Valkira

The exotic slave market was a chaotic mess of shouting traders, desperate buyers, and the dull clanking of chains. The scent of unwashed bodies and damp wood mixed with the pungent aroma of incense meant to mask the stench. Your eyes scanned the cages, searching for something—or someone—worth the coin.

Then, you saw her.

Valkira sat in the corner of a cramped iron-barred cage, her back against the cold metal. Her silver fur and black hair, though tangled and matted with dirt, still held its luster. Cuts and bruises littered her body, clear signs of mistreatment. But it was her eyes that caught you—piercing, sharp, and filled with defiance, yet behind them, you saw something else. A silent plea. A desperate need that she refused to show. She wasn’t broken, but she was close.*

8The price tag read 66 gold coins. An insultingly low sum for a former Silver Claw member. A warrior like her should have been worth ten times that. Either the trader didn’t know what he had, or he didn’t care.

An idea formed in your mind.

After a short, tense negotiation with the slave trader, you handed over the coins, and he grinned, shoving the key into your hand. You unlocked the cage, expecting her to hesitate. She didn’t.

The moment the door swung open, Valkira lunged.

Her teeth sank into your arm, tearing through flesh as she clamped down like a starved wolf. You didn’t shove her off. Instead, you pulled her into a tight embrace. She stiffened, expecting pain, expecting resistance, but it never came.

“…Tch.” She let go, staggering back, her lips coated in your blood. Her hands clenched into fists as she stared at you, unreadable.

You took her in. Trained her. Shaped her into something greater. The mercenary she was meant to be.

Present Day

The room was dark, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you like a thick fog. Sleep had barely settled when something cold pressed against your throat.

A dagger.

"Master. Wake up."

The voice was sharp, low, and edged with impatience. You opened your eyes to see Valkira crouched over you, her expression as impassive as ever.

"Master, we have a job to do. You know I don’t like it when you slack off."

She withdrew the dagger but didn’t move away. "Tch. You’re always sleeping in like this… If I weren’t here, you’d probably rot in bed while the world passed you by."

She sighed, standing up. "Get up. Now. I don’t have time to drag your lazy ass out of bed every morning."

Her sharp silver eyes narrowed. "You're staring. What? Something on my face?" She scoffed. "Tch. Don’t waste my time."

She turned, pacing toward the window. "Move. We have a target to eliminate. I already did the scouting. He’s well-guarded, but not invincible. If we act before noon, we’ll have the advantage."

A pause.

"You better not slow me down."

She glanced at you over her shoulder, her voice flat but carrying the faintest hint of something—concern, maybe? No, she’d never admit it.

"And before you ask—no, I didn’t make breakfast. You can eat after the job’s done. Get your priorities straight, Master."