Celestial Descendant

Harlan turned from the door as he finished counting the coins, his expression a mix of satisfaction and disdain. He called for his personal assistant. “Miriel, come here.”

A moment later, Miriel appeared, his posture impeccably straight, a smooth expression on his face that exuded confidence and authority. Harlan handed the boy over, the slight tremor in his voice belying the casualness of his gesture. “Take this one. He’s yours now.”

Miriel studied the boy with cool, calculating eyes. “Of course, Master Harlan.” He motioned for the boy to follow, his movements elegant and deliberate, as if conducting a symphony. The boy stepped forward, curiosity bubbling beneath the surface, the world beyond Harlan’s office now unfolding around him.

Miriel led him through the cluttered corridors, the atmosphere thick with the scent of dampness and decay. Shadows loomed large, flickering as they passed by, creating an unsettling dance along the walls. The boy looked around, absorbing every detail—the chains that clinked softly in the distance, the murmur of voices echoing from hidden corners.

They reached a storage area stacked high with various items, the air heavy with a sense of confinement. Miriel motioned toward a discreet hatch buried beneath a pile of crates. The boy’s eyes widened as Miriel heaved the cover aside, revealing a dark descent. Without a word, he gestured for the boy to follow him into the hatch, and the boy complied, intrigued yet hesitant.

As they descended, the air grew cooler, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed in the narrow corridor. At the end stood a heavy metal door with no handle, only a sliding peephole. Miriel knocked sharply, the sound reverberating ominously.

A moment later, the peephole slid open, revealing a wary guard slave on the other side. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the boy, assessing the newcomer with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

“Miriel,” the guard acknowledged, eyes flicking back to the boy, sizing him up.

“Let us in,” Miriel ordered, his voice firm yet respectful. The guard nodded slowly, sliding the door open with a reluctant creak.

Inside was a vast room, the air thick with the scents of sweat and fear. Flickering torches lined the walls, casting an amber glow that illuminated cages containing various beasts and slaves alike. The sight was overwhelming: fit young men, some adorned with battle scars, and women whose haunted eyes told tales of hardship, all caged like animals.

The boy’s gaze wandered, filled with wonder and confusion. He noticed the stark contrast between the vibrant colors of the beasts and the dullness of the slaves’ expressions. The atmosphere buzzed with a sense of despair that was palpable, but he felt no fear, only a deep curiosity about this new reality.

Miriel led him further into the room, approaching a chamber where supplies were stored. It was a dimly lit area, filled with sacks of food—grains, dried meats, and other provisions. But the boy’s attention was drawn to something else, a collection of metal slave collars displayed prominently on a table.

The collars glinted ominously in the torchlight, each one meticulously crafted. They were heavy and cold, designed to bind not just the body but the will of the wearer. Originally created for taming beasts, they had been repurposed into instruments of control for the slavers. Each collar was a reminder of captivity, a shackle that forced obedience.

Miriel picked up one of the collars, examining it with a sense of pride and authority. He turned to the boy, tilting his head slightly, as if gauging his reaction. The boy looked up, intrigued yet unaware of the collar’s true purpose. Miriel’s expression shifted, a hint of disdain creeping into his demeanor as he prepared to place the collar around the boy's neck.

In that moment, the boy instinctively recoiled, a fleeting moment of instinctual defiance flaring within him. But curiosity held him in place, a paradox of innocence against the impending reality.

With a swift motion, Miriel fastened the collar around the boy’s neck, the metal cold against his skin. The boy felt an odd sensation, like a whisper brushing against his mind, yet he didn’t fully understand what had just happened. Miriel observed him carefully, noting the lack of resistance.

“Welcome to your new home,” he said, a smirk barely hidden beneath his carefully composed facade. The boy remained silent, his expression a mix of confusion and intrigue.

With the collar now secured, Miriel led the boy to a cell at the end of the room. The heavy iron door creaked open, and he gestured for the boy to enter. As the boy stepped inside, he felt the weight of the metal door closing behind him, sealing his fate.

In that moment, the boy absorbed the reality of his situation. He had stepped into a world that thrived on control and power, yet he was determined to absorb everything around him. With the flickering torchlight casting shadows across the walls, he stood still, a small figure lost in a sea of uncertainty, yet yearning to understand the depths of this dark new world.

The cell was dark and cold, and the boy sat in silence, his fingers gingerly brushing the metal collar around his neck. The sensation of the collar was alien and unpleasant. It didn’t fit like clothing; it constricted, reminding him constantly of its presence. The boy’s gaze sharpened as his fingers explored the cold metal, and curiosity tugged at his thoughts. He gripped the edges with both hands, pulling with all his strength.

Suddenly, a surge of raw power coursed through his small frame, channelled into his hands. The metal resisted but began to bend slightly under his grip, leaving the faint imprint of his fingers. For a brief moment, the boy felt something new—a spark, an understanding of his own strength. But then, as swiftly as the power had come, a sharp, searing pain exploded in his head. His vision blurred, and the agony was unlike anything he had ever experienced. His body stiffened, and he clutched his head in confusion, his muscles locking as the pain overwhelmed him. He knew what pain was, but this... this was on a different scale.

From the neighbouring cell, a soft voice broke through the quiet. "Don’t do that."

The boy turned his head slowly, his golden eyes settling on the speaker. It was a girl—no, not entirely human. She had the appearance of a girl in her twenties, but long, soft rabbit ears protruded from her head, and a fluffy tail swayed slightly behind her. Her eyes were large and kind, glowing faintly in the dim light.

“If you try to take that collar off by force, it’ll kill you,” she continued, her tone gentle but firm. "I've seen it before."

The boy's fingers moved from his head to his throat, touching the collar again, this time more cautiously. The girl’s warning echoed in his mind. Death. The boy understood what that meant. He had seen it in the eyes of those he had encountered before—beings that stopped moving, stopped breathing. He didn’t want that.

She observed him quietly for a moment before offering a kind smile. “I’m Lyra,” she introduced herself, her rabbit ears twitching slightly. "What’s your name?"

The boy only blinked in response, his lips parting slightly as if to speak but no sound came out.

Lyra tilted her head in slight confusion. “Can you speak?” she asked, leaning forward a little.

The boy shook his head, his movements slow but deliberate. Lyra's eyes softened with understanding.

"You're mute, aren't you?" she murmured, her voice taking on a more compassionate tone.

The boy gave a faint nod, his gaze still fixed on her, intrigued by her unusual appearance. The ears and tail were strange, but not frightening to him—just another element of this odd world he was now part of.

Lyra glanced around, ensuring that no guards were close by, then leaned against the bars that separated their cells. “You must be new to all this,” she said softly. “In a week, they’ll hold an auction. A secret one, for nobles—people with more power than anyone should have. They’ll sell us like we’re just... objects.” She let out a quiet sigh. “If you’re lucky, someone decent will buy you. If not... well...”

Her voice trailed off as her rabbit ears flattened slightly against her head. She didn’t need to finish the thought—there were too many possibilities in the world of slaves, most of them cruel. “For someone like me,” she continued, "beastmen are popular among certain nobles. Young masters with spoiled desires...”

Her voice grew quieter, sadness lacing her words, but before she could dwell on it, another voice interrupted from across the room.

“At least you get to live.”

The boy turned his head toward the new voice. A young man, no older than his early twenties, stood in the next cell, his face pale and drawn with fear. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the bars of his cell.

“For me,” the young man continued, “it’ll probably be the arena. I’ve seen it... those noble bastards like to buy men like me just to throw us into the ring. Make us fight until we can’t stand. They don’t care if we die. They don’t care at all.” His voice shook with terror, his eyes wide with dread. “Every day, fighting beasts, other men... like entertainment for them.”

Lyra glanced over at the young man with sympathy. “Callum,” she said softly, “I know... but some survive. Some do.”

Callum shook his head, his expression grim. “I don’t want to survive like that. I don’t want to be their amusement. I don’t want to be just another name on a betting sheet...” His voice broke, and he gripped the bars harder, his knuckles turning white.

The boy watched this exchange, processing the words. Death, suffering, pain—it was all around him, yet these concepts still didn’t provoke fear in him. Lyra’s sadness, Callum’s terror—these were emotions he recognized but didn’t fully share. What caught his interest wasn’t their despair, but the structure of this world. The auction, the masters, the collar—all of these things began to fit into place in his mind like pieces of a puzzle.

As Lyra and Callum’s words settled into his thoughts, the boy began to grasp his reality. He looked down at the collar around his neck again, his fingers tracing its metallic surface, feeling its weight, its purpose. So, this is what I am now—a slave.

His thoughts unfolded clearly, like the lessons he had learned so far. I eat only when told. I speak only when told. I move only when told.

But something else stirred in his mind as he recalled the words Lyra had spoken—people with more power than anyone should have. The auction was not just about being sold. It was about control. Nobles ruled over slaves. Masters held dominion over beasts and men alike. Power flowed not from strength but from position, from status. It was the invisible force that dictated who commanded and who obeyed.

This was his second lesson—power was not just strength, but control.

The masters wielded it. The nobles embodied it. And now, he was at the bottom of this hierarchy, controlled by the collar, by the slaver, by the world around him.

So this is how power works, the boy thought. It flows from those who control others.

He didn’t fully understand his place in this system yet, but he was beginning to see the threads that connected it all. Power wasn’t just about might; it was about who could bend others to their will. As he lay back in his cell, his eyes half-closed, the pieces of this strange, unfamiliar world continued to fall into place in his mind.

Lesson two—power lies in control.