The knife pressed against Captain Elias Varek's throat before he could blink. Cold steel kissed his skin, and the scent of damp stone and rusted iron filled his nostrils. The dungeon's torchlight flickered, casting jagged shadows across the face of his assailant—a woman clad in the black-and-gold livery of the Governor's personal guard.
"You're late," she hissed.
Elias exhaled slowly, careful not to shift his throat against the blade. "Traffic in the lower districts is hell these days."
The knife withdrew, and the woman stepped back, her lips curling in disdain. "Jokes won't save you if you fail this task."
Elias rubbed his neck, glancing around the cramped cell. The Governor's orders had been clear: meet in secret, no witnesses. But secrecy was a luxury in a city where every beggar and merchant was someone's informant.
"Why me?" Elias asked. "You've got an army of loyalists."
The guard's eyes flickered to the door before she leaned in. "Because you're expendable. And because you know the Deadzone better than anyone."
A muscle in Elias's jaw twitched. The Deadzone—a stretch of wasteland where magic withered and died, where the earth still bore the scars of the last great war. Few ventured there willingly. Fewer returned.
"What's in it for me?"
"Your life," she said flatly. "And a pardon for your brother."
Elias stiffened. *Kael.* The name was a knife of its own. His brother had been rotting in the Governor's prisons for two years, branded a traitor for speaking against the regime.
"You're lying."
The guard reached into her cloak and tossed a small, bloodstained token onto the damp floor. Kael's insignia—the broken sword of the Twelfth Legion.
Elias's fingers trembled as he picked it up. "If I do this, he walks free?"
"If you succeed."
---
The streets of Varethis were choked with smoke and the stench of unwashed bodies. Elias kept his hood up, his hand resting on the hilt of his spirit knife—a relic from his days in the Legion, its blade humming faintly with dormant magic. The weapon was illegal now, ever since the Governor had decreed all enchanted arms the sole property of the state.
He ducked into a narrow alley, where a hunched figure waited beneath a rusted awning.
"You're a fool for taking this job," croaked Old Man Dain, his milky eyes glinting in the dim light. The informant had once been a scholar, before the purges. Now he traded in secrets to survive.
"I don't have a choice," Elias muttered.
Dain spat into the gutter. "There's always a choice. You just don't like the other options." He reached into his tattered robes and pulled out a rolled parchment. "The Deadzone's changed since you last saw it. The Governor's been digging. Looking for something."
Elias unfurled the map. The ink was fresh, detailing tunnels and excavation sites where none should exist. "What's down there?"
"Power," Dain whispered. "The kind that broke the world once before."
A chill ran down Elias's spine. The last time someone had wielded that kind of power, entire cities had crumbled to dust.
---
The journey to the Deadzone took three days. The land grew barren, the air thick with the metallic tang of old magic. The earth here was cracked and lifeless, the sky a sickly yellow.
Elias crouched behind a jagged outcrop, watching the Governor's forces move like ants in the distance. Soldiers in polished armor hauled carts of strange machinery into a gaping maw in the earth—a tunnel leading deep into the wasteland.
A hand clamped over his mouth.
He nearly drew his knife before he recognized the scent of pine and gunpowder. *Rielle.*
She released him, her forest-green eyes scanning the horizon. "You shouldn't have come alone."
Elias scowled. "You shouldn't be here at all."
Rielle was a ghost from his past, a former comrade from the Legion who'd deserted when the purges began. She'd been living with the forest tribes, far from the Governor's reach.
"The tribes have been watching," she said quietly. "The Governor's digging up things that should stay buried."
Elias glanced back at the tunnel. "What's down there?"
Rielle's expression darkened. "The Twelfth."
His blood ran cold. The Twelfth Legion had been wiped out in the war—their bodies never recovered, their souls said to haunt the Deadzone.
"You're saying he's raising the dead?"
"Worse," Rielle murmured. "He's weaponizing them."
---
The tunnel stank of damp earth and something fouler—decay. Elias moved silently, Rielle at his side, their footsteps swallowed by the oppressive dark. The walls were carved with ancient runes, their glow faint but unmistakable. Void magic.
A sound echoed ahead—a low, guttural moan.
Elias froze.
Shambling figures emerged from the shadows, their armor rusted, their eyes hollow. The Twelfth. But they were not alive. Not truly.
Rielle's grip on her bow tightened. "We need to go. Now."
Elias didn't argue. They ran, the dead legion's whispers chasing them through the tunnels.
When they burst into the open air, Elias turned back, his breath ragged. The Governor wasn't just digging for relics. He was building an army.
And if Elias didn't stop him, the world would burn again.
---
The city's bells tolled midnight when Elias returned. He slipped through the shadows, his mind racing. The Governor's guard would be waiting for his report. But how could he tell them the truth?
Kael's life for the world's doom.
A figure stepped into his path. The guard from the dungeon.
"Well?" she demanded.
Elias met her gaze, his voice steady. "Tell the Governor he'll have what he wants."
Her eyes narrowed. "And the Deadzone?"
"Nothing but dust and bones."
She studied him a moment longer before nodding. "Then your brother lives."
As she vanished into the night, Elias clenched his fists. He'd bought Kael's freedom with a lie.
But the real war was just beginning.