[Null POV] Year 0, Day 25-27 (Three days before the auction)

  The airships started arriving three days before the auction.

  Null watched from the inn window as the first one descended—a massive vessel painted in royal blue and gold, flying the banner of some Kingdom noble house she didn't recognize. It landed in the fields outside the village, too large to fit within the streets.

  Then another. Deep red with black trim, Republic military markings. Then a third, pristine white with religious symbols—Church State, probably.

  By the second day, there were dozens. Airships of every size and design, carrying nobles and wealthy merchants and collectors from across the continent. All coming for the chance to bid on Legend-class items that almost never reached the market.

  And with the nobles came their entourages.

  Guards. Servants. Advisors.

  And battlemaids.

  So many battlemaids.

  Null counted them during her morning walk with Void. One with a dwarf merchant. Two with a wealthy Republic official. Three with some Empire noble who clearly wanted to show off. Four with a Kingdom duchess.

  By the end of day two, there were easily over a hundred battlemaids in Borderwatch. Maybe more. The village had gone from having one or two to being flooded with them.

  The atmosphere changed immediately.

  The locals, who'd grown comfortable over the past three weeks—treating Null casually, letting children play near her, approaching her master without excessive fear—suddenly remembered what battlemaids actually were.

  Dangerous. Unstable. Prone to violence.

  The incident happened on day two.

  A merchant who'd been friendly with Null—one of the food vendors who'd been teaching her words—saw a different battlemaid standing outside a shop. Cat-eared beastgirl, wearing an elaborate uniform, watching the street with dead eyes.

  The merchant, used to Null's calm behavior, smiled and waved. "Morning, miss! Beautiful day for—"

  The battlemaid's hand went to her dagger. Drew it. Lunged.

  Her master—a portly human noble—shouted and grabbed her arm, barely stopping the attack. "Down! Stand down! He meant no offense!"

  The battlemaid trembled, fighting the compulsion to kill, her eyes wild and unfocused.

  The merchant backed away, pale, shaking. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—I thought—"

  "Don't SPEAK to her!" the noble snapped. "Are you insane? You address me, not my property!"

  The merchant fled. The battlemaid remained coiled, ready to strike, held back only by her master's grip and command.

  Null watched from across the street, analyzing.

  That's what they expected me to be. That's what battlemaids are.

  Word spread quickly through the village. There had been other incidents too—Null heard the rumors. A child who'd gotten too close and nearly been stabbed. Someone who'd accidentally bumped into a battlemaid in the crowded streets and barely escaped with their life. A servant who'd made eye contact and been attacked for the perceived challenge.

  The locals learned fast. By day three, everyone was giving ALL battlemaids proper distance. No more casual interactions. No more friendly assumptions.

  Just fear. Caution. The respect given to loaded weapons.

  Null observed it all with detached interest. Seeing the contrast. Understanding what made her different.

  Most battlemaids were clearly broken. Dead eyes, twitching hands, hypervigilance that bordered on paranoia. They tracked every movement, assessed every person as a potential threat, existed in constant state of near-violence.

  Some were barely controlled. Masters struggling to keep them from attacking random strangers. Commands shouted, physical restraint needed, constant management required just to move through crowds.

  A few seemed relatively stable. Professional. Controlled. But even those radiated tension. Coiled springs ready to snap.

  None were like Null. Learning words. Enjoying food. Watching the world with curiosity instead of paranoia.

  She was genuinely unique.

  And people were noticing.

  The contrast didn't go unnoticed by the arriving nobles.

  The compliments started on day two and intensified throughout day three.

  A Republic official approached Void while they were having lunch at an outdoor cafe. The man's own battlemaid—a human woman with scars covering her arms—stood three meters back, watching everything with suspicious eyes.

  "Pardon the interruption, young master," the official said, bowing slightly. "I couldn't help but notice your companion. She's... remarkably well-trained."

  "Thank you," Void replied carefully. "I've been fortunate."

  "Fortunate indeed. I've been around battlemaids my entire life—my father had two, my grandfather collected them—and I've never seen one so... calm. So controlled. How did you achieve such results?"

  "Family methods. I'm afraid I can't share details."

  "Of course, of course. Trade secrets. I understand." The official glanced at Null, who was eating a pastry and watching a group of adventurers pass by with mild interest. "It's just extraordinary. Mine won't stop twitching. Yours is eating in public without supervision. The difference is remarkable."

  "Every battlemaid is different."

  "True. But this level of difference? This suggests exceptional training. Superior bloodline selection. Something special."

  "I appreciate the compliment."

  The official hesitated, then lowered his voice. "If you ever consider sharing your methods—even partial information—many would pay substantial sums for such knowledge."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  The official nodded and retreated, clearly hoping Void would reconsider.

  He wouldn't be the last.

  Throughout day three, various nobles found excuses to approach. To comment. To probe.

  A Kingdom merchant: "Your battlemaid's stability is impressive. What conditioning house trained her?"

  Void: "Private facility. No longer operating."

  An Empire noble: "She speaks! I heard her during that... incident with the Blood Cult. Battlemaids rarely retain linguistic capabilities. How did you preserve hers?"

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Void: "She came that way. I didn't suppress them."

  A Republic collector: "The way she moves—so precise, so efficient, yet so relaxed. What school taught her combat techniques?"

  Void: "Family tradition. Apologies, but I can't elaborate."

  Each time, he deflected. Gave vague answers. Politely refused to share details.

  And each time, the nobles' interest seemed to intensify rather than fade.

  By evening of day three, Void was exhausted from the constant deflections.

  "Too many questions, Mistress. Too much attention. This is becoming uncomfortable."

  "Want to stop going out?"

  "We can't hide completely. That would seem suspicious. But perhaps we should be more selective about where we go, who we're around."

  "The pressure's only going to increase," Spy noted. "More nobles arriving every day. More battlemaids. More comparisons. More questions."

  That evening, one more approach came.

  Different from the others. More direct. More... wrong.

  A man in elaborate Church State regalia. Dual symbols of nobility and religious authority. Duke's coronet. Cardinal's crimson stole. Someone with power in both hierarchies.

  He was accompanied by holy paladins—four of them, gleaming armor, divine auras radiating purity and strength. And by battlemaids. Eleven of them, all moving in perfect synchronization, all wearing matching white and gold uniforms.

  All unnaturally calm. Too calm. Like they'd been sedated or magically suppressed.

  Void tensed when he saw them approaching the cafe where he and Null were finishing dinner.

  "Mistress. Church State. Very high-ranking. This one is extremely dangerous."

  "More than the Blood Cult?"

  "Different kind of dangerous. Divine magic. Authority. Resources. And look at his battlemaids—they're too synchronized. Too calm. He's using something to control them. Probably holy magic maintaining constant suppression of their instability."

  "Eleven battlemaids under simultaneous magical control. That requires serious power."

  "Which means he's very strong. Very experienced. Be careful."

  The Cardinal-Duke stopped at their table. Smiled. Warm, grandfatherly, completely calculated.

  "Good evening, young master. Forgive the intrusion. I am Cardinal Vescari, Duke of the Northern Reaches of the Church State. I've been hearing fascinating things about your companion."

  Void stood, bowing politely. "Your Eminence. I'm honored. Though I'm not sure what you've heard that would be of interest to someone of your station."

  "Oh, many things. That she's exceptionally well-trained. That she speaks—rarely, but clearly. That she's stable in ways most battlemaids are not." Vescari's eyes moved to Null, studying her with the intensity of an appraiser examining valuable merchandise. "And having observed her myself over the past day, I must say the reports significantly undersell her quality. She's extraordinary. Truly exceptional."

  "You're too kind, Your Eminence."

  "Not at all. I consider myself something of an expert in battlemaids, you see." He gestured to his own eleven, standing in perfect formation. "I've acquired these over many years—all from deceased masters, all requiring... extensive reconditioning to accept new ownership. It's delicate work. Dangerous. Most would say impossible."

  "But with the right techniques—divine techniques, specifically—it can be done. They can be saved. Reformed. Made useful again rather than simply executed when their original masters pass. The Church values redemption, after all. Even for broken things."

  "He's showing off," Spy observed. "Demonstrating his ability. And fishing for recognition."

  Void maintained his polite expression. "That's quite an achievement, Your Eminence. Very impressive."

  "Thank you. It's taken decades to perfect the methods. Divine calming, gradual acceptance conditioning, careful management of their psychology." Vescari's smile widened slightly. "Which brings me to why I'm here. Your battlemaid. She's of exceptional quality. I'd very much like to understand more about her training. Her background. How you've achieved such remarkable stability."

  "Family methods, Your Eminence. Passed down through generations. I'm afraid I can't share specifics."

  "Family methods. Yes. I've heard that answer from several others who've inquired." Vescari's tone remained friendly, but something cold entered his eyes. "Surely there's some arrangement we could make. Knowledge has value. I would compensate you very generously for insights into her conditioning process. The techniques used. The bloodline selection. Anything that might help me improve my own methods."

  "I appreciate the generous offer, Your Eminence, but some knowledge isn't appropriate to share."

  "Everything is appropriate to share, young master. It's simply a matter of finding the right price. One hundred million gold, perhaps? For complete documentation of her training regimen?"

  The number hung in the air. Staggering. More wealth than most kingdoms had in their treasuries.

  Void's expression didn't change. "She's not for sale, Your Eminence. Nor is information about her. I'm sorry, but my answer is final."

  "Two hundred million. Final offer."

  "Not for sale."

  Vescari's smile remained, but his eyes went completely cold. "I see. How... disappointing."

  The paladins shifted slightly. Not overtly threatening. Just... present. Visible. A reminder of force behind the words.

  Vescari leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to something quieter. More intimate. More dangerous.

  "You should reconsider, young master. Borderwatch is quite crowded these days. So many people. So many... accidents that can happen in crowds. Even to well-protected individuals. It would be tragic if something were to befall you before you could enjoy the fruits of your good fortune."

  The threat was clear. Barely veiled. Polite words carrying promises of violence.

  Void's hands clenched under the table. "I appreciate your concern for my safety, Your Eminence. But I'm quite careful. And well-protected."

  "Are you?" Vescari's eyes moved to Null again. Lingered. "We shall see. Do think about my offer. I'll be in the village for several more days. You can find me aboard my airship if you change your mind. Before any... accidents... occur."

  He stood, bowed with perfect formal correctness, and turned to leave.

  "Enjoy your evening, young master. And do keep your exceptional companion close. One never knows what might happen in times like these."

  He walked away, his paladins and eerily-calm battlemaids following in precise formation.

  Void watched them go, his entire body tense.

  Null sat behind him, silent.

  Then, through their bond: "Inn. Now. Please."

  The urgency in her mental tone was unmistakable. Not angry. Not commanding. Just... desperate.

  "What? Mistress, we haven't finished—"

  "Please."

  Void felt it through their connection. The need to leave. To get away. To find safety.

  He didn't question further. Just stood immediately, left coins on the table, and started walking toward the Wayward Traveler.

  Null fell into step behind him—her usual position, proper battlemaid distance. But through the bond he felt her pushing: Hurry. Faster. Please hurry.

  Not quite panic. But close.

  He walked faster. Not running—that would draw attention—but quick, purposeful strides.

  They reached the inn. Climbed the stairs. Entered their room.

  The moment the door closed, Null locked it. Then went to the windows and shut them. Drew the curtains. Pulled blankets from the bed and hung them over the windows for extra coverage, blocking out even the faint light from outside.

  Creating darkness. Isolation. Safety.

  Void watched, increasingly alarmed. "Mistress, what are you doing?"

  Null didn't answer. Just finished covering the last window, then moved to the center of the room.

  And sat down on the floor.

  Pulled her knees to her chest. Wrapped her arms around them. Made herself small.

  Defensive posture. Like hiding. Like trying to disappear.

  Void stared, completely lost. "Mistress? What happened? Are you hurt? Did someone do something? Please, talk to me—"

  Nothing. Null just sat there, staring at nothing, holding herself.

  Void tried reaching through the soul bond. Pushed harder, trying to understand what she was feeling, what had triggered this.

  Got back: overwhelming static. Chaos. Too many emotions, too many thoughts, too much everything crashing together in incomprehensible noise.

  He pulled back, the feedback almost painful.

  "Spy!" His mental voice was panicked. "What's wrong with her?! What happened?! I don't understand—"

  "Alright," Spy's voice cut through the panic. Calm. Analytical. In control. "I guess I need to be the parent here."

  "She's not responding! Something's wrong and I don't know what to do—"

  "Void. Stop. Panicking. Doesn't. Help."

  The firmness in Spy's tone cut through Void's spiral. He stopped. Forced himself to breathe.

  "Good. Now, both of you—we're going to do an exercise."

  "An exercise? Spy, this isn't the time for—"

  "This is exactly the time. Trust me. Both of you—point to what I say."

  "I'm not playing games right now," Null said flatly from her position on the floor, voice barely audible through the bond.

  "Not a game. Important. Just do it. Point to: table."

  Silence. Neither moved.

  "Come on. Humor me. Table. Point."

  "This is stupid," Null muttered. But slowly, reluctantly, she raised one hand from her knees and pointed at the table.

  Void, still confused and worried, did the same.

  "Good. Window."

  Both pointed at the covered windows.

  "Door."

  Point.

  "Bed."

  Point.

  "See? Easy. Now faster. Chair."

  Point.

  "Floor."

  Point.

  "Wall."

  Point.

  "Ceiling."

  Point.

  The rhythm established. Both following along despite their confusion. The repetitive action actually slightly calming. Simple. Clear. No thinking required.

  Then, casually:

  "Master."

  Both pointed at each other simultaneously.

  Pause.

  Null's finger pointing at Void. Void's finger pointing at Null.

  Both froze.

  Silence.

  Complete, utter silence.

  Neither moved. Neither spoke. Just stared at their own hands, at each other, at the impossible contradiction they'd just revealed.

  The realization settling over them like cold water.

  Who is the master?

  Who is in control?

  What are we to each other?

  No answers. Just the weight of the question hanging in the air.

  "Exactly," Spy said quietly into the silence. "Now sit down properly, both of you. We need to talk. Really talk. This has been building for weeks, and it's time to address it."

  Neither argued. Just moved mechanically—Void to the chair, Null slowly rising from the floor to sit on the bed.

  Both still processing. Both still wordless.

  "Good. Now listen..."