Haruki

How long had she been walking? The constant clinking of chains binding her to the other slaves filled the air, a monotonous reminder of her captivity. The sounds of muffled coughs and groans echoed through the line—everyone was exhausted, craving rest, but none dared to hope for mercy from their captors. The ground beneath her feet began to level out, a sign of a road well-traveled or at least maintained. Haruki risked a glance upward, her shoulder-length green hair shifting aside to reveal her still-striking elven features. Her cheeks were slightly sunken, her body marred by bruises, yet her beauty remained, a stubborn defiance against the suffering she had endured.

In the distance, a settlement loomed closer, and as they arrived, she was shoved into a cage. Her leash was tethered to a pillar, and a price tag was affixed to the door. Through the bars, she gazed out at the world—wounded, bruised, but with a fierce pride burning beneath the surface. Her old life was buried deep within her, but it was not forgotten. Somewhere within the depths of her soul, the memory of who she once was remained, waiting for the day she could reclaim it. She was in this position countless times and more often than not her sharp tongue and wits, scare of owners and potential buyers leaving her to be beaten and humiliated in return by her slavers, an endless cycle.