ShadowBound: The Need For Power

"My name is Ubbe," the young thief began, his voice low but steady. "About a year ago, I was approached by two hooded men who told me that my services were required by Lord Drosmir. They made it clear—if I refused, my sisters would pay the price. I didn't know exactly what kind of work they wanted from me, but with my sisters' lives hanging in the balance, I couldn't risk saying no."

He took a shallow breath before continuing. "Once I agreed, they led me away with a bag over my head. I couldn't see where we were going, only feel the cobblestones under my feet and hear the shifting of their boots. When the bag was finally removed, I found myself in a study, standing before a desk. On the other side sat a man wearing a mask of white, patterned with gold."

Ubbe's eyes darkened at the memory. "I knew it was Lord Vaelen Drosmir. But… something about him was different. His presence—it didn't feel the same as it did when I'd seen him in broad daylight. It was… colder, heavier."

Hearing that, Serah's eyes narrowed slightly. 'So, he is a double after all… or maybe it's simply the nature of the setting that changes him,' she thought. 'Let's hear the rest first.'

"He told me he had known my parents. Said they'd owed him a great debt before they died—and since they had failed to repay it, I was to make up for their failure. If I refused, my sisters would suffer after I was… removed. I didn't even hesitate. I told him I'd repay every coin, no matter the cost." Ubbe's gaze fell briefly to the ground. "But the truth was… I had no way of earning that kind of money. That's when Lord Drosmir offered me a way to 'work off' the debt—by serving him directly."

"What kind of work?" Serah asked, her voice calm, though there was a certain weight behind it.

Ubbe lowered his head slightly before answering. "Once or twice a month, I was to collect crates from the docks and deliver them."

"And these crates—what did they contain?" Serah's tone stayed measured, though her eyes were fixed on him.

Ubbe hesitated for a long moment before speaking again. "Slave collars. Forged not only to physically bind a person, but to mentally enslave them—bending their will entirely to the one who holds the key."

Around the room, Myla, Jorin, and Elira's eyes widened in unison. The implication was clear—such collars weren't just tools of control; they were a direct assault on a person's soul.

Serah felt a surge of anger in her chest, her jaw tightening, but she forced her emotions into check. "These slave collars," she said evenly, "are what you three thought were in that crate at the docks?"

"Yes," Ubbe confirmed. "We were told there was a shipment tonight, and we had to collect it by midnight. When we saw that crate, we thought it was the one—but there were no markings. I suggested we leave it, but Sieguur—" he nodded toward the smirker lying unconscious on the floor "—insisted we check anyway, in case the markings were just forgotten. That's when the dock guards appeared… and you and your group chased us down."

"I see." Serah's eyes shifted from Ubbe to the third thief—the quiet one—who now stared at her with an expression neither hostile nor submissive, just… present.

"Do you have something to share?" she asked him evenly.

The man only looked at her in silence.

After a moment, Serah turned back to Ubbe.

"He can't speak," Ubbe explained, his tone carrying a hint of weariness.

Serah studied the man briefly before focusing on Ubbe again. "Then tell me this, Ubbe—once you collect these slave collars from the docks, where do you deliver them?"

Ubbe took a long moment before answering, his gaze distant. "Far to the north of Zone Sixteen," he said at last, "deep underground… in a hidden chamber carved into the earth itself."

"This is the same place where the auction takes place?" Serah asked.

"Yes," Ubbe confirmed.

"Can you give me the exact location of this place?" she pressed.

Ubbe shifted in his seat, his bound hands twitching against the ropes. He glanced down at the floor, avoiding her unwavering stare. When he finally spoke again, his voice carried a note of reluctance.

"I can… but reaching it won't be easy. The path is hidden, riddled with traps, and guarded by men who'd slit your throat before you could take a breath. The entrance itself is disguised—looks like nothing more than an abandoned mining shaft on the far ridge line, half-buried under sand and rock. Without knowing what to look for, you'd walk right past it. And even if you found it, only those with a special token can get through the first gate."

Serah's gaze sharpened. "And you have this token?"

"I did," Ubbe said, bitterness creeping into his tone. "Until about a week ago, when Lord Drosmir's men took it back. They only hand it out just before a shipment or auction. Without it, you'd need another way in—and that way would be walking straight into a deathtrap."

Behind Serah, Elira folded her arms, exchanging a wary glance with Myla and Jorin. Serah didn't turn. Her attention was fixed entirely on Ubbe. "Describe the chamber."

Ubbe's expression hardened. "It's massive, carved from black stone. The walls are lit by torches burning with a cold, bluish flame. The air inside feels… wrong—thick, heavy, pressing against your chest with every breath. Iron cages line the walls, each one holding prisoners or slaves awaiting sale. In the center, there's a raised platform—the auction stage—surrounded by guards. Overhead, a balcony stretches along the back wall, where Lord Drosmir—or whoever wears his mask—watches every sale."

Elira's fists clenched at her sides. Myla's jaw tightened. Jorin muttered something under his breath, falling silent only when Serah's eyes flicked toward him for half a heartbeat.

"Who buys from this auction?" Serah asked, her voice cold and clipped.

"Not just nobles," Ubbe said. "Mercenaries. Warlords. People from other Zones. Some want labor. Others… darker things. And then there are collectors—those who seek rare bloodlines, or people with mystical potential. The collars make sure no one can resist."

Serah's voice came quieter, but sharper. "And the collars—how many were meant to be in tonight's shipment?"

"Three crates," Ubbe answered. "At least twenty collars in each. Enough to enslave a village if they wanted."

Silence hung for a moment, Serah's eyes still locked on him, weighing both his words and his worth. "Are you any good at drawing?" she asked suddenly.

Ubbe blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… not really. I can draw a tree at best."

"That's good enough," Serah said flatly. "You're going to draw me a map. Every path. Every guard post. Every trap you know of. And you're going to do it now."

Ubbe's mouth opened, a protest forming, but one sharp look from her froze the words in his throat. He exhaled slowly. "…Fine. But once I do, I'm done. You have to make sure nothing happens to my sisters. And I want nothing to do with that place again."

"As I said before," Serah replied, "you have my royal word—no harm shall come to your sisters. But as for you…" her eyes hardened, "I cannot promise your safety when this is over."

Ubbe lowered his gaze, then met her eyes again. "Like I told you before, my life doesn't matter to me half as much as theirs. Whatever happens after this… if I don't make it back, don't let them know their brother was part of any of it."

Serah straightened from her crouch, her gaze still fixed on him. "You have my word."

She turned to Elira. "Jorin, untie him. Elira, bring him paper and quill." Her voice was calm, but carried an edge that brooked no delay.

As Jorin worked on untying Ubbe and Elira stepped forward to hand him a paper and quill, Serah remained a few paces back, her posture calm yet unreadable, while Myla was still perched lazily against a wooden chair.

"So… princess, what exactly is the plan here? Because I really hope you're not thinking of just charging headfirst into a dark mage's nest without a second thought," Myla murmured in a voice low enough that only Serah could hear.

"Also, has it crossed your mind that this could all be a setup? I mean, what if this Ubbe guy is just sending us straight into our graves?" she added, her tone edged with suspicion.

Serah didn't turn to look at her, her eyes locked instead on Ubbe, who was now discovering—much to his own surprise—that he was actually a remarkably skilled artist.

"Whether what Ubbe has told us is the truth or a complete fabrication, it's still worth giving it a try," Serah said at last, her voice carrying quiet resolve.

"Well sure," Myla replied, "but it's definitely not worth dying over."