Chapter 7 — Three Broken Fragments
The sheets were still wrinkled from the movements of the previous night. The acrid smell of sweat, alcohol, and forced pleasure lingered in the cramped room. Vaën, shirtless, sat at the edge of the bed, staring at a nonexistent point on the chipped wall. Nira slept next to him, her breathing still calm and deep. A fragile form of respite.
He summoned the interface before him, a mental breath that had become second nature.
Lucia
Main Class: Beginner Prostitute – Lv 2
Secondary Class: Fugitive Slave – Lv 1
Age: 18
Stats:
Strength: 3
Intelligence: 4
Charisma: 6
Endurance: 4
Speed: 5
Skills:
— Innocent Charm (active)
— Docile Submission (passive)
— Desperate Escape (active – secondary class)
He remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the new class. A secondary class that appeared without her knowing yet, or without her wanting to speak of it. The signs of an awakening… but which one? He chose not to say anything. Not now. The status was a secret garden. Too personal to venture into without an invitation.
Lucia (Point of View — First Person)
I don't remember the last time I slept without fear. Sleep, in my life, has never been a refuge. More like a weakness. A moment when anything could happen: a rope tightening around my throat, a boot to my face, a hand slipping where it shouldn't.
I was born in a cage. Not with walls or bars, but a cage all the same. The brand on the back of my neck, burned into my skin, bore witness. Slave. Merchandise. A whore in the making.
I've lived through hell, but that's not what I want to tell. Not today. What I want to say is why I fled. Why I ran through the gutters of an unknown city, until I collapsed in front of the Matron. I could've begged anyone. But I chose the brothel. Because here, at least, I knew what I was. I knew what was expected of me. And I had the choice to open my legs… or die.
One day, I felt his presence. He was different. Too calm. Too sharp. Too… precise. He never looked at me like the others. He observed me, but without desire. Without judgment. Like he was waiting for me to make a choice. And I made it. I put everything on him.
But today, something changed. The pain in the hollow of my back, like a slow burn. And the cold shiver when he brushed against me with his gaze.
A new class.
I felt it. Not in my mind, but in my muscles. My breath. My skin.
"Fugitive Slave." The word makes me nauseous. But it also tastes like victory. I stole it. Ripped it away from my master, this freedom… even if it's just a word.
I must remain discreet. I can't afford to make a mistake. The bounty hunter… he's still there.
External Narration
Lucia cast nervous glances from the window on the second floor. In the alley below, a man in a black coat had been hanging around for over two days. Too discreet to be a client. Too patient to be a drunk.
"Is he still there?" Nira asked, her voice hoarse with fatigue.
Lucia nodded, her lips pressed tight. She knew what he was. No need to confront him. His aura betrayed him. Level 14. A professional, probably paid handsomely by the slave merchant she had fled from.
Vaën entered the room at that moment. He glanced at Lucia for a moment, then at the street. He didn't say anything, but his eyes narrowed. He had noticed the presence of the man. It was only a matter of time.
"We're going to have to do something," he murmured.
Nira sighed.
"We're not ready for this."
"We'll never be," Vaën replied. "But she, she won't last a week with a guy like him on her tail."
Lucia turned away, ashamed to be a burden. But Nira placed her hand on her shoulder.
"You're one of us now."
Those words resonated louder than expected.
A Week Earlier...
Vaën and Nira had found themselves by chance in an empty room at the back of the brothel. Both had just avoided a client by slipping a sleeping pill into his wine. An old bottle given by the Matron, which they had "forgotten" to open on time.
They stared at each other, for a long moment. And without a word, they understood each other.
Two broken weapons, forged in pain.
Nira had been sold at fourteen by what was left of her family. Her brother, her only support, had been raped weekly for five years in front of her, until the uncle who claimed to be their guardian killed him out of spite. She had sworn never to wait for anyone to save her again. Vaën said nothing. But his silence was a perfect echo.
They formed an alliance. A hand extended between two marked bodies. A shared survival.
"We don't need weapons," Nira had said. "We just need the right poison."
They started collecting vials. Watching the clients. Testing doses. Not to kill. Just to nullify. To put to sleep. To deceive.
That evening, Vaën checked the statuses. His own, Nira's… and Lucia's.
He took a deep breath, then whispered:
"We're going to have to act."
Lucia, trembling, nodded. She was no longer just a fugitive slave. She was an ally.
And soon, she would be a killer.