Illicit Bargain

Chapter 1

Catandria

The wooden floorboards creak beneath my feet as I limp towards the water basin, each step a reminder of the dark elf soldier's rough hands and harsh words. My skin itches under the layer of grime, and my hair hangs in tangled clumps around my face. The taste of bile lingers in my mouth, my stomach twisting with hunger and nausea. 

I’d kill to find even a scrap of bread right now…

But I know I won’t be that lucky. Sighing softly, I try to ignore the pain in my limbs. Being a flesh slave to the dark elves means I have to endure the worst. All of their disgusting words. The revolting ways they touch and use my body. They treat me, and others like me, as pieces of meat. 

And I have to face it. I don't have any other choice. 

It's this, or I risk losing my tongue due to disobedience.

I reach the basin and dip the jug into the cool water, the liquid swirling and shimmering under the dim light of the enchanted lanterns. The barracks are quiet tonight, the soldiers likely reveling in their victory over some poor village. 

My village. 

The thought stings, but I push it aside. I can't afford to dwell on it now.

As I turn to leave, the jug heavy in my hands, I hear a faint cough somewhere in the distance. My heart clenches as the sound reminds me of why I'm doing this in the first place.

"Fira, hold on," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. I picture it now. My friend lies in our small tent, her skin pale and slick with sweat. She's burning up, her breaths shallow and ragged. I need to get this water to her, but the distance feels like miles.

I grit my teeth and force myself to move. One step at a time, Catandria. The weight of the jug shifts with each step, sloshing against my side. 

"What's this? A runaway?" a voice sneers, dripping with mockery. I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. Morrim's second-in-command, Varrick, leans against the doorway, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "Or just a whore on a mission?"

"Just getting water," I reply, keeping my voice steady. I want to respond to his name-calling, but there’s no need to give him more reason to taunt me.

"For who?" His eyes narrow, suspicion replacing amusement. "Don't tell me one of your filth is sick."

"She just needs water," I say, trying to sidestep him. His hand shoots out, grabbing my arm with a grip that sends pain shooting up to my shoulder. I grimace, trying to hold back the tears trying to form.

"Does she now? And what do you need?" He leans in, his breath hot and rancid against my cheek.

I swallow hard, meeting his gaze. "I need to get back to her."

For a moment, he just stares at me, his grip tightening. Then he releases me with a shove, causing the water to spill over the jug's edge and soak into my tattered dress. "Fine. Go. But remember, you're all here to serve us. Nothing more."

I stumble back, the jug slipping in my grasp. I manage to catch it before it hits the ground, but my heart races. I force myself to move, each step a personal victory for escaping him unharmed. 

However, all of it comes to a halt when a group of soldiers sees me. Worse, they point me out.

The jug clatters pitifully to the ground, spilling the precious water across the dirt. My heart skips as the dark elf soldiers surround me, their laughter grating against my ears.

"Look what we've got here," one of them jeers, his eyes narrowing with a cruel gleam.

I back away, my hands trembling. "Please, my friend—she's sick. She needs water."

"Your friend can rot for all we care," another soldier scoffs, grabbing my arm and yanking me forward. His grip is cold, biting into my skin.

"No, please! She might die!" My voice cracks, desperation lacing every word. I struggle against their hold, but it's futile. They're too strong, and I'm too weak.

They drag me through the barracks, their boots kicking up dust. The other soldiers watch, some with interest, others with indifference. A few of them smirk, enjoying the spectacle.

We reach the edge of the woods, and they shove me to the ground. The impact knocks the wind out of me, and I gasp, pain flaring through my ribs.

"Your last client wasn't too happy," the first soldier says, towering over me. "Said you were useless."

"I-I did my best. I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Please, just let me go back to my friend. It’s an emergency. I can do whatever you want me to do afterward, but please let me take her some water."

"Your best isn't good enough. You won’t be seeing your friend. We’re not much for giving favors to the weak. You’re here to serve us, not the other way around," he snarls, and then the first blow lands. Pain explodes across my face, and I taste blood.

Another kick to my stomach, and I curl up, trying to shield myself. The blows come faster, each one sending a fresh wave of agony through my body. Their laughter echoes in my ears, a cruel chorus that drowns out my cries.

"Pathetic," one of them mutters, his boot connecting with my side. "You humans are all the same. Weak."

Something snaps inside me. The pain, the humiliation, the helplessness—it's all fuel for the fire burning in my chest. I grit my teeth, my vision blurring with tears and blood. I'm not weak. 

Catandria, be strong. You won't be their victim forever.

The beating continues, but my mind is elsewhere. I see my village burning, my family torn apart. I see the faces of the dark elves who did this to us, their sneers, their cruelty. A red haze clouds my vision, and all I can think of is revenge.

They eventually tire of their game, leaving me in a crumpled heap on the forest floor. My body throbs with pain, but my resolve is stronger than ever. I'll survive this. I'll find a way to fight back. And when I do, they'll pay for every scar, every tear, every drop of blood.

Freedom. Revenge. They're all I have left. And I won't stop until I have both.