But the stories were mercy compared to the truth.
Now the name had a shape. A hunger. A heartbeat.
Even my father, who feared nothing living, had lowered his voice when that name was spoken. As if saying it too loud might summon the man himself.
The guard’s promise unspooled into certainty.
The Dreadhold did not return men.
It swallowed them.
It cured them of hope.
I tasted blood on my tongue. The torchlight flickered against it, turning the red to black.
We were not leaving this place alive.
I turned my head. Lazarus knelt a few paces away, wrists bound, chains hanging like dead weight between us. His fists were clenched, his jaw set—but his eyes were breaking.
“We’re innocent,” he said, voice trembling but still clear. “You’re condemning two innocent men.”
The guard smirked, already walking away. “Innocent or guilty doesn’t matter here,” he said. “Only those who survive long enough to matter.”
He let the words hang in the air like a noose. Then, with a cruel smile?—
“Welcome to the Dreadhold.”
Something inside me broke loose.
I lunged forward, rage pouring through every vein, a fire too hot to think. I threw my weight into a charge, head low, ready to drive my skull into the Enforcer’s gut, to feel something break that wasn’t me.
He didn’t move.
One massive hand shot out and caught my head mid-run, fingers closing around my skull like a vise. For a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. Then he flung me aside as though I weighed nothing.
Stone met skin. The impact tore across my arm, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. The sting was sharp—but what came after was worse.
There was no Amara here to bind the wound.
No gentle hands. No whispered prayers.
Here, wounds would fester. The putrescence would crawl beneath the skin, fever would bloom in the bones, and death would come quiet and wet in the dark.
I would die here.
Marked by the god of death.
And maybe—just maybe—that would be mercy.
My father’s voice rose from memory, cold and perfect, echoing through my skull like a curse carved into the walls.
You’re worthless. You always were. You deserve this.
And for the first time in my life, I believed him.
The Enforcer’s voice broke through the silence, deep and thunderous. “The Sovereign of Flames is coming,” he said. “He will bestow your first initiation.”
He turned toward me, a grin cutting across his face, teeth yellow in the firelight, eyes shining with something close to hunger.
