The air within the chamber, despite the perfumed scent of exotic flora that wafted through the open archways, crackled with unspoken tension. Felix and his crew, undercover within a motley collection of thugs and slaves, were ushered through opulent corridors, the polished marble reflecting their wary faces.
They had navigated the labyrinthine illegal channels leading into Arboria Major, the capital city of the Elven nation of Tessaloni, and now found themselves within the seemingly impenetrable heart of their society.
Arboria Major, a breathtaking spectacle carved into and around an impossibly colossal World Tree, lived up to its whispered legends. It wasn't merely a city; it was a tiered metropolis spiraling upwards along the trunk and branches of the ancient tree, a testament to elven artistry and their deep connection to nature. Felix craned his neck, his gaze lost in the sheer scale of the World Tree. It was more than just tall; it was a living pillar that seemed to pierce the very fabric of the sky in a beautiful spiral, its upper reaches disappearing into a swirling canopy of white-silver leaves that were barely visible above the clouds. Normally they were bright emerald, but the winter had bleached the leaves white with cold.
Built into a natural platform on the middle of this natural wonder, far higher than any mountain peak Felix had ever seen, sat the Verdant Ascent, the Royal Palace, a shimmering construct of interwoven wood and glowing crystals. Below it, clinging to vast platforms that jutted out from the tree's trunk like colossal shelves, were clusters of smaller mansions and grand houses.
Felix knew these belonged to the five major clans that branched from the main Machiavelli line, each a power in its own right within this stratified society. The closer a dwelling was to the Verdant Ascent, the higher one's perceived blood purity and social standing.
This walled city within a city, Arboria Minor, as Felix had heard it called, was a realm of purebloods and high officials, a place where outsiders rarely, if ever, tread openly. The outer city was still part of the capital but was called Minor due to it being mostly for commoners, while the Major at the centre was for nobles and royals. Still, to get into Arboria in general was no small feat, as security was nigh-impossible.
Felix's jaw tightened. Their buyer resided in one of the mansions belonging to the second noble house, the House Qinette. He had a bad feeling about this. The air here felt thick with an unspoken arrogance, a palpable sense of elven superiority that prickled his skin. This was emphasized by the looks the attendants, no, rather guards, that stood around the chamber, gave the crew as they stood ready to act at the slightest provocation.
An elderly, stooped human with shrewd eyes, a neatly trimmed white beard, and a clean-shaven head – Old Man Tibera – exchanged hushed words with a tall, slender elf who had approached them.
This elf, an agent of the Qinette family, Juste, sported impeccably styled long black hair, thin-rimmed glasses perched on his aristocratic nose, and a meticulously groomed, albeit somewhat severe, moustache.
"They are here as requested," Tibera's voice was a low rumble. "We have… specimens suitable for various tasks."
Juste's gaze swept over the small group of bound humans and demihumans who huddled together, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and resignation. When his eyes landed on Felix, who stood slightly apart, a visible crinkle of disgust marred his refined features.
"And that one?" Juste's voice was laced with disdain, as if referring to a particularly unpleasant insect.
"Is he also for sale?"
Tibera chuckled, a dry, wheezing sound. He glanced over his shoulder at Felix. Felix felt he was being targeted but chose to ignore it.
"No, no. He is a merchant, just like ourselves. An… associate, if you will."
Juste's eyes flickered back to the trembling demihumans, lingering on their mismatched features and downcast gazes. A cruel smile touched his lips.
"It truly is a testament to the base nature of some creatures. Selling their own kind. You would never witness such depravity amongst us elves."
The implication, that only inherently inferior beings would stoop to such a trade, hung heavy in the air.
Felix's fists clenched, but a slight bump against his arm stayed his rising anger. Hamza leaned into him, feigning weakness. "Easy, boss," he whispered, his voice low and urgent.
"Play the part."
Juste continued his subtle ridicule. "Well, it's in an animal's nature to act like an animal." His gaze now fixed on the six individuals standing slightly apart from the others. They were a diverse group: a centaur with mud-caked hooves, a burly minotaur whose horns were bound with rough rope and tied behind her back, a harpy with clipped wings that twitched nervously, a hulking orc with scarred skin, a lizard man with dull, listless eyes, and a gorgon whose snake-like hair was hooded and bound.
"And these… curiosities?" Juste inquired, his tone suggesting detached scientific interest rather than genuine curiosity.
"How much for this menagerie?"
Tibera gestured a gnarled thumb towards Felix.
"They aren't mine to sell. You'll have to take that up with him, the associate."
Juste turned his attention fully to Felix. He approached, but stopped a good distance away, his posture radiating an almost comical level of distaste, as if Felix carried some contagious disease.
"A hundred credits for the lot," Juste offered, his voice flat and dismissive.
"No," Felix replied, his voice even.
Juste raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "One hundred and fifty. Surely that is more than they are worth."
"They aren't for sale," Felix repeated, his patience wearing thin.
"They are to be delivered to a client in Quava."
"Oh really?" Juste began to circle the six, his long, slender fingers trailing over their forms, touching them with an air of clinical detachment.
"It is always amusing," he mused, his voice laced with condescension, "when an inferior being is granted a modicum of power. They mistake it for actual worth. You may think you are important now, little merchant, but you will never truly be anything. Your very race ensures that."
He ran his fingers through Fatima's long blonde hair, a gesture that felt both invasive and deliberately insulting.
"I heard Marconni acquired a loyal dog," Juste continued, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Well, a cat, in your case, it seems. Perhaps a demonstration of proper deference is in order." He raised a hand and delivered a sharp slap across Felix's face.
"You should feel honored that I'm patronizing and not just seizing these illegalities, creature."
He then dropped a heavy pouch of coins at Felix's feet.
"Twelve hundred credits. Two hundred extra. Perhaps that will assist you in purchasing your own freedom one day. Though I highly doubt it."
Juste then gestured sharply, and several heavily armed elven attendants moved forward to take possession of the bound demihumans. Juste reached out to grasp the chain that linked the six special individuals.
Before his fingers could close around the cold metal, Felix's hand shot out and clamped around Juste's wrist in a vice-like grip.
"What do you think you are doing?" Juste hissed, his composure finally cracking.
Before he could finish the sentence, Felix pulled the elf towards him while his head snapped forward, his forehead colliding squarely with Juste's nose. A sickening crunch echoed through the chamber.
The elven attendants reacted instantly, their elegant but deadly weapons – curved blades and slender, glowing staves – flashing into their hands. The air crackled with potential violence. The thugs, in answer, drew their weapons as well.
Old Man Tibera sighed dramatically, pulling a well-worn pipe from within his jacket pocket. He calmly packed it with tobacco and took a long, contemplative puff, as if witnessing a particularly dull play.
Juste staggered to the ground, clutching his bleeding nose. He stared down at the crimson staining his white-gloved fingers, his face contorted with rage and disbelief. "You… you lowlife! Attacking a noble of House Qinette!"
Felix's response was delivered with a lazy smirk and a deliberate lack of respect.
"My apologies, Your Eminence. I mistook your face for a particularly stubborn insect. My head seems to have a mind of its own."
Juste's face flushed crimson, and he opened his mouth to unleash a torrent of elven invective. But before a single coherent word could escape his lips, a strange phenomenon occurred. Half of his meticulously groomed moustache seemed to simply fall off, as if sliced by an invisible blade. Then, to the astonishment of everyone present, Juste's hairline began to recede at an alarming rate, his long black hair thinning and then being swept away by a sudden, inexplicable gust of wind.
Felix smoothly sheathed a wickedly sharp dagger that had appeared in his hand as if by magic. Tibera grunted, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"You're getting better with that, boy."
Felix turned his attention back to the sputtering, now partially bald and moustachless elf.
"Look, your Hairlessness. I could kill you right now, and there wouldn't be a damn thing you could do about it. But," he inclined his head slightly, a gesture dripping with false politeness, "the customer is king. So, despite your initial behavior, I'm going to be the better man and treat you with the respect you don't deserve."
Juste was beyond enraged, his face a mask of apoplectic fury. But Tibera stepped forward, his presence surprisingly imposing despite his age.
"Our agreement, as I recall, included the right to self-defense when… provoked."
"That's absurd. Have you not seen what he's done to me?" Juste sputtered, attempting to refute this.
"But you were the one who approached him first, were you not? My mama always told me that even if you see a piece of shit, don't call it a piece of shit unless you have the balls to face that piece of shit," Tibera said.
"Are you calling me a piece of shit?" Juste asked with suspicion. The elven attendants began to close in.
Tibera didn't answer and just took a long puff and blew it in his face.
With a frustrated snarl, Juste raised a trembling hand, and his attendants reluctantly sheathed their weapons. Some moved to assist him, but he shook them off, his eyes burning with hatred as he glared at Felix before turning and stalking away, pulling out a white handkerchief and wiping his nose.
"Follow me," Juste snapped at Tibera, his voice still thick with blood and fury.
Tibera nodded to Felix.
"Stay here and don't cause any more trouble. We'll finalize the transaction inside."
As Tibera shuffled after the enraged elf, Hamza leaned in and whispered to Felix, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Didn't think you'd go violent, boss."
Felix shrugged. "Didn't think he'd get quite so… handsy."
Just then, a small figure darted into the chamber. A little girl with bright, curious eyes and bouncing pigtails came to an abrupt stop in front of Felix, her gaze fixed on him with unconcealed awe. Felix was startled, his eyes scanning the surroundings for a guardian, but there was no one. The other attendants seemed to ignore her presence entirely. No, they didn't want to get any closer.
Why?
He looked back at the girl. She was human, but her clothes, though simple, were made of rich fabric, and she carried herself with an air that was far from servile. In fact, she exuded an almost regal confidence.
"That was so cool!" she exclaimed, her voice high and clear.
"You really showed that grumpy old man!" She reached out and took Felix's hand in both of hers, her small fingers surprisingly warm.
"Juste is always so stuffy and mean. He won't let me play how I want anytime I visit."
Felix stared at her, utterly bewildered. "Who… who are you?"
The girl blinked, as if surprised by the question. A wide, sunny smile spread across her face. "My name is Hanzet. Hanzet Bizél. And you," she declared, squeezing his hand, "are going to be my friend!"