I always thought my life was predictable. Boring, even. The kind of life where every morning, I slapped the snooze button until the third alarm dragged me out of bed. Breakfast was a chore, tasteless and rushed, before shuffling into an office filled with gray walls and grayer faces. My name is Jack. Just Jack. No middle name, no flair. A simple man living a simple life—or so I thought, until everything changed.

It started like any other day. The fluorescent lights in the office flickered above me as I typed away at endless spreadsheets. The murmur of my coworkers' conversations—weekend plans, TV shows, and trivial office gossip—was little more than background noise. My boss, Mr. Carter, barked orders like a drill sergeant, oblivious to how little anyone cared.

During lunch, I sat alone in the breakroom, scrolling through my phone. An email from my ex, Hannah, caught my eye. We hadn't spoken in months, but she'd forwarded me something about a fantasy novel she was obsessed with: The Eternal Kingdom. She used to talk about it all the time, claiming it was the best world-building she'd ever read. I deleted the email without a second thought.

That was the last normal thing I remember.

When I opened my eyes again, pain hit me first. My head throbbed, and the sickly stench of sweat and rust filled my nostrils. My arms ached, stretched above me, bound tightly by rough ropes. Blinking against the dim light of a flickering torch, I realized I was no longer in my office—or even my world.

The walls were dark stone, damp with moisture. The air felt heavy, suffocating, as if the room itself wanted to crush me.

"Finally awake, are we?"

The voice was gravelly, laced with amusement. I turned toward it, spotting a man leaning casually against the wall. He was tall and wiry, his greasy black hair hanging in unkempt strands across his face. A scar ran from his temple to his chin, splitting one milky, sightless eye.

"You're a fighter, aren't you?" he said, his lips curling into a smirk. "We like that. Fighters fetch a higher price in the Eastern District."

The Eastern District. The name was familiar, tugging at the edges of my memory. Hannah had raved about it before—a lawless region from The Eternal Kingdom, notorious for its human trafficking and brutal black markets and most of all it courtesan districts.

"What the hell is going on?" I croaked.

The man chuckled darkly. "You're cargo. Someone paid good coin for a fresh batch, and you're part of it."

Panic shot through me. I thrashed against the ropes, my wrists burning as the bindings held firm.

"Stop struggling," a second voice said. This one belonged to a woman, and when she stepped into the light, I almost wished she hadn't. She was short but muscular, with arms like tree trunks and a face marred by scars and pockmarks. She carried a club that looked like it had seen its share of blood.

"You'll just tire yourself out," she said. "Makes no difference to us. The buyer doesn't care if you're bruised."

I forced myself to think, to stay calm. My mind raced as I tried to piece together how I'd gotten here. The office, the email, then… nothing. Was this some kind of sick dream? It didn't feel like one. The pain in my wrists and the stale, metallic air were too vivid.

The man and woman turned away, muttering to each other. That's when I felt it—a strange warmth spreading through my chest, coursing through my veins. It was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. It gave me a sense of power, an energy I couldn't explain.

I tugged at the ropes again, and to my shock, they snapped like brittle twine.

I fell to the ground with a grunt, my arms stiff from being bound.

"What the—?" the man said, spinning around.

I didn't wait for him to finish. Lunging forward, I grabbed his arm and twisted. His scream was immediate, and he dropped his dagger. My strength was… impossible. It felt like my body was operating on a different level, like I was someone else entirely.

The woman charged at me, her club raised, but I sidestepped her swing and kicked her in the stomach. She flew backward, slamming into the wall with a sickening crack.

I barely had time to process what I'd done before more captors flooded into the room. Six, maybe seven of them, all armed. They surrounded me, eyes glinting with predatory glee.

I fought with everything I had, slashing, punching, and dodging. The warmth inside me surged, fueling every strike. For a moment, I thought I might win. But there were too many of them.

A chain wrapped around my neck, yanking me backward. I clawed at it, gasping for air, but a club struck my ribs, sending pain radiating through my body. Another blow landed on my shoulder, and then another.

I collapsed to the floor, bloodied and barely conscious. The taste of iron filled my mouth, and my vision blurred. This was it, I thought. This was how I'd die.

Then I heard the sound of hooves.

The captors froze as shouts echoed through the stone chamber. Soldiers poured into the room, their armor glinting in the torchlight. Leading them was a figure who immediately commanded attention.

She was tall and striking, with cascading pink hair that seemed to glow in the dim light. Her green eyes were sharp, assessing the room with a regal calm. She wore a deep purple coat adorned with intricate silver embroidery, and a sword hung at her hip.

Leila. The name surfaced in my mind unbidden. The Northern Duke's mistress, a powerful figure in The Eternal Kingdom.

Her gaze settled on me, bloody and battered on the ground, before sweeping over the captors.

"Take them," she said, her voice like steel.

The soldiers obeyed without hesitation, subduing the remaining captors with ruthless efficiency. Leila approached me, her expression unreadable.

"You fought," she said, her tone more curious than concerned.

I coughed, wincing as pain shot through my ribs. "Didn't have much of a choice."

Her lips quirked into something resembling a smirk. "You took down quite a few. Impressive, for someone untrained."

"Guess I'm full of surprises," I muttered, though my voice was weak.

She straightened and motioned to one of her soldiers. "Clean him up. He's coming with us."

Later, I sat in her tent, bandaged and wearing borrowed clothes. Leila sat behind a desk, her sharp gaze pinned on me.

"You're strong," she said. "Stronger than most men I've met. That's not normal."

"I don't feel normal," I admitted.

"Where are you from?"

"Not from around here," I replied, sidestepping the truth.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You're lucky I found you. The infamous lords would have swallowed you whole."

I didn't respond. I didn't know what to say.

"You'll work for me," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "As a servant, for now. Prove yourself useful, and I'll reconsider your role."

I nodded, too tired and confused to protest.

As I lay on a cot that night, staring at the canvas ceiling, my thoughts churned. I'd been ripped from my mundane life and thrown into a brutal, unforgiving world. Survival was my only goal for now, but questions burned in my mind. Why was I here? What was this strength inside me?

For now, I was Leila's servant. But I wouldn't stay in the dark forever I swear it.