The slave auction house rises from the desert like a monument to cruelty.
It's massive—an amphitheater carved from pale stone, with tiered seating that can hold thousands of spectators. The architecture is elegant in the way that only vampire construction can be: graceful arches, intricate carvings, columns that seem too slender to support the weight they carry. Beautiful and terrible all at once.
This is where they sell people.
The thought sits heavy in my chest as Ghatak and I approach the main entrance. We're dressed in the kind of expensive clothing that marks us as wealthy buyers—dark silks, subtle jewelry, the unmistakable air of power and privilege. I've braided my silver-red hair into an elaborate crown, and Ghatak's dark hair is pulled back to reveal the sharp angles of his face.
We look like we belong here.
And that makes my skin crawl.
"Remember," Ghatak murmurs as we climb the steps. "We're here to observe. To learn the system. To identify targets."
"And to buy," I add quietly.
His eyes cut to mine. "How many?"
"As many as we can afford." I touch the dimensional pocket where our converted platinum rests—five thousand coins, more wealth than most people on Aerox will see in a lifetime. "And as many as we can transport."
"That's a lot of people, Astraea."
"Good." My voice is flat, emotionless. "The more we take, the more we hurt this system."
We pass through the entrance into a grand foyer where other buyers mill about—vampires mostly, with a scattering of wealthy elves and dwarves. Everyone is dressed in finery, everyone carries themselves with the casual arrogance of those who have never questioned their right to own other beings.
I want to burn this place to the ground.
But that would be impulsive. Shortsighted. The kind of chaos-driven destruction that feels good in the moment but accomplishes nothing in the long term.
No.
I'm going to do something worse.
I'm going to take their merchandise. Systematically. Strategically. Until there's nothing left to sell.
A vampire in elegant robes approaches us, his smile practiced and professional. "Welcome to the Grand Auction House of Kethara. Are you registered buyers?"
"Not yet," Ghatak says smoothly. "We're new to the area."
"Ah, travelers!" The vampire's smile widens. "Excellent. We have a spectacular selection today. Over three hundred lots, including some truly exceptional specimens. If you'll follow me, I can get you registered and seated."
He leads us through the foyer to a registration desk where a bored-looking elf takes our names (false ones, of course) and our deposit (five hundred platinum, refundable if we don't purchase anything). In return, we receive numbered paddles and directions to our seats.
"The auction begins in one hour," the vampire says. "Please, enjoy the refreshments in the gallery while you wait."
We make our way to the gallery—a lavish space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the auction floor below. Servants circulate with trays of wine and delicate pastries. Buyers cluster in small groups, discussing their interests, comparing notes on previous purchases.
I take a glass of wine I have no intention of drinking and move to the window.
Below, I can see the auction floor. The block at the center. The holding pens along the sides, where hundreds of people wait in chains.
Merchandise.
That's what they call them here.
Not people. Not individuals with hopes and dreams and families.
Merchandise.
My hand tightens on the wine glass until I hear it crack.
Ghatak's hand covers mine, his touch grounding. "Breathe."
"I'm fine."
"You're about to shatter that glass and draw attention."
He's right. I force myself to relax, to set the glass down on a nearby table. "How long until the auction starts?"
"Forty-five minutes."
"Then we have time." I turn away from the window. "I need to see the holding pens."
"Astraea—"
"I need to see them, Ghatak." My voice is low, urgent. "I need to know what we're working with. How many dragons are down there. How many people we can realistically save."
He studies me for a moment, then nods. "Stay close. And don't do anything that will get us thrown out before we can buy anyone."
We slip out of the gallery and make our way down a side corridor. The auction house is a maze of passages and chambers, but I follow my instincts—and the faint pull of dragon magic that calls to me like a beacon.
The holding pens are in the lower levels, accessible through a guarded door. But the guards are sloppy, more interested in their conversation than in watching for intruders. It's easy to slip past them, to descend the stairs into the dim corridors below.
The smell hits me first.
Unwashed bodies. Fear. Desperation. The metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of despair.
This is where they keep the merchandise before the sale.
The corridor opens into a large chamber lined with cages. Iron bars, stone floors, no privacy, no dignity. People are packed into the cages like animals—some sitting, some standing, some lying on the ground in positions that suggest injury or illness.
And among them, I feel it.
Dragon magic.
Faint. Suppressed. But unmistakable.
I move through the chamber slowly, my senses reaching out, searching. Ghatak follows silently, his presence a steady anchor at my back.
There.
A cage near the back. Three figures huddled together—two women and a man. They're thin, malnourished, their clothes little more than rags. But beneath the grime and the exhaustion, I can see it.
Dragon heritage.
Not pure-bloods. Lesser dragons, probably. Halfbreeds or hybrids with just enough dragon blood to mark them as valuable.
I move to the next cage. Another dragon—this one alone, a young woman with matted black hair and eyes that glow faintly in the darkness.
Water dragon, I realize. Lesser, but powerful.
I continue through the chamber, counting carefully.
Ten.
Ten dragons hidden among the hundreds of enslaved people.
Ten dragons who have no idea what they are, who have been beaten and starved and sold like livestock.
Ten dragons who are coming home with me.
"Astraea," Ghatak murmurs. "We need to go. The auction is starting soon."
I nod, taking one last look at the cages, at the faces of the people trapped inside.
I'm coming back for you, I think. All of you.
Just hold on a little longer.
The auction begins with fanfare.
A vampire in elaborate robes takes the stage, his voice magically amplified to reach every corner of the amphitheater. "Welcome, esteemed buyers, to the Grand Auction of Kethara! Today we present over three hundred lots of the finest merchandise Aerox has to offer!"
The crowd applauds politely.
I feel sick.
"Our first lot," the auctioneer continues, "is a group of five human laborers, all in excellent health, experienced in agricultural work. We'll start the bidding at fifty platinum."
A door opens at the side of the stage, and five people are led out in chains. They're young—late teens or early twenties—and they move with the defeated shuffle of those who have given up hope.
The bidding is brisk. Within minutes, they're sold for two hundred platinum to a dwarf in the front row.
The next lot is a pair of elven servants. Then a human woman described as "suitable for domestic or breeding purposes." Then a group of ten laborers.
It goes on.
And on.
And on.
Each lot is presented, described, sold. People reduced to their utility, their value measured in platinum coins and the whims of wealthy buyers.
I watch it all with cold calculation, noting the prices, the patterns, the way the auctioneer manipulates the crowd.
And I wait.
Because the dragons haven't appeared yet.
Finally, nearly two hours into the auction, I feel it.
That pull of dragon magic.
"Lot one hundred forty-seven," the auctioneer announces. "A rare find—three individuals with documented elemental affinities. Suitable for specialized labor or breeding programs. We'll start the bidding at five hundred platinum."
The three figures from the cage are led onto the stage. They're cleaned up slightly, but they still look half-starved and terrified.
Un-Earth dragons, I realize. Thunder affinity.
The bidding starts immediately. Five hundred. Six hundred. Seven hundred.
I raise my paddle.
"Eight hundred platinum," I call out, my voice clear and confident.
Heads turn. The auctioneer's eyes find mine, and he smiles. "Eight hundred platinum from the lady in section twelve. Do I hear nine hundred?"
A vampire in the front row raises his paddle. "Nine hundred."
"One thousand," I counter immediately.
The vampire hesitates, then shakes his head.
"One thousand platinum, going once... going twice... sold to the lady in section twelve!"
The first dragons are mine.
I continue bidding throughout the auction, carefully selecting my targets. The water dragon. A pair of fire dragon halfbreeds. Three more Un-Earth dragons with various affinities.
By the time the auction ends, I've purchased ten dragons and ninety other enslaved people.
One hundred souls.
The total cost: four thousand, seven hundred platinum.
Nearly everything we have.
But worth it.
Worth every coin.
The collection process takes hours.
Each purchase has to be documented, contracts signed, ownership transferred. The auction house staff is efficient but slow, processing each transaction with bureaucratic precision.
Ghatak handles most of the paperwork while I wait in a private chamber where my "merchandise" is being assembled. One by one, they're brought in—still in chains, still terrified, still uncertain of what's happening.
When the last one arrives, I stand.
One hundred people. One hundred pairs of eyes watching me with varying degrees of fear, hope, and resignation.
"My name is Astraea," I say, my voice carrying through the chamber. "I've just purchased your contracts from the auction house. Which means, legally, I own you."
I see the hope die in some of their eyes.
"But I didn't buy you to keep you enslaved," I continue. "I bought you to set you free."
Silence. Confused, disbelieving silence.
"I'm going to remove your chains," I say. "And then I'm going to offer you a choice. You can leave—go wherever you want, start whatever life you choose. Or you can come with me. To a new world. A place where slavery doesn't exist. Where you'll have the opportunity to build something better."
"What's the catch?" someone asks—a human man with scars covering his arms.
"The catch," I say honestly, "is that it won't be easy. We're building a civilization from scratch. You'll have to work. You'll have to contribute. And if you choose to stay, you'll be expected to participate in a breeding program designed to expand our population."
Murmurs ripple through the crowd.
"But," I continue, "you'll be free. You'll have autonomy over your own bodies, your own choices. You'll be citizens, not slaves. You'll have rights, protections, and the opportunity to shape the world you live in."
"Why?" a woman asks—one of the Un-Earth dragons. "Why would you do this?"
"Because I can," I say simply. "Because I have the power and the resources to make a difference. And because I refuse to accept a world where people are treated as merchandise."
I raise my hand, and chaos magic spirals out from my palm. The chains binding them shatter—not broken, but unmade, reduced to their component atoms and scattered like dust.
One hundred people stand free for the first time in gods know how long.
Some of them cry. Some of them fall to their knees. Some of them just stare at their empty wrists in disbelief.
"The choice is yours," I say. "But I need an answer now. Who's coming with me?"
For a moment, no one moves.
Then the Un-Earth dragon woman steps forward. "I'll come."
"Me too," says another voice. And another. And another.
Within minutes, ninety-seven of them have stepped forward.
Only three choose to leave—two humans and an elf who have families they want to return to. I give them each a pouch of platinum coins and directions to the nearest settlement.
The rest?
The rest are mine.
Not as slaves.
As citizens.
As the foundation of something new.
Opening the portal takes more power than usual.
One hundred people is a lot of mass to transport across dimensional boundaries. But I've done this before, and I know how to weave the magic—chaos and void intertwined, reality bent and folded until a doorway opens in the air.
Through the shimmering veil, I can see Draconis. The restored palace. The thriving forests. The blue sky.
Home.
"This is your new world," I say, gesturing to the portal. "Draconis. A dragon world, restored and waiting for people to fill it."
They stare at the portal with expressions of wonder and disbelief.
"Go on," I encourage. "It's safe. I promise."
The Un-Earth dragon woman goes first, stepping through the portal with her head held high. The others follow—some hesitant, some eager, all of them moving toward a future they never thought they'd have.
Ghatak and I go last, stepping through the portal together.
The moment we emerge on Draconis, I feel it—the planet's awareness, its recognition of the new arrivals. The seal I placed recognizes them as authorized, as mine, and welcomes them.
Around us, the ninety-seven freed people stand in stunned silence, taking in the beauty of the restored world.
"Welcome home," I say quietly.
And for the first time in a very long time, I feel something that might be hope.