Year 109 A.C.
POV: Denovan
A few weeks later, the two galleons docked quietly at the port. The humid heat of that region seemed to carry a heavy, almost suffocating mugginess. I looked at the city before me and let out a long sigh; it didn't give me a good feeling. Through the eyes of Horus, who had already flown over the place, I had seen glimpses of an abominable reality. In the North, we dealt with the cruel brutality of winter and even cannibalistic tribes, but those wildlings from beyond the Wall seemed like innocent children when compared to the institutionalized sadism of those slave masters.
The horror of that place materialized for me through Horus's eyes. Long rows of wooden crosses rose against the blue sky, stretching across an entire square. On them, twisted and dehydrated bodies hung beneath the unforgiving sun, surrounded by the deafening buzz of blowflies. It was an explicit display of cruelty, designed to crush any spark of hope. I felt a bitter tightness in my chest. No matter how much power I accumulated, no matter how many beasts were under my command, it still wasn't enough. I had no way of freeing all those people and keeping them alive on a hostile continent. If I attempted a rebellion now, they would starve to death or be recaptured and massacred as soon as my ships left. Reluctantly, I swallowed my pride, lowered my head, and forced myself to move forward.
I called three of my most trusted men and Gragas, a former slave we had freed in Thieves' Port. Gragas knew the ways around there and was fluent in Low Valyrian. As long as I hadn't mastered that complex language, I would have to rely on him as my voice.
"Whatever you see in this city, do not lose your temper," I ordered, keeping my voice low as we walked through the stone streets. "We need to keep our focus on the well-being of our people back in the Far North."
"Yes, my lord," Gragas replied, with a politeness molded by the fear he was still trying to overcome.
My Northern warriors merely nodded with tense faces. They were not accustomed to calling me lord, and I would never force them to do so; their respect showed in loyalty and steel, not on bended knees. Before we walked completely away from the docks, I looked back and gave my final instructions to the men who would remain aboard.
"Keep guard on the ships. When we return, you can go out in shifts to explore and get what you need. Inform the others."
"You can rest easy, Denovan. We'll take care of everything," one of them replied, adjusting the axe at his belt. "See you in a few hours."
To guarantee our safety, I left Orochi submerged in the deep waters just below the hulls, waiting for any sign of an ambush. Heimdall remained perched discreetly on the highest mast, observing the movement of the port, while Horus watched the labyrinth of alleyways from high in the sky. We were all foreigners there, advancing cautiously through a territory that reeked of sweat, blood, and cheap opulence.
We didn't have to walk far to reach the square of crosses. I glanced at the decaying silhouettes of the condemned, feeling a burning fury in my stomach, before averting my eyes and quickening my pace. The more time I spent in that place, the more my skin repulsed the air there.
"By the Old Gods... boss, what did they do to end up like that?" whispered one of my warriors, his face pale as he stared at a disfigured corpse.
"Keep your voice down," I ordered, stepping closer to him so no one around us could hear. "They merely tried to escape. They are slaves. This city is filthy on the inside. Those pirates we killed in the Stepstones and the ones we keep locked in our holds... they are exactly the monsters that feed what happens here."
"Boss, is there nothing we can do for them?" asked the other Northman, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword with pure indignation.
"Even if we freed them all, what would we do next? They would starve to death in the wastelands, or worse, other traffickers would arrive to chain them up again as soon as we turned our backs. More blood would be spilled for nothing. Let's just do what we came to do and leave."
Guided by Horus's aerial vision, I traced the path toward the city markets. We walked among tents that mixed the exotic aroma of expensive spices with the degrading stench of caged human beings, exposed like over-the-counter merchandise. The contrast was dizzying and sickening.
In the middle of the market, a peculiar display caught my attention. I approached a cage made of greenish, cloudy glass, filled with murky water. Looking inside the aquarium, I was genuinely surprised to recognize small axolotls. I would never have imagined finding these creatures there. Before I could formulate a plan, a honeyed, drawling, heavily accented voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned and saw a merchant in flamboyant clothes, sporting several gold earrings and piercings on his nose and ears.
"My lord, he says these animals arrived yesterday and that he can sell them for a good price," Gragas translated, evaluating the merchant's expression.
I looked again at the small aquatic salamanders, most of them still in a larval state. Those amphibians possessed one of the highest rates of tissue regeneration among vertebrates in the world. Thinking of the benefit that ability would bring, I decided to try something I hadn't practiced in a long time. I extended the golden threads of my consciousness toward one of the animals. The filament of energy easily penetrated the fragile mind of the creature, but the instant the spiritual bond began to solidify, the axolotl started thrashing frantically in the water. In a few seconds, it floated, static and lifeless. The golden thread abruptly retracted back into my mind.
The influx of my vitality, the density of my spirit, and the sheer magnitude of the magic trying to connect to the animal were too much for its delicate structure. I had killed it merely with the pressure of my soul. I understood, with a bitter sigh, that attempting a permanent bond was very different from a simple, temporary skinchanging. Even if a creature survived the process, the subsequent wear and tear was still lethal. That meant I would only be able to bond with larger animals, endowed with a more robust and resilient essence: large ravens, eagles, and owls would be the absolute minimum limit of my capability.
But I couldn't help thinking in the back of my mind: what if I released the spirit little by little, perhaps over weeks and days, to try to forge a bond? Salamanders have excellent regeneration. Could I bond with fragile animals this way, and in the end, would it be worth the effort?
"Let's go..." I ordered, turning my back on the confused merchant and the aquarium.
As we walked, I used my mental connection to cancel the order I had given Nyx. Searching for small reptiles or common birds would be a complete waste of time; my mind would crush any attempt with weakly constituted animals. I focused on the main objective and headed toward an opulent stone mansion that stood out in the local architecture.
At the entrance of the property, a guard of Unsullied stood motionless. As we approached, they raised their spears in a perfectly synchronized movement, blocking our path. We stopped immediately. I nodded to Gragas, who took a step forward and began to speak in the local dialect.
"We have business to conduct with your master. Some good slaves to sell and others to buy," Gragas explained, while I gave a subtle pat to the heavy pouch of gold attached to my belt, making the coins jingle.
The Unsullied guard made a subtle gesture to a domestic servant, who hurried inside the mansion. We were left outside under the scorching sun, without any invitation to enter or sit. I didn't expect courtesy from a trafficker of human lives anyway, but that man's arrogance was testing my patience before the meeting even began.
Several minutes passed until a fat, stocky man crossed the portal, escorted by two Unsullied. He kept one of his heavy arms resting on the shoulders of a stunning young woman, whose curves were framed by fine fabrics. Looking at her, at the emptiness in her submissive eyes, I felt no desire; I only felt a deep and sharp pity. The man, adorned with thick gold chains and fingers covered in rings, stopped at a safe distance on the threshold and stared at us with disdain.
"You have several tattoos on your body, but none of them look like a slave's mark. Where are you from, foreigner?" he said, through Gragas's firm translation.
"Because I am not and never have been, and I am from a distant place. The details don't matter, let's get down to business," I replied, holding his gaze. "I have sixty slaves I intend to sell. They are all young, healthy men. Are you willing to buy?" I had more, but some pirates had been wounded during the battles and died during the voyage, not that it mattered now.
"I need to evaluate the quality of the merchandise before talking about gold. I don't buy anything of low quality, and the price must be fair," the slaver countered dismissively.
"I can trade them for others, if you'd rather not spend your coins. I only want skilled artisans. I believe this is a simple and cheap deal for someone like you."
A disgusting, mocking smile distorted the man's fat cheeks. "I can sell them for the right price. How many artisans do you want?"
"How many do you have available?"
"You wouldn't have enough gold to pay for all of them, foreigner."
"And who said I intend to buy all of them?" I retorted, my voice cold.
The fat man seemed to lose his patience with the tone of the conversation and adjusted his posture with arrogance. "Bring your slaves to the gates of my property so I can evaluate them. We will close the deal after that." Without waiting for a reply, he turned his back and returned to the luxury of his mansion.
"Let's find someone else," I whispered to Gragas. "This guy has irritated me enough for one day."
We walked for a long period through the commercial districts of Slaver's Bay until we found a merchant of more modest means, but far more willing to talk directly. We sat down in a rudimentary private room; my three warriors positioned themselves like ice statues behind my chair, while Gragas sat beside me.
"I have sixty healthy, robust men, capable of fighting or serving as heavy labor," I began, straight to the point.
The slave master, whose clothes, although discreet, revealed fabrics of the highest quality, leaned forward. "I understand. And what do you ask in return for them?"
"I don't want gold, if possible. I would like to trade them for other slaves. Specifically, experienced artisans."
"Blacksmiths? Carpenters?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes. Weavers and glassmakers too," I listed.
"And how many do you expect to receive?"
"Five of each."
The man let out a contained laugh, shaking his head. "That is impossible. Men like you arrive at this port every day trying to unload prisoners of war. Few possess skilled artisans like mine. I can hand over two of each, provided yours are really good at what they do."
I thought for a second, calculating the value of those men for the infrastructure of Scalebay. "Throw in a good linguist and we close the deal right now. I will bring more men on the next trip; consider this the beginning of a long and lucrative commercial relationship between us."
The slaver stared into my eyes for a few moments, evaluating the seriousness of the proposal, until he finally yielded with a nod. "Consider it a gesture of goodwill on my part."
We got up from the table, but there was no handshake; neither of us had the stomach to fake sympathy.
"Prepare your men for the exchange early tomorrow," I concluded, turning my back.
Trading people as if they were heads of cattle or crates of merchandise left a bitter and lingering taste in my mouth. We left that office and returned immediately to the safety of the ships.
The next day, we disembarked accompanied by thirty of my Northern warriors. It wasn't an army, but each of them was worth three common men in combat, and with Horus patrolling the skies against any surprise, I knew we would make the exchange without casualties. We led the sixty pirates in a tied procession toward the buyer's property.
The process went with terrifying speed, revealing how routine and mechanical that abomination was for the city's inhabitants. Some of the captured pirates insulted us, promised bloody revenge, or cried, begging for mercy. As former slavers and looters themselves, they knew perfectly well the terrible fate that awaited them in the labor camps of Essos. My men and I completely ignored them; we knew exactly what those criminals were capable of when they were free.
The promised artisans were brought outside. They bore the marks of branding irons on their skin and kept their eyes fixed on the ground. The new men walked among our ranks in sepulchral silence for the entire journey back to the port, only expressing themselves with a mechanical and frightened bow when they crossed the gangplank of the ship.
As soon as we stepped onto the wooden deck, I looked at the crew. "Prepare to set sail immediately. I don't want to stay in this port for another minute."
A short time later, the sails were raised and the galleons were already cutting through the blue waters toward the open sea, leaving the silhouette of the accursed city behind. I approached the group of artisans who remained huddled in a corner of the deck. I drew my dagger and stepped forward. They backed away, expecting the worst, but I merely grabbed the ropes and chains that bound them, cutting and breaking the links one by one.
"Here, you are no longer slaves," I announced, my firm voice echoing across the deck. "I am taking you all to the place I call home. I don't need or want you to work to death for me. I only expect you to teach what you know to my people. In return, I will give you decent housing, plenty of food, and legitimate gold for your services."
They stared at me with deep suspicion, their faces rigid as if those words were merely part of a cruel game or an obedience test.
"If you don't believe me now, just wait and see," I continued, sheathing my blade. "Do what is asked and you will soon see that I am telling the truth. None of us here tolerates slavery."
"If you hate slavery so much, what were those other men you handed over in our place?" the sharp and cynical voice of one of the younger artisans cut through the silence of the deck.
I turned to him, holding his gaze with icy seriousness. "Those men were pirates and slavers. We killed most of their gang in the Stepstones because they looted and raped innocents. The ones who surrendered learned that what goes around comes around. We merely used their own system to buy your freedom."
"I am sure you won't shed a tear for them," I said, turning around and walking into the ship's deck without looking back.