The Tapestry of the End

While the blue-eyed young man was examining the ancient building, a man dressed in a tuxedo emerged from the servant's exit. He was quite tall, with gray eyes. His main feature was his lush mustache. Despite his stately physique, the gray hair at his temples indicated his considerable age.

"You were supposed to arrive half an hour ago," he said monotonously.

"We sincerely apologize," the guard replied just as monotonously, making a slight bow.

"Well, let's not delay any longer. Please follow me," he said, gesturing away from the building.

=====

Entering a small adjacent building, the young man was faced with a staircase. Thud. Thud. Thud. The echo of footsteps reverberated down the corridor, which seemed to stretch into the very abyss. Numerous shadows cast by the dim glow of wall candles moved elegantly, performing their beautiful dance on the stone walls. Suddenly, through the monotonous rhythm of footsteps, voices began to be heard one after another. As they approached the exit, the seeds of fear planted in the young man's heart gradually entwined his soul.

"What will happen to me? What did I do to deserve this? I need to run, but can I?" A whirlwind of chaotic thoughts raced through the innocent prisoner's mind.

But despite his thoughts, he moved forward. Step by step, dragging his leaden feet, he approached the voices. Each step felt like an eternity, and the shadows around him grew more sinister.

Finally, they reached the end of the corridor. The man accompanying them opened a metal door. Before the young man lay a huge underground hall, stretching forward for several dozen meters. On either side of them were dozens of narrow cells filled with creatures of various races. Pointy-eared, covered in fur or scales, huge and small. And they were all prisoners. Those who, as one might guess, would soon be sold.

A moment later, the pale young man was hit by the repulsive smell of excrement and soot from the wall torches.

Creeeak...

To the right came the sound of a door opening. Several men in quilted jackets stepped into the corridor.

"Lock him in a separate cell. And be gentle with him, he's special merchandise," the graying man ordered, pointing at the prisoner. Suddenly...

Bang!!!

The sound of a blow echoed. The black-haired young man, driven by adrenaline, took a desperate step, striking his guard in the face. While the guard was recovering, he dashed towards the exit. Slipping through the slightly open door, he ran up the stairs, but...

Crack...

A strange crackling sound came from behind him. A second later, a sharp pain pierced the young man's back. He fell on the steps. His uncontrollable body experienced incredible pain, writhing from the dozens of spasms that gripped all his muscles. Several guards grabbed his twitching limbs and, dragging him a few dozen meters, threw him into a cell like a sack of garbage.

=====

"That's what the auction house looks like," said the blond man as he stepped out of the carriage.

He looked to be about twenty-six years old. His bright green eyes, resembling two emeralds, reflected the flames of the wall torches dancing in the wind. He was of average height, quite slender but not overly so. Dressed in a tailcoat with a cloak draped over his shoulders, he headed towards the main entrance of the large building. With each step, the conversations of various people ahead grew louder and louder. As he passed through the entrance, an enormous hall came into view. A richly decorated crystal chandelier hung in the center of the room like a miniature sun, illuminating everything. Beautiful live music emanated from a platform on the second floor. Dozens of elegantly dressed people strolled on the marble floor, engaging in casual conversation about the upcoming auction, political changes, the war, or simply scandalous gossip.

"Morris!" suddenly someone called out his name from the right.

Turning towards the voice, he saw a slightly overweight man of about thirty-five, dressed in a slightly tight-fitting tailcoat.

"I knew you would come. Did you really manage to get sponsors for this venture?" the man said as he approached with unexpected speed for his size.

"Y-yes..." Morris replied, forcing a fake smile onto his face.

"Damn it. I've put everything I have into this auction. If nothing pays off, those bureaucratic bastards will skin me alive!" the thought flashed through his mind.

Indeed. This auction is a sheer gamble. Once, while passing by the director's office, he overheard his boss talking to some unknown individuals. They were discussing the sale of a person who had no essence. But that's inherently impossible! Whether it's a person, an animal, a monster, a tree, or even stones—everything has essence! If something doesn't have it, it disintegrates. That's the absolute law of our world. Highly intrigued by this issue, Morris leaned against the door, hoping to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation. However, the unknown interlocutor, sensing something amiss, headed towards the door. Due to this mysterious person's vigilance, Morris had to quickly retreat from his spying position.

The next day he learned that a one-of-a-kind object with no essence would be up for auction. Realizing this was his chance to climb the career ladder, the blond man frantically began searching for people interested in sponsoring his idea. A few days passed, and finally, after finding investors, he arrived at the auction house.

"Who responded to your idea?" the man asked, interrupting Morris's train of thought.

"Baron Larci and Viscount Laurette," came the immediate reply.

"I see you have a talent... for finding trouble. Of all the nobles and merchants, you chose the worst. Haven't you heard about their nature?"

"I've heard, but I had no other choice. It's worth the risk for such a chance, isn't it?"

"You're right. But be careful. If nothing works out, our country will have one less young scientist," he said, then turned and walked away.

"I know..." the young scientist muttered to himself and headed deeper into the hall.

=====

Gong...

Gong...

Gong...

The sound of a bell rang, signaling the start of the auction.

The already lively crowd became even more excited, gradually converging towards the doors leading to the auction hall.

Passing through the wide-open doors, the young scientist saw a magnificently decorated room. High ceilings with luxurious moldings and crystal chandeliers created an atmosphere of grandeur. In the center of the hall was a podium, where the auctioneer stood, actively conversing with his assistant and waiting for the guests to arrive.

Morris, leaning against the wall, carefully examined the faces of potential buyers, which included both noble aristocrats and scientists, collectors, representatives of trade associations, and museums. His heart was filled with emotions: here, among all these people, he would have to fight for what could become the key to his research.

As soon as the auctioneer raised his gavel, the hall fell silent in anticipation.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to welcome you at this joyous hour. Today we have unique lots for sale, each with its own history and unparalleled uniqueness. Let's not waste any time. Our first lot is a rare manuscript from the Fourth Era, which is said to have belonged to one of the strongest mages of that time."

Morris's gaze sharpened on the podium when the manuscript was displayed. The pages, adorned with exquisite patterns and refined handwriting, gleamed in the chandelier's light.

The auctioneer continued: "The starting price is one thousand gold coins!" The hall buzzed, and the audience's hands reached for their paddles. Morris, refraining from bidding, swallowed the lump in his throat. Due to limited finances, he couldn't afford any extraneous bids.

"One thousand one hundred—we have a bid! Who will offer more?" the auctioneer said, pointing to the participant with number forty-seven.

"Three... two..."

"One thousand two hundred!" the auctioneer interrupted the countdown and pointed to participant number twenty-three.

"One thousand three hundred!"

"One thousand five hundred!"

After several rounds of bidding, the amount quickly soared to incredible heights.

"Five thousand! Anyone willing to offer more?" the auctioneer asked.

But this time, there was no response.

"Five thousand once. Five thousand twice. Five thousand thrice... Sold to the gentleman with number forty-seven!" he exclaimed, pointing at the buyer.

"And our next lot..."

=====

An hour later.

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention, please. Our next lot is absolutely unique. Until today, something like this has never appeared at an auction. This lot is a child from another world! A unique creature that possesses not even a drop of essence!" the auctioneer said loudly, stirring up the crowd.

Tension filled the hall, as if everyone present knew that this was not just an item, but something more. The auctioneer walked around the podium and lifted the curtain, revealing a mysterious cage containing... a person.

"The starting price is fifteen thousand!" the auctioneer announced, and whispers filled the hall. Some spectators began nervously glancing at each other, while others radiated excitement, preparing to bid for the enigmatic youth.

Morris knew this was his chance. He raised his paddle but then noticed that other participants were also raising theirs with increasing enthusiasm.

"Sixteen thousand once. Who will offer more?" the auctioneer continued, and the tension in the hall reached its peak. Each new bid raised the price sky-high, and soon the amount exceeded half a million.

"Eighteen thousand," one of the participants, a famous collector, confidently raised his paddle, offering an astronomical sum. In response, Morris felt his heart skip a beat.

Morris realized he had to act. He raised his paddle with determination, ready to risk everything to obtain this being. Inside him, a battle raged: his mind told him to stop, but the desire to seize this rare chance pushed him forward.

"Eighteen thousand once!" the auctioneer said, not suspecting that a real battle would soon unfold.

The crowd came alive, and the tension in the air became almost tangible. Morris felt cold sweat forming on his forehead.

"Nineteen thousand!" he shouted, raising his paddle with near-fanatical persistence.

Whispers of surprise filled the hall. The collector, hearing the counter bid, froze for a moment. His face contorted with anger, but he quickly composed himself and issued a challenge:

"Twenty thousand!"

Morris felt as if the ground was slipping from beneath his feet. The situation was becoming critical. He knew it was now or never.

"Twenty-one thousand!" he said, trying to make his voice sound confident, although inside he was filled with fear and anxiety.

"Twenty-five thousand!" the collector's response thundered. Exclamations filled the hall, and all eyes turned to Morris. He couldn't afford to back down, knowing this might be his only chance.

"Twenty-six thousand," Morris raised the bid again.

A moment of silence. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the response. The collector, clearly unhappy with the turn of events, nervously bit his lip. Finally, he raised his paddle, though not with enthusiasm.

"Twenty-seven thousand," his voice sounded, though it was clear he was no longer as confident.

"Thirty thousand!" Morris shouted desperately, as if challenging the entire hall.

This time, there was no response.

"Thirty thousand once. Thirty thousand twice. Thirty thousand thrice. Sold!" the auctioneer exclaimed, and Morris felt a wave of emotions wash over him. The crowd erupted into enthusiastic whispers and applause, but for him, time seemed to stand still.