He'd been five: bumbling and precocious, smooshing bumble bees with his bare feet and muddying his shabby clothes.
His parents had sold him.
He didn't know it at the time, didn't pick up on mama's watery eyes and papa's near-constant scowl, a grim line that made his brows furrow and his eyes wrinkle. He grew up as he would've on the farm, limbs stretching out, blonde hair accentuating his growing features. When he'd done all the growing he could do, his parents pulled him away to the kitchen.
His cheeks were smeared with dirt, but his eyes gleamed.
"Alfie," his mother prodded gently, scooping up his hands in her own. She looked…
Worried. Her hair had grown a stark white in the last couple years, but it was only now he noticed how aged she looked.
"Alfred," his father amended sternly. "There's something you should be made aware of."
Alfred's eyes flickered from his mother's to his father's. "Yes, sir?"
"You're going to be leaving us soon. You're a man now. You're going to have to start a life of your own."
His mother wouldn't meet his eyes; the rustle of corn outside the screen door had captured her attention. She shuddered. "Don't sugar coat it, Arnold."
"Sugar coat what?" Alfred demanded, wishing his mother would look up.
The frantic edge to his voice had the woman sobbing into her shoulder, gripping the wooden table to keep herself under control.
Arnold's gaze turned steely. "We've...made a promise of sorts." he confessed, ripping his eyes away as well. "The farm didn't look so hot back in the day. We could've lost everything. I'm sorry, Alfred."
"W-What did you do?" Neither of them could look him in the eyes now.
"...W-We sold you off, Alfred."
The words had the door flinging off its hinges, thrown open in a sudden burst of wind. A hazy figure flew in from the fields, a blur at first, but then a man.
He stood there in the door frame, looking much more than human. His skin was gleaming like the pond Alfred dipped into on sunny days, his hair was like the sun itself. A crown of wheat rested on his head, tucked neatly above two pointed ears.
A toga hung loosely from his body. "I've come to collect." his words were crisp, voice regal. His eyes-the only ones that'd meet his at the moment-lingered, just fleetingly.
"W-Who are you?!" Alfred shot, stumbling back out of his chair. He just dared one of his parents to look at him and explain. "Mom? Dad? Who is this?!"
But he knew.
He knew from his mother sobbing louder, his father burying his face in his hands.
He knew this man was the one who'd bought him.
"Come with me, now," the man ordered, a simple gesture of his finger hurling Alfred his way. His body wasn't his own and the thought sent shivers rippling down his spine. "I'll have none of this nonsense now, boy. You are mine."
"And who are you?" he snarled back again, scared shitless by those deadly green eyes but not about to show it.
"Arthur Kirkland, King of Harvest." the man humored him, nose lifted high in the air. "Your master as of today." He gripped him closer to his side, shooting a look at Alfred's parents.
"A pleasure doing a business with you two." he spoke primly. "As promised, your crops will be plentiful. Fret not, you'll be gifted another son to take his place."
The sun was bright, but Alfred felt cold.
He didn't even feel the man drag him off.
TBC?