As the sun began to set, the sky tinted a bright orange, creating an almost unreal backdrop for the bustling market. The last rays of light reflected off the roofs of the buildings, adding a golden glow to the scene. Merchants and customers hurried about, trying to conclude their last transactions before nightfall.

 

In the midst of this hustle and bustle, I was displayed like a commodity on the slave market. The slavers presented me as a rare treasure, extolling my beauty and youth. Potential buyers looked at me hungrily, their eyes roaming over my body as if they were appraising a precious object.

 

The stench of the market invaded my nostrils, and I could smell the sweat and fear of the other slaves. My heart pounded in my chest, and a ball of anxiety formed in my stomach.Potential buyers crowded around me, examining my beauty as if they were appraising a precious commodity. Some frowned, others smiled with satisfaction, but none seemed ready to make an offer. Uncertainty grew inside me, each scrutinizing glance making me wonder who would be my master.

 

The main bidder raised his gavel, and the crowd gathered in the marketplace fell into a tense silence. "We start at fifty gold pieces!" he shouted, his voice carrying through the open air. Hands went up, bids came in, and the price rose rapidly. I watched, eyes wide, heart pounding, as the numbers climbed, each bid bringing me closer to an unknown fate. The burning sun on my skin and the distant noise of the merchants only added to the intensity of the moment.

 

The bidding continued, voices rising and falling in a cacophony of desire and greed. Then, as the price reached unimaginable heights, the hammer fell with a thud. "Sold for three hundred gold coins, the price of a large agricultural property!" announced the bidder, his gaze settling on the new owners.

 

Two silhouettes then stood out from the crowd. The man was obese, with skin glistening with sweat and eyes that shone with an unhealthy gleam. He wore expensive clothes, but they were ill-fitting and looked ready to crack under the pressure of his protruding belly. His wife, on the other hand, was slim and trim, with sharp features that gave her an almost cruel appearance. She wore a red silk dress that contrasted sharply with her pale skin. Her icy-blue eyes stared at me with an intensity that made me uneasy.

 

"What a beautiful child," the man murmured, his voice as cold as his hand that rested on my shoulder.His wife smiled, a smile that failed to reach her eyes. "Yes, he's perfect," she said, her eyes roaming over my body with a look that made me shiver. "It will be an excellent addition to our collection."

 

The buyer's cold eyes undressed me, assessing every part of my body as if it were a commodity. I felt reduced to nothing, an object without value or dignity.

 

The slavers, delighted with their sale, quickly handed me over to the two strangers. They put a chain around my neck and pulled me behind them, leading me away from the market and the crowd.

 

As we walked away, I took one last look at the market. The other slaves watched me go with mixed expressions of relief and envy. They were still there, still chained, still at the mercy of their masters. I felt guilty leaving them behind, but I knew there was nothing I could do for them.

 

The journey to my new home was a mixture of fear and curiosity. The streets were full of life, but I couldn't help feeling the chain around my wrists and neck, a constant reminder of my condition. The luxurious house finally appeared on the horizon, an imposing building that seemed both welcoming and threatening.

 

It was lavishly decorated and filled with slaves of all ethnicities. They were all beautiful, all young, all in chains. They were all collectors' items for this depraved couple.

 

I had become a collector's item, a plaything for these monsters. I had become a slave, condemned to a life of suffering and humiliation.

 

The estate of my new masters was a veritable labyrinth of luxury and decadence.

 

The house was a palace compared to what I'd known, but it seemed cold and impersonal. Every step echoed on the marble, and I felt lost and overwhelmed.Slaves were everywhere, each assigned to a specific task according to their attributes. Some, beautiful and graceful, were used as decorative objects, displayed at feasts and receptions for the pleasure of guests. Others, strong and robust, were condemned to exhausting manual labor, such as farming or construction. And then there were those who were regularly tortured in the estate's dungeon, their cries of pain muffled by the thick walls of the mansion.

 

As for me, I was treated differently from the others. In the presence of the other slaves, I was well-dressed and seemed to be treated with a certain consideration. But the reality was quite different. My master, an obese man with a complex about his appearance, was aware of his wife's attraction to me. Despite the fact that they both endorsed relations with slaves, he couldn't help but feel a growing hatred for me.

 

Every night, he had me locked up in a cold, dirty, dark cell. He took great pleasure in introducing insects into the cell, creating a deep-seated trauma in me. I was chained up, unable to escape, and spent my nights fighting off insects attracted by the synthetic pheromones he used to spray on me.

 

As for his wife, she took great pleasure in torturing beautiful slaves. When she wasn't abusing them, she was torturing them in the dungeon. As for me, since I was still too young, she was content to whip me until I was old enough to go further.

 

In front of the other slaves, I was shown off as a privileged person. I was well-dressed and well-treated, but what they didn't know was the humiliations I suffered behind closed doors. For example, the mistress took great pleasure in forcing me to eat disgusting foods, making me walk barefoot on hot floors, or using me as a target for her dartboard games.

 

The jealousy of the other slaves was a poison that spread more and more every day. They lynched me out of sight, convinced that my beauty earned me special treatment. The whispers, the sidelong glances, all fed a tension that grew and grew.

 

One day, one of them, a man with hateful eyes and a face scarred by years of slavery, decided to act. Driven by jealousy and rage, he took me aside, away from the gaze of the others. His eyes shone with an unhealthy gleam, and I felt a shiver of terror run through me."You think you're better than us, kid?" he spat, his voice trembling with anger. "I'll show you what it's like to be a real slave."

 

Then he pulled out a hidden blade, its cold, sharp surface reflecting the dim light in the room. My heart stopped for a moment, and I understood what he intended to do. He wanted to disfigure me, to destroy the only thing that still linked me to my past, to my family.

 

I stepped back, but he grabbed me by the arm, his grip firm and merciless. The blade came close to my face, and I could feel his cold breath against my skin. Fear paralyzed me, and I could only watch in horror as he raised his hand to strike me.

 

But then, at the last moment, another hand stopped him.

 

It was a giant slave who had stopped the previous assault. He was huge and strong, with a grave expression on his face as he pushed the other slave away. "Not a child," he said in a low but firm voice. "You don't hurt a child."

 

The scene that followed was a whirlwind of screams and struggle, but all I remember is the overwhelming relief that washed over me when I realized I was saved.

 

When the masters arrived and saw my wounds, they immediately assumed that the giant was responsible. Their gaze hardened and they ordered the guards to seize him. Despite his size and strength, he didn't resist. He simply bowed his head and followed the guards, his massive shoulders hunched under the weight of injustice.

 

The mistress, with a cruel smile on her face, decided to punish him by torturing him. She ordered the guards to take him to the dungeon, promising a night of pain and suffering. The master, for his part, decided to lock us together in the same dungeon cell. He thought the giant would continue to hurt me, adding to my suffering. He thought it would break me even more, making me even more docile and obedient.

 

The cell was dark and cold, a place of despair and suffering. But despite this, the giant's presence was comforting. He was a reassuring presence in this place of terror, a reminder that I was not alone in my suffering.

 

His eyes were gentle, but I couldn't help feeling an instinctive distrust. After all I'd been through, could I really trust anyone?

 

We introduced ourselves. His name was Suraken Kamau. Despite his size and strength, he was only 13. We shared our stories, our fears and our hopes.

 

As the days went by, Suraken's kindness began to break through my shell. I found myself laughing at his jokes, feeling a little less alone. It was during these conversations that I learned the true nature of our masters.

 

Suraken explained to me that our masters were incredibly wealthy, their fortune coming from illegal sources. They had created a system where they hired out their slaves for various services, without taboos or limits. At the entrance to the estate, they posted a table showing the ranking of each slave. The lower a slave's ranking, the less profitable it was for them. To make these slaves profitable, they had set up an organ trade.

 

I wondered why the slaves didn't rebel against their masters. There were more of us, and some of us were strong. Suraken then told me about one of the estate guards. He was a former soldier who had mastered Rû, a form of martial art. This man was reputed to have wiped out an entire village in a fit of anger. His mere presence was enough to keep the slaves in line.

 

These revelations made me realize the magnitude of the situation we were in. We were trapped in a system designed to exploit and destroy us. But despite it all, I remained hopeful. I kept hoping that we'd find a way to escape, to be reunited with our families, to live a normal life.

 

But for now, we were stuck here, in this cold, dark cell, sharing our stories and our hopes. And as we talked, I felt something strange. A feeling I hadn't felt in a long time. A feeling of camaraderie, of friendship. In this place of despair and suffering, I had found a friend.

 

Suraken had shaken his head, his dark, serious gaze settling on me. "Zayn," he had begun, his deep voice echoing in the cold cell, "the situation isn't as simple as you think. Among the guards watching over us is a man... a former war soldier. He's not just a guard, he's a master of the Rû."

 

He had paused, as if to let the weight of his words sink in. "The Rû," he had continued, "is an energy that emanates from the soul. Those who master it can perform extraordinary feats, unimaginable acts of destruction. This man enjoys a terrifying reputation. It is said that he wiped out an entire village in a fit of rage."

 

Suraken had been looking at his hands, as if they were a reflection of the destructive power he was describing. "He has trained himself in such a way that an ordinary individual, no matter how strong and brave, cannot compete with him if he has not mastered the Rû. His mere presence is enough to keep us in line. We are no match for him."

 

 

 

I was shocked by this revelation. The idea that one man could possess such power was terrifying. It made me realize how powerless we were against our masters.

 

 

 

A silence fell between us, a heavy, ponderous silence. I felt the words forming in my throat, but I couldn't say them. I was too shocked, too frightened by what Suraken had just revealed to me.

 

Finally, it was Suraken who broke the silence. "What about you, Zayn?" he asked. "How did you get here? What's your story?"

 

I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. I began to tell him my story, from the day I was trapped in the then, to the moment I was captured to my arrival on the slave market. I talked about my family, my home, my life before slavery. I talked about my fear, my pain, my despair. I spoke of my desire for freedom, of my hope to be reunited with my family.

 

 

 

When I finished, Suraken was silent for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and began to speak. "My story is a little different from yours, Zayn," he began. "I wasn't captured in the sense that you mean. My village was attacked, set on fire. The survivors, including myself, were captured and sold into slavery."

 

 

 

He paused, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance. "My name is Suraken Kamau," he said, his voice soft but firm. "And this is my story..."