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"Service Clause," the clerk continued, "Candidates shall serve as protectors and household guards. Duties include: escort, defense, training participation, and tasks assigned by Contract Holder within reasonable scope."
"Training Clause," the clerk read, "Contract Holder shall provide training opportunity and resources. Candidates shall accept structured cultivation regin. Refusal without cause constitutes breach."
Vera’s eyes sharpened at the word structured.
She liked structure.
It ant their lives would not be left to mood.
"Protection Clause," the clerk continued, "Contract Holder assus responsibility for Candidates’ safety under household domain, excluding Candidates’ deliberate betrayal, criminal breach of Contract Market rules, or willful acts that invite judgnt."
Then the clerk paused.
He looked at the twins.
"And now," he said dryly, "the special clause requested by Candidates."
The room felt like it leaned in.
Even the guards looked faintly amused, which was impressive because contract guards usually had the emotional range of a door hinge.
The clerk read, voice perfectly professional, as if announcing the price of potatoes.
"Intimacy Fulfillnt Clause," he said. "Candidates demand recognition of consummation intent."
Mira’s eyes widened slightly in the background before she controlled her face again.
Auri’s expression did not change, but her eyes sharpened as if she wanted to strangle the entire concept.
The clerk continued, completely rciless.
"Candidates request that Contract Holder shall not permanently deny intimacy. Ti and conditions shall be determined by Contract Holder, but Contract Holder must not declare indefinite refusal."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Vera spoke calmly.
"We do not want the contract to beco a prison where we are never even touched," she said.
Vela added, voice quieter but firm.
"We do not want to die as paper," she said. "We want to be acknowledged as won."
Sekht stared at them.
Then he spoke, tone flat.
"I will not force," he said. "Consent is required."
The clerk nodded, and his quill tapped the scroll.
The runes shifted again.
"Consent Clause added," the clerk read. "Any intimacy requires mutual consent. Coercion constitutes breach and triggers Contract Market investigation and judgnt."
Auri’s eyes softened a fraction at that.
Vera nodded once.
Vela exhaled slowly.
The clerk continued.
"Non-Transfer Clause," he read, "Candidates cannot be sold, transferred, or reassigned. Contract Holder cannot loan Candidates to other houses. Candidates cannot be separated."
"Confidentiality Clause," he read, "Candidates shall not disclose household secrets or Contract Holder’s private matters. Breach triggers Contract God judgnt."
Again that cold line.
Again the reminder.
This paper was backed by sothing that was not human.
The clerk lifted his eyes.
"Any additional clauses requested."
Sekht’s voice was steady.
"One clause," he said. "They serve as protectors. They are not to be treated as ornants by staff. Any household mber who disrespects their status will answer to ."
The clerk blinked, surprised.
Then he tapped the scroll, and the words ford.
"Household Respect Clause: Candidates’ status shall be recognized. Household mbers must obey Candidates’ authority within protective scope. Violations fall under Contract Holder’s internal punishnt rights."
Vera’s gaze sharpened.
Vela’s shoulders loosened slightly.
That clause ant sothing in Null.
Because it ant servants could not casually bully them behind closed doors.
Now the seal was ready.
"Signature thod," the clerk asked.
Vera answered first.
"Blood," she said.
Vela nodded.
"Blood."
Sekht did not react.
The clerk offered the knife.
Vera pricked her thumb without flinching and pressed her blood to the scroll.
Vela did the sa.
Their blood sank into the paper, and the runes flared brighter than before.
For a mont, Sekht felt a faint pulse in the air.
Not his system.
Not his blood control.
Contract authority.
A god’s handwriting being written onto reality.
Sekht pricked his thumb again and pressed his blood to the seal line.
The suspended ring above the pedestal humd louder.
A thread of light dropped and touched the scroll.
The air trembled slightly.
Then two small sigils appeared on Vera and Vela’s inner wrists—matching marks, twin-linked.
The decorative bands on their wrists loosened on their own and slid off like they had never been more than polite theatre.
The clerk rolled up the contract and placed it into the locked case with the first.
"Concubine contract sealed," he announced. "Debt cleared. Candidates bound. Contract Holder responsible."
Then he lifted his gaze to Sekht.
"By Contract Market rule," he said, "you may now escort the candidates out. Their movent is legally yours to command under contract scope."
He said it like he was selling furniture.
Auri’s eyes narrowed.
Mira’s hands clenched briefly.
Vera and Vela stood.
Now that the contract was sealed, their posture changed subtly.
Not softer.
Sharper.
Like chains had been replaced by purpose.
Sekht rose.
"Co," he said.
Mira stepped forward first, controlled.
Vera and Vela followed, side by side.
Auri fell into position behind Sekht, as if the group was a blade formation and she was the edge protecting the rear.
They left the sealing chamber and moved back through the Contract Market corridors.
As they passed the central hall, people watched.
So with envy.
So with hunger.
So with that special Null expression that said, How much did he pay and what did he buy.
A beastkin rchant muttered to his friend, "Three million for two won. I cannot even afford three million for my own bad decisions."
His friend replied, "Maybe he is buying their debt, not their faces."
The first rchant snorted. "Sa thing in Null."
Sekht did not react.
He kept walking.
Outside the Contract Market gates, sunlight struck their faces again, and the air felt cleaner simply because it was not filled with contract runes and desperation.
Mira walked slightly behind Sekht’s shoulder, already watching street patterns, already calculating how to move without drawing attention.
Vera and Vela walked together, eyes scanning with fighter instincts. Even with their family collapsed, even with debt crushing them, they had not lost the habit of reading threats.
Auri moved like a quiet warning sign.
Sekht led them through the city.
Along the way, people stared.
Not because he was famous.
Because he walked with a harpy shadow, a sharp-eyed clerk woman, and two Chaos Rank One twins who carried themselves like blades in human skin.
It looked like trouble.
And trouble, in Slik City, was entertainnt.
They crossed rchant streets, then the cleaner district, then the road that led toward Dawn House.
As the mansion walls ca into view, Mira’s gaze lifted slightly, taking in the scale.
Vera and Vela did not react much to wealth.
Their eyes reacted to defensible architecture.
High walls.
Good gate.
Lines of sight.
Auri’s wings shifted faintly beneath her cloak, as if she was pleased to return to a place where she could breathe without underground stink.
Sekht stopped in front of the Dawn House main gate.
The iron bars stood tall, the crest above them catching the light.
He did not enter yet.
He stood for a mont, calm, feeling the weight behind him.
Three new bindings.
One retainer contract.
One twin concubine contract.
A debt mountain paid.
And now he had to bring these won into a house already full of eyes, whispers, and internal politics.
He looked at the gate.
Then he stepped forward—
And the part ended, just before he crossed the threshold.
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