

  I didn't acknowledge it. Didn't comment on it. Just kept walking, Nightfall at my hip and my magic thrumming beneath my skin.

  But as we walked, I found myself glancing at her more often than I should have. Found myself making sure she had enough food, enough water, enough rest.

  Found myself caring, despite every instinct screaming at me to stop.

  "Master?" she said quietly.

  "What?"

  "Thank you."

  I stopped walking and looked at her. "For what?"

  "For not killing me."

  Her voice was soft, sincere, and it made my chest tighten in a way I couldn't explain.

  I turned away and started walking again. "Don't thank me yet. We'll see how useful you are."

  She didn't respond, but I heard her footsteps behind me, steady and sure.

  And for the first time in months, the hollow feeling in my chest didn't feel quite so unbearable.

  I told myself it didn't mean anything.

  I told myself she was just a tool, a slave, a warm body to keep the silence at bay.

  But deep down, I knew the truth.

  She was the exception.

  And I was fucked.