Ah, my first MHA fic. This will be a long one. Poor Hawks.

This fic is rated M.

I do not own My Hero Academia.

In the heat that characterized the height of summer in Ilios, tucked into a corner of the market near the mouth of an alley, a boy from a distant land struggled with his bonds. Thin arms flexed as he twisted his wrists in his chains, attached to a bolt in the floor in front of him, golden eyes occasionally darting to the thick curtain that was drawn around his cage, blocking his view of anything around him. If he was caught trying to escape, he would be beaten again. His ribs still ached from the last time he had managed to slip free a few days earlier before the caravan of slavers that had caught him had entered the capitol.

He paused in his efforts when he heard footsteps approach, the chains attached to his ankles rattling softly as he adjusted his legs under himself. He held his breath, tensing when the edge of the curtain briefly flapped open, allowing a little of the bright sun to fall across his face, illuminating hair that matched his eyes. His heart pounded as he waited to be caught. He stared intensely at the gap, refusing to show any fear. Then the curtain fell closed.

The boy released a sigh. It had only been the wind.

He resumed his efforts, gritting his teeth as raw skin peeled away under the edge of the metal cuffs. After his last escape attempt, his captors had traded his shackles for tighter ones. It seemed that they were more willing to risk the injury and potential for scars than risk losing their most valuable piece of merchandise. And their plan had worked. No matter how he squirmed and struggled, the boy couldn't seem to fold his hands in the right way to slide them through the metal.

"Does that hurt?"

The boy snapped his head up at the sound of the voice, wide golden eyes meeting bright blue ones. The speaker couldn't have been much older than his own sixteen years, though he had obviously been born into better circumstances. Besides clearly not being a future slave, the other boy was dressed in clothing made of finest fabrics. White linen shirt and pants peaked out from under a light blue cloak that was trimmed with silk thread embroidery. The hood was drawn up to hide the free boy's face from passersby, but a few chunks of red hair still managed to escape from under it. He must have been some form of Ilios nobility. The slave boy had never seen hair that color on a human before.

The free boy stared back at him for a moment longer and then repeated his question, "Does that hurt?"

"Does what hurt?" asked the slave.

"That." The free boy pointed over the slave's shoulder, indicating the red wings that spread out behind his back, held into place by wood and metal clamps that dug painfully into the joints, crushing the delicate feathers.

He deadpanned at the free boy, giving his wings a slight flap that caused the chains holding them up to clink softly. "No, this feels great. It's actually really comfortable. Y'know, when they aren't swollen or bleeding."

"You don't have to be an asshole about it," complained the free boy, frowning.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt your feelings?" The slave's words dripped with sarcasm. "I can tell that you have it so much worse than me, right now."

"Listen," said the boy, leaning closer, his blue eyes bright with rage, "I was just worried about your well-being. But if you're going to be such a dick, then maybe you deserve this."

"As if there was anything you could do about it." The slave glared at him, raising both middle fingers. "Why don't you run along and find you mommy and daddy? I'm sure they're wondering where their pampered little brat ran off to."

"Fuck you!" The free boy snarled and for a moment, the slave was certain that he'd seen blue flames lick at his hands. "I hope someone awful buys you, you fucking dick!"

The slave smirked. "As long as it's not you, I think I'll be fine."

The free boy looked like he was about to fire off another remark when a hand fell onto his shoulder as someone pulled him away, leaving the slave alone once again. Judging by the voices he heard, the slavers were not pleased that someone had gotten a free preview of their newest prize.

Feeling at least a little victorious, he renewed his efforts to free himself, only to stop when the curtains parted again. The slaver responsible for his bruised ribs glared down at him, flexing a heavy leather whip between his hands in warning.

"You better behave yourself, little bird," he growled. "Any more incidents out of you, and I'll move your auction to the Pleasure District. They'll pay just as much for you as any of these noblemen."

The slave simply returned his glare with one that was equally venomous. He knew better than to talk back to this particular slaver. The last time had resulted in a pulled molar and the threat of losing all of his teeth. He waited until the slaver cast him one last threatening look and left, throwing him the finger as the curtain closed.

For the next hour, the slave continued to struggle with his chains, though he only succeeded in getting hot, tired, and wearing more skin off of his already sore wrists. Blood from the injuries mixed with sweat, running down his forearms in thin trails that met and dripped from his elbows to the dirty floor of his cage. He tried not to think about what all he might be sitting in, well aware of how his knees stuck to the wooden floor. Instead, he focused on his plan for what he would do after he'd freed his wrists from their shackles. He could tell from the noise outside of his cage that the market was getting more crowded as the day wore on. He would need to find a way to disguise himself and sneak out of a city where he was literally the only bipedal creature with wings. Simply blending in wouldn't be an option.

Just as a plan involving a cloak and some belts was beginning to take shape, he felt his cage lifted from the ground. The movement prompted him to give his wings a small flap for balance, and he grunted as he painfully pulled at the clamps that held them in place. The cage rocked as someone—likely more slaves—carried it through the streets of the market like the litter of some foreign diplomat. Even through the thick curtain, the slave could hear the excitement that the spectacle caused in the crowd. The voices of onlookers followed after him, growing in volume as their numbers increased.

He braced himself as best as he could, his shoulders and back aching as his wings continued to be tugged about, feathers raining down around him as they were knocked loose. Then all movement stopped as his cage was set down once again, and the curtains were drawn aside. He blinked as bright sunlight beat down onto him. The noontime sun was straight overhead, momentarily blinding him. He crammed his eyes shut when they refused to immediately adjust, not opening them until he heard the creak of rusty hinges as someone entered his cage.

"You'll behave yourself, if you know what's good for you, little bird," said the slaver as he unclipped the chains from their various locations, leaving the clamps on his wings and the shackles around his wrists and ankles.

The slave kept quiet, tonguing at the empty space where his recently-pulled molar had once been. He let himself be led from the cage, watching with silent detachment as a group of large slaves carried it away. When it was gone, he looked around curiously, taking in every detail of his new surroundings.

He was on what appeared to be a large wooden stage. Scaffolding had been erected around it, allowing more large curtains to block the public's view of him until his captors had deemed the time to be right. They rippled as a breeze tried to penetrate them with no success, leaving the air on the stage close, hot, and heavy. With an impatient tug, the slaver pulled him to the center and attached the shackles on his wrists to a hook that hung down from the scaffolding above. The hook was promptly raised using a pully system, forcing the slave's arms over his head until he was standing on his toes. Short chains were clipped to the shackles on his ankles, leaving him unable to kick or gain any sort of momentum to attack. His wings were treated similarly, with more chains attached to the clamps and used to stretch them up and out to their full impressive expanse.

There would be no escaping now.

The slave fought the urge to struggle, knowing that it would only cause irreparable damage at this point. Instead, he settled for a hateful glare as the slaver took his chin in his hand, squeezing it just enough to cause discomfort.

"Now, let's get you pretty for your adoring public," he sneered, chuckling as he watched his captive's expression shift from defiance to shock as more slaves came on stage and began to cut his filthy clothes from his body.

"W-What the hell are you doing?" asked the slave, unable to keep himself from shuddering when he found himself incapacitated and completely naked.

"Can't have you looking and smelling like you've been sitting in your own shit for the last week, now can we?" The slaver laughed. "Think of the impact on our profits. No. Can't have that at all."

The hand that had been on his chin dropped to run down his side over his bruised ribs.

"You just sit tight and let us work our magic. You'll be some nobleman's cute little pet bird by dinner."

The slave flinched away from his captor's touch, causing him to bark a loud laugh before he walked away. He had to take several deep breaths to calm himself as buckets of cold soapy water were carried over and he was washed from head to toe, wingtip to wingtip. Then the slaves set about the beautification process. His bruises were hidden beneath layers of light powder, bronzer was applied to accentuate his muscles, and charcoal was added to the natural black markings around his eyes to make them appear larger. Finally, fine-smelling oils were rubbed onto his skin and into his feathers, hiding the odor of weeks spent on the road and making him glisten in the bright sunlight.

"You're going to make me fucking rich," grinned the slaver as he returned. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small compact, opening it to reveal a red-tinted cream that he promptly smeared onto his captive's lips.

As he stepped back, the slaver snapped his fingers and a young slave appeared with a strip of sheer golden fabric in her hands, which she expertly wrapped around and between her fellow slave's hips and legs. The result was something that mostly covered his private areas, but left very little to the imagination. She snuck him an apologetic look as she finished and scurried from the stage, leaving him alone with his captor.

The slaver slowly circled his slave, pausing occasionally to gently caress or pinch some part of his body and laugh when he twitched away.

"Yes, you will be well worth the effort to get you here." The slaver plucked out a feather, using it to tickle his captive's stomach. "I might even be able to retire after today."

The slave bit the inside of his cheek to keep from responding. He needed to save his energy, strength, and health for a whole new escape plan after he was bought. It would probably be easier for him to slip away from some inbred human noble anyway. Or at least, that's what he told himself. At this point, small comforts and hope were all he had left.

The slaver turned and walked away, leaving him alone on the large stage. He listened with growing trepidation as the crowd grew outside the curtain, their excited murmuring increasing in volume with every passing minute. When the sound of their voices had grown to a dull roar, the slave heard one of his captors walk across the stage outside the curtain, calling the onlookers' attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Ilios! Our caravan has traveled across this land and into the wilderness. We have seen lands and creatures beyond your wildest imagination. Demons and beasts from your worst nightmares, and the delicate beings from your sweetest dreams."

The announcer paused and the slave heard a hush fall over the crowd as they waited to hear more of his story.

"In a land far to the east, we discovered a long-forgotten country and in it, a race that all of Ilios' foremost historians had thought extinct. Almost more animal than human, these graceful creatures are truly a sight to behold."

The slave clenched his jaw, remembering his homeland, though it was quite different from the description the announcer offered. As the voice on the other side of the curtain launched into a long, heavily embellished story about the "savages" that came from his country, the slave thought back to how he had actually been caught. How he had been lured away from home, thinking that someone was in need of aid. How he had been tricked, knocked out, and spirited away before anyone had known he was missing. How he had awoken in chains and surrounded by strange men. How he had fought desperately to escape.

Then the crowd cheered at something the announcer said and the slave was returned to his current reality. He fixed a heated golden glare on the curtain, knowing that it would part at any moment.

"And now, without any further ado, I present to you a stunning specimen from a far-off land…an untamed angel that will take your breath away…for you pleasure and potential purchase…" The curtains were pulled away and more sunlight flooded the stage. "…a real, live Avian!"

The crowd gasped collectively and the slave couldn't help but to join them. There were so many of them. He shifted awkwardly, wishing that he could cover himself in some way, in any way. He was much too exposed, stretched out and nearly naked as he was. The announcer walked across the stage, hyping up the crowd some more as he petted his wings, tugged at his feathers, pressed at his arms and legs, and pulled back his lips to show his teeth, all while chattering nonstop about the "pristine condition" of the "incredibly rare creature" they were offering for sale. It made the slave's skin crawl. Then the bidding started.

At first, it seemed like half of the people in the crowd were trying to buy him, one voice barely distinguishable from another. The slave dropped his head as he listened to the price climb higher, the summer heat sapping his strength. Soon, only two or three bidders remained, all of them looking equally pompous and like they had less than wholesome intentions for him. He sighed, weakly clenching his numb hands into fists, preparing himself for the inevitable as he listened to the announcer ask for any final bids. He could feel the hungry eyes of his future owner on him and shuddered as he thought about what that night would have in store for him. He had seen enough of humanity to know that their depravity knew no bounds. The announcer had just begun to pronounce the beginning of "Sold!" when a familiar voice rose above the crowd, offering a seemingly impossible amount of money. The slave snapped his head up, his golden eyes meeting brilliant blue for the second time that day. The free boy barely spared him a glance before he looked back at the announcer and repeated his offer. A stunned silence fell over the crowd as the announcer sputtered, unable to come up with a good response to suddenly finding himself so rich. Finally, the head of the caravan—the man responsible for the slave's worst injuries—rushed on stage to accept the free boy's offer and the curtain's closed once again.

"See? I told you you'd make me rich, little bird," drawled the slaver, sauntering up to him with a perceptible spring in his step.

The slave didn't answer, still staring at the inside of the closed curtains with wide eyes.

"What do you think he's gonna do with you, huh, little bird?" The slaver leaned in close. "I'd put money on you being the newest member of his harem. I hear that's pretty popular nowadays."

When the slave still didn't respond to his captor's taunts, the slaver huffed and snapped his fingers, prompting a couple of his men to approach and detach the chains from the pully system that had held him in place. The slave wobbled as he was lowered to stand properly on the stage. He didn't move or react when the shackles on his wrists and ankles were connected to each other by chains only long enough to allow for the most limited movement. Nor did he make any protest or comment when the clamps on his wings were attached to a short chain that kept him from spreading them. He couldn't stop thinking about the free boy that had just bought him. Couldn't stop picturing the blue flame that had momentarily danced around his hands or the same flame that burned behind his bright eyes.

He kept his head down as he was led from the stage. Much of the crowd had remained after the auction, hoping to catch another glimpse of the "rare, exotic creature" that had been brought to their city from a mysterious land. They reached out to touch him as he walked past, petting and pulling at his feathers. He couldn't help but to sigh in relief when he was ushered into a large tent and out of reach of the curious onlookers.

The free boy was already inside, his hood still drawn up to hide his face. The slaver immediately strode over to him, taking his hand and shaking it vigorously. The slave still kept his head tilted down, but watched them from his peripheral vision, wanting to learn as much as he could about his new master as he planned one escape scenario after another.

"Thank you for your most generous offer, my Lord," said the slaver in the disgusting simpering tone that he used with customers far above his station. "Now, we do have a few, ah, clerical matters to take care of before you can take your new slave home. First, what may I call you, Sir…?"

"Prince," the free boy interrupted. He lowered his hood, revealing clear pale skin and wild red hair that were trademarks of the Ilion royal family. "Prince Touya Todoroki. Eldest son of King Enji Todoroki and heir to the throne of Ilios."

Every other human in the tent immediately dropped to one knee, bowing their heads in deference to their superior. The slave finally raised his eyes to look at him properly, making direct eye contact with the free boy that was far more than simply free. He lifted his chin and flexed his wings as far as his chains would allow, refusing to acknowledge the authority of a foreign ruler that had just purchased him as one might a piece of livestock. Prince Touya simply returned his gaze, apparently unbothered by his new slave's defiance.

"Now, Your Highness, there is the matter of payment," the slaver finally said after the appropriate amount of time had elapsed. He rose to his feet and his comrades followed suit.

"R-Right…" Prince Touya dragged his eyes away from his slave, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a bag of coins. Someone brought over a small table for him, and the prince upended his bag over it, dumping out more gold coins than the slave had ever seen in his life. "It should all be there."

"And I am certain that it is, Your Highness," cooed the slaver as he eagerly raked the money into his own pouch to count later. "Now, we will perform the Ritual of the Contract and Collar, and then you will be allowed to take your slave home."

"The…what?" Prince Touya tilted his head.

"Oh, is this your first time purchasing a slave?" asked the slaver with a condescending smile. "Do not worry, Your Highness, the Ritual will cause you no harm. It simply ensures your slave's obedience and fealty for as long as he belongs to you."

Before the prince could respond, the slaver snapped his fingers and the slave caravan's magician approached, setting down a tray that contained a carefully written contract, a ceremonial knife, and a thin golden ring. As the slaver explained the process of the Ritual, the magician circled around behind the slave and tied a sheer red silken scarf around the lower half of his face.

"It is important to remember, Your Highness, that you are the master and he is your slave," said the slaver. "Thus, he will have no say in this matter."

The magician whispered an incantation and the scarf suddenly constricted, molding perfectly around the slave's lips and jaw, sealing his mouth shut. The slave's eyes widened and he reached up to try to pull the scarf away, only to find the chain connecting his wrists to his ankles too short. He made angry sounds in protest, not stopping until the magician laid his hand on the back of his neck in warning.

"We will begin by placing the collar on your slave," continued the slaver, unbothered by the slave's obvious discomfort. "If you would take the collar from the tray, Your Highness."

Prince Touya did as he was told, gently taking the collar in his hands. Even in the diffused light of the tent, the golden band—magically enhanced to never tarnish, dent, or break—shone brightly. As he examined it, a thin line appeared in the collar, growing in size until the formally perfect ring had an opening big enough to allow a neck to fit through.

The slave stared at it with mixed curiosity and disgust, so distracted by the dazzling brilliance of the golden collar that he didn't notice the magician move until he felt a hand thread through his hair and yank his head back, exposing his neck.

"Place the collar around your slave's neck," said the slaver, "close it, and press your index finger to the seam."

Once again, Prince Touya followed the directions given to him, his eyes widening when he felt the collar begin to heat under his finger.

"Keep your finger there," said the slaver, "and repeat the after me. This is the Master's Oath. It is of utmost importance that you do not remove your finger from the collar for the entire duration."

The prince nodded and as he repeated the oath after the slaver, his slave was certain that he could feel the air and collar vibrate with every word spoken by his new master:

"I, Prince Touya Todoroki of Ilios, am your Master,
and you are my Slave.
You belong to me,
heart, body, mind, and soul,
for all of eternity
—even after my death—
unless I release you of my own free will
because it is my deepest desire.
Should I, the Master, perish by your hand
your life will also be forfeit.
You will serve me faithfully
in any way that I see fit
until I nullify this Contract
and remove this Collar."

When he had finished repeating the Master's Oath, Prince Touya pulled his hand away, leaving behind a perfect imprint of his finger print in the otherwise pristine golden collar.

The slaver sneered. "Last, your slave will sign a blood contract to you, officially submitting his body to you."

The magician, keeping one hand in the slave's hair, grabbed the wrist of his right arm with the other, forcing it out to the prince.

"This contract," explained the slaver, pushing the paper contract toward the prince, "is your slave's oath to you."

Then the slaver gave Prince Touya the knife, pressing the ornate handle into his hand.

"Cut your slave's palm. His blood will seal his Oath to you."

The slave struggled for the briefest moment, only going still when he felt the tip of the blade push into his hand. Its sharpened edge easily slid into the tender flesh, bright red blood welling up around it. Before the slave could react, Prince Touya, under the head slaver's direction, took his hand and placed it onto the paper contract. The slave cringed, moaning through the scarf as the paper seemed to heat, causing his blood to boil on the page. He squirmed, trembling all over as the prince held his hand in place, not releasing him until the blood magic had burned completely into the paper and cauterized the cut on his palm.

He staggered backwards when the prince finally let him go, clutching at his hand. Try as he might, he couldn't stop shaking, his heart pounding as he came down from the effects of the powerful magic that had just been performed on him against his will. From somewhere beside him, he could hear the slaver congratulating Prince Touya on his purchase and the magician removed the scarf from around his mouth. He panted for breath, squeezing his eyes closed as he fought to stop any tears from slipping out. If the damned humans thought that this would be enough to break him, they were sorely mistaken.

"Now, Your Highness, if you will allow me to teach you how to use the collar before you leave," simpered the slaver. "I am certain that you will find it most helpful."

"Um, okay," said the prince, looking from the head slaver to his slave and back.

The slaver circled around both of them until he stood beside the slave, taking his chin in his hand and lifting it so his new master to see his face properly. The slave held perfectly still, all too aware of the weight of the collar around his neck and the pain of the fresh wound on his hand.

"Beautiful and exotic as he is, we have found your slave to be quite…willful," said the slaver. "Should he attempt to defy you and you need to remind him of his place, simply say sfingo. Why don't you try it?"

Prince Touya furrowed his brow, unfamiliar with the incantation, and repeated it slowly. "S…sfingo."

The collar suddenly constricted, cutting off the slave's airway. He gasped and choked, slipping from the slaver's grasp and falling to the ground. He clawed at the collar, doubled over as he battled for air. Try as he might, he couldn't loosen it, couldn't even get his fingers under it. He writhed at his master's feet, black spots dancing at the edges of his vision as he gasped like a fish out of water. The pain seemed endless. Then, just as he was certain that he would choke to death, Prince Touya repeated another incantation—amolao—after the head slaver and the collar relented.

He couldn't help the pathetic sob that escaped him as he gratefully drew in a full breath. As he continued to suck in one lungful of air after another, he felt the shackles removed from his wrists and ankles, and the clamps taken from his wings. He let them droop around him, shielding him from view as he listened to the head slaver congratulate Prince Touya one last time before he handed him the contract and all the slavers left the tent.

When they had been alone together for a couple of minutes, the prince crouched beside his slave, being careful not to touch him.

"I'm sorry…for the thing with the collar," he said. "I didn't know it would choke you like that."

The slave opened his wings enough to give him a hateful glare. "What did you think it was going to do, Master?"

Prince Touya made a face. "I don't know. Anyway, I promise that I'll never do that to you again, okay?"

The slave's glare didn't dampen, though he did reach up to rub at his sore neck. "Whatever you say, Master."

Prince Touya made the face again. "Please don't call me that. It's weird."

"But it's what you are, Master," said the slave, putting extra emphasis on the title.

The prince sighed and stood, offering his slave a hand up, which he refused. He climbed to his feet slowly, brushing dirt from his hands and knees.

"Why don't you just call me Touya?" asked the prince, letting his hand drop to his side. "There's no need to be so formal. I'm surrounded by that crap all the time."

"Is that what you command of me, Master?" sneered his slave.

Prince Touya groaned and rolled his eyes. "Yes. Fine. I order you to call me Touya instead of Master."

"Fine…Tou-ya."

The prince rolled his eyes at the deliberately obnoxious way that the other boy pronounced his name. "And what do I call you?"

The slave shrugged.

"C'mon. What's your name? I'm not calling you Slave. That's gross."

"I will never share my name with a human," huffed the slave, raising his chin defiantly. "Especially not with one that just bought me like a fucking object."

"Okay…" Touya pinched the bridge of his nose, working to keep his temper in check. "Do you have a nickname that I can call you?"

Silence.

"I guess I could call you Nugget," suggested Touya with a small smirk. "You know, like Chicken Nugget?"

The slave wrinkled his nose. "I'm not a chicken. I'm a hawk."

"Okay, then I'll call you Hawks."

The slave shrugged. There were worse things he could be called.

Touya sighed. "Alright, Hawks. Let's go home. You look like you need a meal and you smell like you need a bath."

"Lead the way, Tou-ya."

Touya sighed again, turning and walking out of the tent with his new slave close behind. The slave…Hawks kept his face purposefully neutral as he followed him, noting with passive interest how the sea of people in the market parted and knelt when they realized that the prince was in their midst. He didn't know what the future had in store for him. All he knew was that he needed to bide his time. The opportunity for escape would present itself eventually and he had to be ready to take it. Until then, he would have to set aside who he had been before his capture all those months ago. He buried that identity deep within where it would be safe and untouched until he could return to his own kind.

He took a deep breath.

Hawks. That was his name now.

He was a captive. He was the first and only slave of Prince Touya Todoroki of Ilios. He was an exotic creature in a land that saw him as less than a person.

Hawks turned his face toward the hot Ilion sun, briefly touching the collar that circled his neck. He may be a prisoner, a slave, and a curiosity, for now; but one day…one day soon, he would be free.

A/N: Ilios comes from the phonemic pronunciation of Greek for "sun". Likewise, I got sfingo and amolao from "constrict" and "loosen", respectively. I by no means speak or know Greek. At best, these are bastardizations of the sounds made for the words. But this is a fantasy au, so I'm hoping that we can all overlook the weird ways that I come up with words.

Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this first chapter. I will be updating whenever I can. (I have a full-time job that demands a lot of time, and I'm a full-time graduate student.)

Please tell me what you think! This is my first MHA fic. I've had a blast planning and writing it. I'm eager to hear from all of you. :)