The iron collar chafed, a constant, humiliating weight against my neck. Each step I took, the chain attached to it rattled, announcing my new status: property.

My sister, Mavli, stumbled beside me, her small hand clutching mine, her eyes wide with fear. The other captives, a mournful procession, moved with the same defeated shuffle, their faces etched with the horror of the raid that had stolen everything. Our village, once a haven of green earth and open sky, was now a smoldering memory.

The marketplace of Altsas roared around us, a dizzying assault of unfamiliar sounds and smells. Vendors hawked their wares, indifferent to the human misery paraded before them. But my gaze snagged on something else, something familiar, yet terrifyingly potent: a faint tremor in the ground beneath my bare feet. A whisper of power, deep within me, responding to the earth's restless hum.

I closed my eyes, remembering the feel of soil in my hands, the way the very ground would answer my call. It was a gift, a connection passed down through generations. Now, it felt like a curse, drawing unwanted attention. I had to hide it, suppress it. But the tremors intensified, a desperate echo of my own surging fury.