Servus, it seems, is not a prison in the technical sense as you first thought.

The crowds lingering around the cages, viewing the creatures inside like animals at a zoo, indicate otherwise.

The glass-domed, nature filled arena jam packed with slave and free is simply a holding center.

A show room.

Full of cages trapping creatures of every shape and size, of every color and stature. It's like a collection of species, held here within a massive, glass-domed pet store.

But for what?

Thing pushes you forward, grumbling a garbled sentence of some foreign alien language to the winged man, who scans you thoroughly from head to toe.

"What is this?' you ask the man. Your voice, rusty with disuse, eeks out of you with difficulty. "Why am I here?"

Without answering your words, the winged man dips his fingers into the pocket of his loose white-trimmed pants, pulling out a small sack that rattles like it's full of marbles.

As he does, his fingers brush by an intricate sheathe hung at his hip, holding what looks like some type of sword. The handle sits, bejeweled and elegant, against his hip bone.

You try not to stare.

He throws the sack at Thing with an aura of superiority, never tearing his eyes from you.

"There's your payment," says the angel, in your language.

Thing seems to understand the sentence all the same, catching the sack in one giant hand and stopping for a moment to weigh it before humming in satisfaction.

It tucks the sack of what you assume is some form of currency into its vest, allowing the winged man to take the lead to your chains.

Then Thing turns and vanishes into the roiling crowd without a backward glance.

And, although you're glad to see Thing go, likely never to be seen by you again, you aren't all that confident that this angelic, winged man will be any better.

He's holding your chain now, scanning you as if checking for any imperfections.

Bile rises up in your gut.

You've just been sold.

"Don't be afraid," the winged man says suddenly. His angelic voice is meant to soothe and calm, but all you can do is tremble in horror. "You'll get sold for a good price here in Servus, little one. Humans always do."

A place of slave trade, then.

You're at a slave auction, watching as consumers stroll around the showing room to view the merchandise.

And part of that merchandise is you.

The winged man continues on, silky golden hair shifting slightly as he tilts his head. "Humans aren't all that common, and you're not strong enough for physical labor. You'll probably just be someone's pet. Easy life, that. You shouldn't worry too much."

You?

A pet?

As your mind struggles to function, the meaning of his words all of the sudden comes through to you with frightening clarity.

Someone here - one of the many creatures roaming around this crowd - is going to buy you. Buy you, and bring you home with them to do whatever they command.

Among the extrusive tree roots, each cage is filled with some sort of creature. A horse-looking thing with large, pupil-less eyes, or a humanoid figure that camouflages with its surroundings.

You, by far, are the most boring thing here. Your dull and plain coloring and lack of extra appendages seems to you like a deficiency among this group of wildly painted beings.

Why the heck would anyone buy you?

"Come here," the man says. He pulls on your chains, just as rough as Thing, sword sheathe swinging at his side.

Wincing at the pull on your chafed wrists, you obligingly follow him, watching how his silver-speckled wings catch the starlight shining in from the domed roof.

This is different than walking through the crowd of aliens with Thing leading you.

People pay attention to the angel.

They see him coming, let their eyes trace over the span and breadth of his wings and the shimmering gold of his hair, and they move immediately to let him pass.

It seems Mr. Angel is an important someone here in the glass-domed space center named Servus.

"Who are you?" you squeak, hastily jumping aside as a bald man with tusks lopes by you. "How can you talk to me? How do you know I'm human?"

The angel doesn't pause in his strides, cutting through the crowd that parts for him like a hot knife through butter.

He glances back at you, smiling so kindly that you shiver. "I am the coordinator of auctions within this center. I go by the name of Mihal. Pleased to meet you, human."

The angel weaves agilely under a low-arched tree root, dancing around a cage staked into it.

"My name isn't 'human'," you mutter. When you were with Thing, you didn't speak at all. It was no use: Thing couldn't understand you, couldn't answer your questions. Now that you've found someone who you can communicate with, you don't want to stop.

If this universe continues going against you like it has been recently, you'll soon be sold to another cruel master who, even if they could speak your language, couldn't care less about indulging your worries.

As long as you're with the angel-man named Mihal, you have to find out as much as you can about this place.

"Where are we?" you rasp. Obviously there's no way you'll be able to get home by yourself, but knowing where exactly you are might help to orient the situation and gauge the travel distance needed to get back to Earth.

"We're in the space port known as Servus," Mihal replies.

A tiny creature with ram horns swerves to avoid his quick strides, accidentally catapulting itself into a pile of bronze leaves. It crawls out seconds later, sending Mihal a squinty-eyed glare.

You carefully step around it. "Yes, but where is that?"

You're approaching the base of the ginormous tree now, brassy leaves piled more frequently around you. Here, the roots are much larger, each extrusive arch holding four or five metal enclosures beneath it.

You can see now that the base of the tree itself is a culmination of all the roots flowing together, twisted and tangled and rising up to form the single trunk.

There's a hollow space where the ground and wood are supposed to meet, roots and trunk alike cut back to form a cave-like structure within the base of the tree.

You peer inside, trying to see what's happening in the gloomy interior, but Mihal pulls you away from it.

"You'll see what's in there soon enough," he sighs. "Servus is only a single galaxy away from your own. Your galaxy is a new discovery - quite incredible, actually, that there are two natural planets in one solar system that can support life."

"Two-" You cut yourself off in wonder, forcing your brain to run rapidly through all the information Mihal has just given you.

A single galaxy away from home - wouldn't that be the Andromeda Galaxy?

The only reason you can remember the name is because that's where some of the races from Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy are supposedly from.

Frick - since when did you dive into the pages of a sci-fi novel?

But what grabs your attention the most is Mihal's second statement; that from your own galaxy know as the Milky Way, which houses your home planet of Earth and it's seven celestial compatriots, two of them hold life.

Two.

That means that, in your solar system, another planet is inhabited.

And no one ever even knew.

Speechless, your mouth opens and closes in an attempt to spew out words to communicate your emotion.

You can't say a thing.

"That's why you're so popular nowadays," Mihal says jovially. He's cheerful and carefree, dragging you through crowds of foreign beings with a pair of handcuffs and a chain as if this is a daily occurance.

It probably is, you think.

"You're a new species. Fresh. For some races who've been around longer than your entire planet has, new is very exciting." Mihal pauses in his speech, glancing back at you with distaste. "Even though you're the drabbest little things. The other species from your system is, in my opinion, much more worth the money."

"Then why don't you just sell them?" you snap. Panic is starting to well up inside you as you fully realize your situation.

You've been kidnapped by aliens and brought to a space station in a different galaxy, where they intend to sell you off as a pet to whoever wants to buy you.

This is too much.

You can't fully wrap your mind around it.

When Mihal hears the tone of your voice, he abruptly stops in his steps, jaw clenching in an attempt to keep the cheerful expression plastered to his face.

"Be careful of your attitude," he warns softly. "You want to get sold, human. You don't desire the fate of an unwanted slave here."

His hand darts out, wedging something cold and metallic down the canal of your ear before you can stop him.

You wince at the full ache of it, raising your bound hands to scratch at your ear. "What was that?!"

"Translator." Mihal gives you one more tight look and turns, continuing in his previous path to the base of the tree. "You'll need it to understand your master when you're sold."

A translator?

You marvel when the small device in your ear begins to heat up, making your hearing fuzzy for a moment before clearing again.

Suddenly all the unintelligible voices jabbering in foreign tongues are speaking your language, clearly and cleanly as any human.

In front of you, a boy with three arms haggles for a price with a grey-furred creature, the two of them glaring viscously at each other.

"I'll give you seven," snarls the three-armed boy.

The furred creature doesn't respond. His hands are busy securing the lock on one of the iron cages, drilled into the underside of a medium-sized root right at the tree's base.

"Eight," the three-armed boy says desperately, unprompted. "Nine. I'll give you te-"

It seems that, in that moment, the grey-furred creature loses its patience.

It snaps its hand up in an aggravated motion, causing the boy to scramble a step back.

"No money," snarls the furry lump. "Money at bid only. Not here."

With finality, it slams the lock against the bars of the cage. You see a motion beyond the blockade of their bodies, like whatever poor creature in the cage flinched at the loud clang! of metal on metal.

Mihal steers you toward the two bizarre beings, his delicate form somehow eating up the distance with a speed you can barely keep up with.

The three-armed thing is just wandering away in disappointment when Mihal reaches the scene, drawing to a stop before the remaining participant of the argument.

"Congratulations to you," says Mihal to the grey thing, tilting his head as he observes the caged creature that's hidden from your sight. "These kind aren't very easy to catch. You've got good luck."

The grey-furred creature barely spares Mihal a glance before he grunts, turning away.

As the creature ambles off into the crowd, the absence of his large form reveals to you the inhabitant of the cage.

You blink.

It's the same man as before, the one you saw in the crowd - blindingly white skin that glows with a faint luminescence like diamond, and hair the color of a Caribbean lagoon.

The man's eyes echo the same brilliant turquoise, shining reflectively like gemstones in the light and but at a soft angle. His nose is small, snub and gently upturned. His lips are small as well, full in their smallness but just as slight as the rest of his minimal features.

He's seated on the earthen floor of the cage, knees bent to his chest and arms laid over them  so that his wrists dangle free and delicate in the  air.

He watches you as Mihal languidly unlocks the cage beside his.

"Here we are," says Mihal. He pulls you forward by your chains, pushing you immediately into the confines of the cage that's barely large enough for you to stand up in.

The handcuffs release from around your wrists with a click, and Mihal closes the door.

He locks you in with a smile.

"The auction is soon," says the man who looks like an angel but has the soul of a demon. His hand rests on the sword's grip, fingers curving round it absently. "Enjoy the company of your fellow galaxian before you're split."

Spinning on his heel, Mihal slips elegantly into the splatters of aliens meandering around the base of the tree.

You stand helplessly in the cage, mulling over his passing comment.

The company of your fellow galaxian.

Slowly, you turn your head so your eyes can grace the slender form of the blue-haired man next to you.

He's still watching you.

"What's your name?" you ask in a nearly silent voice.

The man rolls to his feet. As he grasps the bars of the cage to pull himself up, you notice how long and beautiful slender his fingers are.

If he was human, he surely would've played piano, or maybe guitar.

When he stands he's about the same height as you. His eyes are even more magnificent up close, the color reminiscent of glacial waters and dancing lights.

"You're from earth," says the alien in a voice so deep that it vibrates through you.

A statement, not a question.

"Yes," you whisper. "My name is Y/N. What's yours?"

"My name?" His eyes, pale cold and brilliantly beautiful, peer at you through the gap between the iron bars.

"I am Yoongi," he says. "From the planet you call Mars."

[A/N]
Unedited
Tadaaaa
So Thing was not Taehyung, Mihal is not Jimin, and the turquoise-haired guy was neither Taehyung nor Jimin.
I'm sorry if this is confusing, guys 😭
More BTS members in the next chapter!
Thanks for reading anyways!
💫PB

P.S.
Before moving onto the next chapter, stop.

Look up an epic space music mix on YouTube.

Continue.

💫PB