The chamber reeked of copper and something fouler — sweat, rot, old magic.
Jace followed Zariah down the spiraling stone corridor, heart pounding in his ears.Every step felt heavier.Every breath tasted more poisonous.
The shard inside his chest thrummed, vibrating against his ribs.
It knew what was coming.
And it was hungry.
They emerged into a vast underground hall.
It was beautiful — in a savage, terrible way.Columns of black marble rose toward a ceiling lost in darkness.Chains hung like spiderwebs, some ending in gleaming silver cages, others dripping with blood.
At the center of the room was a massive stone altar.
Carved into it were hundreds — maybe thousands — of names.
Some glowed faintly.Others were little more than scars, forgotten.
Around the altar stood the Guildmasters.
Jace could feel their power like a physical thing, pressing against his skin, making his vision blur at the edges.
Nine of them.
Each one stranger than the last.
A woman in a blood-red gown, face hidden behind a jeweled veil.A man whose body seemed stitched together from a dozen others, each limb mismatched.A child with black, empty eyes, dragging a cracked porcelain doll by the hair.
Monsters.Kings.Dealmakers.
Zariah leaned close, her breath warm against his ear.
"Welcome to the Blood Auction," she whispered."Tonight, names are sold. Loyalty is bought. Power is rewritten."
A deep, resonant voice filled the chamber.
"The Auction begins."
No announcement. No ceremony.
Just pure, brutal business.
One by one, slaves were dragged forward to the altar — men, women, even beasts — and their true names were carved into the stone.
Names were everything here.
In this world of cultivators, knowing someone's true name gave you power over their soul.
It was the ultimate weapon.
Jace watched, sickened but fascinated, as deals were struck.
Bids thrown like knives.
Crowns of obsidian. Rings of bone. Souls bottled and traded.
Zariah didn't bother bidding. She was here for something else.
"You'll make your move soon," she said, her lips barely moving."Not yet. Watch."
And so Jace watched.
Until they dragged her forward.
The girl was barely conscious, her silver hair matted with blood.Bruises bloomed along her arms and throat.A thin black collar circled her neck, faintly pulsing with magic.
When she lifted her head, Jace caught a glimpse of her eyes.
Feral. Wild.Burning with rage.
Not broken.
Not yet.
"An Unmarked," one of the Guildmasters said, voice slithering across the chamber.
There was a ripple of excitement.
Unmarked.
Meaning no ties. No contracts.Pure potential.
A blank slate to carve a future on.
The bids came fast and brutal.
Five crowns. Ten. Fifty.
Jace didn't even realize he was moving until he was standing halfway to the altar.
His blood was boiling.The shard was screaming inside him.
That girl — she wasn't a tool.She wasn't a slave.
She was a storm.
And if they bought her name tonight, she would be leashed. Broken.
Just like the rest.
"No," Jace said, voice cutting through the madness.
The Guildmasters turned to look at him.
Nine pairs of ancient, deadly eyes.
Zariah cursed under her breath.
"You idiot," she hissed."Not yet—"
But it was too late.
One of the Guildmasters — the stitched man — laughed.
"A challenger?"
The others chuckled darkly.
"You know the rules, boy," said the veiled woman."You want to claim a name? Blood must answer blood."
The stitched man drew a long, curved blade from somewhere inside his patchwork coat.
The metal gleamed sickly under the green torchlight.
"Kill to claim," he said, grinning wide enough to show blackened teeth.
Jace flexed his hands.
The shard roared through him, flooding his veins with silver fire.
"Fine," he said, stepping forward.
"You want blood?"
"I'll drown you in it."
The stitched man struck first — unnaturally fast for something so heavy.
Jace barely managed to deflect the blow, skidding back across the blood-slick floor.
Pain ripped through his side where the blade kissed him.
He staggered — not a deathblow, but it hurt like hell.
The Guildmasters murmured approvingly.
This wasn't a duel.
It was an execution.
Jace gritted his teeth, forcing his shaking body upright.
The stitched man lunged again — slashing, hacking, snarling.
Jace weaved through the blows, but he wasn't fast enough.The blade caught him again, this time along the ribs.
Hot blood poured down his side.
He was losing. Fast.
But in that moment, with death coiling tighter, Jace found something else.
Focus.
He let the shard take over.
The world sharpened into crystal clarity.
The stitched man telegraphed his moves — too eager, too greedy.
When the next strike came, Jace stepped inside it.
Too close for the blade.
He drove his fist up, under the stitched man's jaw.
There was a sickening crack.
The man stumbled back, dazed.
Jace didn't hesitate.
He grabbed a dagger from the man's belt and plunged it deep into his eye.
The stitched man shrieked, thrashing — but it was already over.
Jace twisted the dagger, ripping it free.
Blood sprayed across his face, hot and sticky.
The stitched man collapsed, convulsing — then went still.
Dead.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then, slowly, the Guildmasters nodded.
Approval.Recognition.
"You have earned her name," the veiled woman said, voice like velvet over razors.
Jace stumbled toward the altar, blood leaking from his wounds.
The girl watched him with wide, wary eyes.
When he knelt and touched her collar, it flared — then shattered into dust.
She sagged forward, gasping.
"Your name?" Jace asked quietly.
She hesitated, then whispered:
"Selene."
The name burned itself into his mind — seared into the shard.
A bond formed between them — thin, delicate, but real.
Selene collapsed against him, unconscious.
He caught her, grimacing at the pain lancing through his side.
The Guildmasters were already turning away, losing interest.
Another bloody deal made.
Another pawn on the board.
But Jace wasn't playing their game.
He tightened his grip on Selene.
And silently, he made a promise:
I'll burn this whole damn place to the ground before I let them leash me.