Liandrin, the Firecaster

Liandrin awoke at dawn in her mother's house. The sun of the Firelands painted the horizon in shades of orange and crimson—the same colors that blazed from her fists in battle. Standing 185 centimeters tall, she tied back her long black hair and donned her leather battle armor. At thirty years old, she was one of the youngest commanders in the Southern Firecaster Battalion.

Her mother, Valeria, who had once been a great army commander herself, sat beside the hearth sipping herbal tea.

“Today is contract day, my daughter. Remember, you're bringing home a newly purchased ****.”

Liandrin frowned. “Mother, I was trained to fight, not to manage slaves.”

Valeria smiled with the confidence of long experience. “To be a warrior is to be an owner, Liandrin. A man under your command is like a sword at your waist. You must know how to use him.”

Liandrin had never cared much for owning men. In the Firelands, men were small in stature, usually between 140 and 150 centimeters tall, and short-lived, rarely reaching beyond fifty years of age. They were considered weak and fleeting creatures. Yet her mother had a point; a Firecaster warrior was expected to own at least one **** as a symbol of status and authority.

The **** market in the central city was crowded with women from every social class—wealthy merchants, noblewomen, and warriors like Liandrin. Men knelt inside wooden cages, iron collars around their necks marking them as property.

Liandrin's attention was drawn to one man who seemed different from the rest. He had golden hair and honey-colored eyes. He stood about 148 centimeters tall, yet he met her gaze directly. Among obedient men, such boldness was rare.

The trader called out, “This one arrived from the north only recently! His name is Kairen. He used to work on a nobleman's estate. He's stubborn, but with a little... training, he'll become obedient.”

Liandrin stepped closer.

“How is it that you stare into my eyes so boldly?”

Kairen answered without fear.

“Because if I am to belong to someone, I would rather know who my owner is.”

A smile appeared on Liandrin's lips. The man had courage, even if it bordered on foolishness.

She tossed her purse of coins to the trader.

“I'll take him.”

That night, Liandrin sat in her chamber while Kairen knelt before her.

The laws of the Firelands allowed men to spend nights with women, but permanent partnerships were forbidden. Children were raised in their mothers' households, and men had no role in their upbringing.

Liandrin spoke.

“Kairen, you showed courage today. But courage in a **** can be dangerous. You must decide: do you wish to live as an obedient servant, or would you rather be sent to my mother's farm and spend the rest of your life laboring beneath the sun?”

Kairen lifted his head.

“I would rather serve beside a warrior than work on a farm. Even if that means being your ****.”

Liandrin rose and walked toward the window.

Outside, the city shimmered beneath the moonlight.

She found herself wondering whether this man, with his unusual gaze, might become something more than a mere servant. But the laws of the Firelands were strict. Men could own nothing—not even their own freedom.

She turned back to him.

“Then beginning the day after tomorrow, you will become my personal attendant. But understand this, Kairen: if you make even a single serious mistake, you will be sent to the farm. No one there will care enough to look you in the eyes.”

Kairen bowed.

“I understand, my lady.”

Liandrin smiled.

Tomorrow, a battle awaited her—a battle against rebels who had risen against the rule of the Firecasters.

Yet for the first time, she felt that she might gain something more than victory.