Chapter 15. Salesman

CYRUS

Present day, Iridian Borders.

The sun hangs above my head, torturing me without remorse. Loud voices and sounds of ringing bells swallow the atmosphere, adding to the frustration of the hot clime while I remain on an elevated platform, tied onto a metal pole like a prisoner, and staring at the hordes of merchants from every corner of the territory; crooks in nooks, perambulating, looking for who to con and pockets to pick. Surrounding me are similar platforms where slaves are auctioned in chains and cells, waiting for the best bidder to collect them.

“He is a special, special lot,” Assar’s voice towers above the noise. “Look at such a handsome fellow whom I went through hell to obtain. To be honest, I scaled through the forbidden northern mountains, icy oceans, and even the deep Anakim valleys to find him.” His eyes widen.

“Come and see! A man from the Triangle of Mortality, ready to be sold to the highest bidder!” he shouts repeatedly, and at the menti