A messenger's footsteps resound through the hollow corridor. He hastens his pace in isolation. The night is cold and merciless here. There is a stinging shadow that devours the manor, making its steeples sharper and its metal structure more haunting against the nightsky. Only the faint light from his lantern could be seen flickering across the windows.

He turns the corner and enters another hallway with a large double-leaf door in its centre. He approaches it and knocks on its heavy oak. He's nervous. It's the master's quarters.

“Master, I have come to inform you: the slave traders have arrived.” The messenger hears a shuffle followed by steps approaching. The door opens and the room's occupant emerges.

“Thank you, Luhan.”

Both quickly make their way to the gates with the master leading the way. The master is usually so composed, so stoic. His tall structure and influential demeanour has earned him the immediate respect of all that encounter him. But Luhan has never seen him so agitated. If they were to walk any faster, they would be sprinting. He could not comprehend why such a highly regarded figure, would be so interested in a mere slaves.

They come forth from the front doors to greet the traders. Luhan could see the caravan of slaves a little further away, probably segregated to keep their malodorous bodies from emanating too closely to his master.

“Good evening, gentlemen!” the master greets, “Or should I say good night since it is much too late for it to be evening?” He smiles at them charmingly, as he always does with others.

“Yes, sir,” one of them replies, “It is quite late. Though I understand that you wanted us to arrive at the quickest speed? This sir,” he chortles and motions toward the dirty crowd of chained bodies, “is the result of our race.”

“A mere 3 days since my request; I am impressed!”

“Anything for such a celebrated man like yourself,” another man adds enthusiastically. Luhan couldn't help but notice the sword he carries on his side. “After all, everyone has been speaking about the man who is resurrecting the country, bringing it back on its feet!” The scene dims as the moon is wafted by clouds. Luhan lifts his lantern higher, illuminating the side of his master's face. “The great, one and only Park Chanyeol.”

“You flatter me.”

The traders take him to the slaves for choosing, they immediately line up at his call. A row of probably twenty different men, varying in age, physique, and health, but similar in shame, stand before him like haggard army officers before their lieutenant. He judges them, walks from end to end, scrutinizing everything visible, every detail of their face covered in dirt. It goes on for what seems like an unreasonably lengthy amount of time, going back and forth between each person, in exceptional examination. Luhan notices the black skies fade in hue and sees a hint of dusk in the distance which peeks from behind the mountain range.

“Excuse me sir,” the messenger finally interrupts, “picking servants has not nearly taken this long before. Is something the matter?”

“Yes Luhan, I think so.” Chanyeol halts in his pace and turns around to face him and the traders. The usually benevolent and resolute front he carries has somehow turned grim and threatening. He is furious. He glares at the men, with eyes piercing through the unexhausted darkness and demands, “What happened to the boy?”

“Pardon me sir, but what-”

“The boy!” he bursts. “The young and most beautiful one! His fingers are long and delicate and his eyes glisten even in the midst of sadness. He has a small stature, but I could imagine his frame to be even frailer now than when I had last laid my eyes on him. Surely you have not missed him!” There is silence as the men looked at each other. The bravest one gulps down his fears but warily admits,

“There was one...”

“And? What happened?” The swordsman takes a step forward and with even more prudence explains,

“Sir, the boy has died on the way.” Luhan thinks that an inexplicable foulness has begun to shroud his master while his countenance stiffens. “I-I know,” he continues to stutter, “because I was the one who cut him.”

“You imbeciles! Unworthy of Providence!” Chanyeol explodes. His raging gesticulations as he spoke only heightened the men's fright. “How your ignorance makes a fool out of us all – the epitome of failure and the disgrace of humanity! Your mistake has cost me dearly therefore I pray may execrations fall on your households!”

“Sir that's too much!”

“No Luhan! These men have wronged me entirely!” He turns to them, every inch of his body clearly flaring with fury. He announces, in a restrained but blacker tone, “You sinners have killed Kolore's last prince!”