If Tilly could have a single wish granted, it would be to never see the inside of a ritual slave room again. Getting into one was doing it one too many. Cold sweat gathered on her palms as she observed the trio of mages, mumbling their spells, while they fuelled the incantation, which would make her a slave to the Fixer.

Speaking of the enigmatic man, he was standing on the opposite side of the magic circle, stripped of all his gear and wearing only his pants. He was far more muscular than she had expected and with a lot more scars than she could have imagined. Most formed a grotesque picture of numerous meetings with Saya, the Goddess of Death. But as much as the sight scared her, because of the sheer volume of violence the man had experienced in his past, it fascinated Tilly. To have survived one of those wounds was amazing. She could only marvel at what amazing skills and traits the man had.

There was something primal in the way his chest inflated with each measured breath. A savageness to his motionless stance. The feelings raging inside of her were beyond words and Tilly cursed her limited vocabulary for denying her to properly express the emotions fighting for control of her sanity. And as soon as it all became too much to bear, she was brought back to reality, by a slight nudge from Septima.

The maid had been standing beside her all this time and the girl had failed to notice her. She had also failed to notice the short conversation between the Fixer and the Guild Master, but based on the sour expression of the latter, it was not a pleasant one.

“You must stand on the sigil over there,” the maid pointed at the doodle a couple of steps in front.

“Is it going to hurt?” Tilly asked sombrely.

“Only a slight discomfort initially,” the old woman shrugged. “There might be a slight prickling sensation while the slave mark forms on your skin.” She squeezed her hand gently. “The answers to the questions they will ask are: Yes, Yes, No, and left thigh.”

“What? I don’t understand.” Why did everyone around her have to be so cryptic? Couldn’t people just say what they mean when they speak!

“Don’t worry, all will become clear when the ritual is over. As for the last one, that’s where master prefers the mark to be placed.” Septima pulled down her skirt slightly to reveal a tattoo-like drawing starting from her left hip and continuing down towards her thigh.

“And you should probably take one of these,” she extended her open palm and a small black flame flashed there for a heartbeat, revealing a greenish pill in its place.

The way the Storage skill manifested was fascinating and Tilly would have loved to discuss it in detail. However, she reminded herself that there was a time and place for everything, and this was neither the time nor the place. Cautiously she took the pill from the maid’s hand and examined with unhidden scrutiny.

“What’s that? Something to help with the ritual?”

“Ha-ha-ha!” Septima giggled coyishly. “No, nothing like that. It’s a breath freshener.”

Tilly didn’t need anyone to tell her that her face turned scarlet. She could feel all too well. If anything was going to go wrong, like deadly wrong, now was the time. The girl was ready to die from embarrassment. With all the commotion, she had completely forgotten about the morning ritual of cleaning herself and making sure was as presentable as possible. With a speed that would put to shame a fleeing scuttle mouse, she forced the pill in her mouth and chewed on it vigorously. The sudden burst of mint and herbs nearly choked, but this was a small price to pay.

“I… Thank you.” Tilly said through teary eyes and snot-clogged nose.

“Don’t mention it. But now, you should focus. The ritual is starting.” With that, the old maid stepped away from the circle and assumed her designated position as a silent observer.

It all started innocent enough, repeat a word here and there, but before Tilly could understand what was going on, she was chanting at the top of her voice, screaming over magical winds only she could hear. By this point, she could not say which part came after which, or how far they were with forming her slave mark. Had they asked her any questions? Did she supply the correct answers? Or was that something that was yet to come? She could not give an honest answer to any of those questions and could only hope that everything was going as planned. The last thing she wanted was to fail the enslavement ritual. Doing so would mean she would become a true slave in the very strict meaning of the word. No meals, no payment, no protection. Just doing anything and everything to repay both the Guild and her new master.

“… Where?” The question from one of the mages caught her by surprise. Tilly had no time to ponder.

“Left thigh…?” She repeated what Septima had said. Wait? Wasn’t that about where the mark would be placed? She wanted it on her right forearm, as a small gesture of rebellion for having her original contract voided.

“Very well. It shall be so.” All three mages said at the same time. “Would you wish to name your servant?” They asked the Fixer.

“Yes,” His voice was deep and stern. It made her feel as if a mountain was looming over her from the other side of the magic circle. “Octavia.”

A small prickling sensation, the damned maid had said. What a pile of horseshit! It was more like something was tearing apart the skin of her leg. She wanted to scream, beg that the pain stop, but she did not. She would not give them the satisfaction to see her in such a state, not after the way she was treated. A small part of Octavia knew that this was pointless. She was the architect of her own misery.

After her father died, the girl sold everything which tied her down her village and moved to the capital. Well, at least that was the plan. Move there, open a small tailoring shop, just like the Hero Itomi had done in the old stories. However, she had vastly misunderstood the difference between living in the country and the capital. All the money she had lasted only a month and Octavia was forced to move her shop to the slums. As it turned out, not a lot of clients in those parts, which made her take a loan after a loan from that serpent Francis. Only sixteen and she was spiralling to the bottom at an alarming pace.

So, this is what the bottom looked like, she thought as the pain stopped, leaving in its place an itch sent out from the depths of the Abyss. Wait a moment, she directed her attention back to the ritual, which was wrapping up with the customary exchange of gifts, or she liked to call them – bribes. But that was not the point, the girl reminded herself. The Fixer changed her name! Why? Although the option to do was available, it was a show of poor manners for an owner to rename their slave. The only people who would do something like that were the illegal slave traders, bandits, and especially shady nobles.

Octavia ruffled her short straw-blonde hair in an attempt to clear her head… Wait just a damned moment, that wasn’t her name! Her name is Octavia! No! Damn it and damn the enslavement ritual. She could not use her own name even in her thoughts. The girl was about to protest when the Fixer picked her up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Oh, come on!” She squealed, contemplating if she should start drumming on his back with her small fists. Somehow, she doubted that he would feel anything if she did so. “I can walk well on my own.”

“No, you cannot,” Septima chimed from behind the burly man, smiling at the confused girl. “If master did not pick you up, you were going to collapse. The ritual of placing the slave mark is very physically draining for the recipient. You might not feel it, but the majority of your stamina has been spent.”

“But I feel fine.” She protested, ignorant of the fact that they were in the communal hall now.

“So did I, when Sexta explained it to me. Like you, I did not listen to her and ended up pissing myself on the floor seconds later when my legs gave up.” A shadow of embarrassment crossed the elderly maid’s face at the memory of that event. Her composer restored, she looked around and spoke in a lower voice. “But such topics are better discussed in private.”

With a sigh, Octavia resigned herself to the fact that she was downgraded to luggage for the foreseeable future.

 

---

 

The girl hated to admit it, but the bath at the Fixer’s home was simply amazing. It was larger than her former room in the slums and it was definitely larger than the communal bath she used when she had a coin or two to spare. The only thing Octavia did not appreciate was being dumped into the warm pool-like bath with all her clothes on. But then again, she was also instructed to scrub up and wait for Septima to return from whatever errand the Fixer had her doing.

Plenty of time for Octavia to put her thoughts in order, enjoy herself and mull over how it had all come to this. It was strange to address herself with this new name, but there was nothing she could do about it. The damned thing was magic. She could peel her thigh down to the bone and it still would be there.

Despite what most folks thought, magic is not omnipotent, but it is accessible to nearly everyone who could afford an instructor. However, not taking into account the financial restriction, there was quite the long list of drawbacks to becoming proficient with it. It was why, the girl gave up on the notion of learning anything from the dusty overpriced tome she bought with the last of her coin, and which she had to exchange to the Guild in lieu of paying for her indenture contract fees.

The only reason she had any interest in the topic was because she wished to learn as much as possible about what becoming a slave meant. Well, her fascination with how skills and traits worked might have had something to do with it too. Sadly, after hours of research, or in other words reading the dusty tome she bought, Octavia realised that the enslavement ritual was the first and only spell fully mastered by the human race. Every other spell, incantation, hex, or the likes, no matter how insignificant or complex, allowed for improvement. In a way, this spoke volumes about the human mindset.

Putting that aside, the main issue she should be focusing on is what the Fixer would want from her? Any sane adventurer would have cancelled their bid the moment they heard she was useless in a fight. So why did he purchase her then? Was it to sacrifice her in some demonic ritual? She had to escape!

“Don’t be an idiot,” Septima’s voice rang from the edge of the bath. “No one is sacrificing anyone here. You talk a lot when you think no one is around.”

Startled, embarrassed, and more out of habit than anything, Octavia plunged to the bottom of the bath. Not that the older maid wasn’t going to see her, but perhaps, if the girl didn’t see her, they can pretend this wasn’t happening. How long had she been talking to herself…? By the gods, this was just awful.

“To be honest, I expected an outburst from you, my dear.” The maid said as she pulled Octavia out of the water and began to scrub her back with scented soap. “I myself nearly attacked Sexta back in the day as soon as we reached this room.”

“You mentioned her before,” The girl said, focused on her knees. She was not used to someone helping her like this. A person’s bath was a very private matter according to her upbringing.

“She was my elder and the maid and assistant of our master before me,” Septima said with a hint of sadness in her voice. “A really sweet woman, who could hang a man with his own gut when angry.”

Without a warning, the woman pushed Octavia into the large pool of water and removed her dress. Despite her age, Septima was strong and firm and almost as covered in scars as the Fixer. Though, hers were not as frightening.

“Did he… Did he do that to you?” The girl asked stopping her fingers a hair’s breadth away from a particularly nasty-looking scar on the maid’s back. It ran from her shoulder almost to her buttocks.

“No, my dear,” a tired smile appeared on Septima’s face. “The scars he leaves cannot be seen.” Taking a deep breath, the woman continued. “Those are reminders of my mistakes. Except for this one.”

Septima pulled her hair at the back of her head and revealed a delicate line at the base of her skull. “This one, I did myself, when I thought I lost my master. I was young, and poor Sexta had died not a week before. Slipped from a ladder and broke her neck.”

Octavia was mesmerised by the tale, as the elderly woman continued. “We had just returned from a mission, me and master, and he was bleeding. Bleeding something fierce. I did not think he would make it through the night.” Septima took the cloth and started to clean her arms, one at a time with practiced slow moves.

“You see, the enslavement contract we make with him dictates that should he die we die as well. I did not want to know how the cursed magic of the slave mark would end me. So, I jumped from the balcony on the second floor. In the state I was in, I forgot that the kitchen’s roof was underneath me. Went through the rafters and sliced my head open. Next thing I remember is waking up in my room a week later, with our master sleeping on the edge of the bed.”

Septima turned around and looked her in the eyes. Her piercing olive eyes filled with emotions; the young girl could not comprehend. “Remember this. Engrave it in your mind, in your soul. He cares for us. We are not disposable tools.”

“You could have fooled me,” Octavia laughed at the absurdity of the statement. “I’ve heard the stories… He stripped me of my name…”

“And you will be grateful for it.” Septima pulled herself onto the ledge of the pool. “As for those stories, well, let’s just say that the Guild attracts a lot of problematic people. You see, my dear, adventurers enjoy a lot of freedom and privileges. Some might argue that this is appropriate considering how they risk their lives. But power corrupts.”

“That is enough, Septima,” the Fixer spoke from the door of the bathroom. Octavia’s eyes widened as she had her first proper look at the man.

Her mind hadn’t been playing tricks on her in the ritual chamber. Head and shoulders taller than her. Twice as wide in the shoulders and with a body made of rock-hard muscles, covered in too many scars. But now, she could see the hint of a beard on his face and the silver peppered in his black short hair. His entire posture spoke of a predator, waiting to pounce at any given moment. It took Octavia a moment to remember that both she and Septima were stark naked and he could see everything.

“Doesn’t anyone knock!”

“She will learn all in time. It is time you do a reading on her.” He commanded, disregarding the girl’s protest. The Fixer offered a hand to the maid, helping her to stand up. “I am sorry to ask this of you, but we must hurry before the cancer destroys your lungs.”

Ok, Octavia was officially confused. What did a sea crab have to do with anything? And how was one alive inside of the elderly woman in the first place?

“You need not concern yourself with my wellbeing, master.” Septima lowered her head. “I’ll be fine.”

“No!” The Fixer barked at her, his mighty frame shaking with anger. “You will not be fine!” He paused and walked closer to the maid. Placing his large hand on the side of her head, he pulled her into a loving embrace.

“You have no idea what this sickness will do to you… I’ve seen it. I’ve seen what the attempted cure does to people. But her, in this world, I cannot offer you anything. There is no chemo, no rad therapy… I cannot watch you die in agony…”

“It will be ok, sir,” Septima buried her face in the man’s chest. “Believe it or not, the little lady over here is far more suited to take my place than you think.”

Slowly, Septima peeled away from the mighty arms embracing her and gave the man a warm motherly smile. “I’ll inform you of the results in the morning. You should not make Miss Rex wait too long, considering you will be asking her for a favour.”

“She is too skinny. I expect you to fix that.” The Fixer grunted and gave Octavia one last look of displeasure, before turning around and leaving the bathroom.

Once Septima was sure their master was out of hearing reach, she slid back to the polished marble floor and dipped her soles into the water.

“I know what you are going to ask.”

“Was I speaking again?” Octavia said, more interested in getting some answers than saving her already non-existing reputation, with the woman.

“No. But you were listening very carefully to our conversation,” Septima let out a sigh and helped her get out of the water, urging her to sit next to her. “I’m dying. An incurable disease, which the last Heroes brought from their world.”

“Is it… Is it contagious?” The girl was ready to jump away, but the maid only chuckled and slapped her on her back.

“No. Actually, it cannot be passed from one person to another. Few know of this, but every time Heroes are summoned, they bring something bad with them. It is the price we pay for the Gods to interfere with the workings of the other world.”

Septima pulled a small platter with cards from her Storage Space and placed it in her lap.

“For now, we will start with something simple, so pay attention.” The woman shuffled the cards and began to lay them on the tray one by one. Each one decorated with arcane symbols and images straight out the Scripture.

“I have many skills, but the ones you need to know and the ones you will be expected to learn are as follows. Attentive, Sword and Shield…”

“But that’s incompatible with my trait!”

“Do not interrupt me.” There was steel in Septima’s voice, as she picked up the cards and shuffled them again. “Sword and Shield, Runner, Quiet Mover. Now, I possess several traits. Out of them all, the ones you need to know of are; Scion of the Shadows.” As she said that, the card she placed down was painted with the image of Husk, god of the Darkness.

“Ice Queen.” Another card was placed on top of Husk. This one depicting Rafaella’s Ice Pillar from the time the goddess of water had struck down the mad king Lucas.

“Bottomless Well.” The next card had the Pit of Gamash, the birthplace of magic, painted on it.

“And Star Gazer.” This last card bore an image of the Star Palace of the Gods, visible only during the Night of Regret.

“You are a mage!” Octavia gasped as the dots connected in her head.

“In a manner of speaking.” Septima smiled. Her eyes changed colour to a bright blue and Octavia could feel the air around her grow colder. “I can manipulate ice and water, for sure, but most of all I can peek into the realm of the Gods.”

She spread the other cards on the tray, face down, and placed the finger of her right hand on the one in the middle. “For now, you can pick only two. Make your choice.”

“Why?” Octavia didn’t want to admit it, but she was scared. Whatever the woman next to her was doing, was unnatural. “And how can I pick when I cannot see what I’m choosing?”

“Only two. Now or never.” Septima coughed blood as she spoke, forcing the girl to act. She pulled two cards and dropped them on the tray immediately as they burned her fingertips.

“The folks at the Office of Skills & Perk Appraisal are good. But I’m better.” More blood spilled from the woman’s mouth as she tried to laugh.

“Are you ok?! I’ll get help…” Octavia jumped up and made to dash towards the door.

“Don’t.” Septima grabbed her by the forearm and squeezed lightly. “Please. Don’t. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“And I’m a Trent!” The girl nearly screamed in the maid’s face. “You need help!”

“It’s pointless. The spell I used. It increases the spread of the sickness inside of me. I only need a minute.”

“That’s why he didn’t want you to use it…” Octavia narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t told him how sick you really are, have you?”

“He cares too much about us,” Septima lowered herself on the cool marble and closed her eyes. All the while her face twisted in pain. “He was a wreck when Sexta died. I fear that if he sees me now, it will destroy the last vestige of humanity left in him.” She opened her eyes and looked pleadingly at Octavia. “Never allow for that flame to die. He will deny it, but there is a soul left in him.”

“What can I do? You know, to help you.” The girl said and sat next to the woman, pulling a towel over her.

“Just sit with me. To be honest, I don’t want to be alone.”