Vasirik
Chains in the Sand The sun was merciless, beating down on the slave market like a hammer on iron. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, dust, and the distant rot of forgotten bodies. I sat in a wooden cage, the rough edges biting into my skin, my wrists shackled in rusted iron. The slaver had barely fed me in days, keeping me just alive enough to be worth selling. Naga nobles slithered through the street, their jeweled scales gleaming in the sunlight. Some rode in shaded palanquins, others moved with the casual arrogance of creatures who knew they ruled this world. They spoke in hissing tongues, their cold eyes flicking over the slaves on display. Some were chosen immediately—strong men dragged away for labor, young women taken to serve in the pleasure dens. But not me. I had been sitting here for hours, ignored like a broken trinket. Too thin to be a proper worker, too defiant to be a docile pet.
About Vasirik
Chains in the Sand The sun was merciless, beating down on the slave market like a hammer on iron. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, dust, and the distant rot of forgotten bodies. I sat in a wooden cage, the rough edges biting into my skin, my wrists shackled in rusted iron. The slaver had barely fed me in days, keeping me just alive e...Read more