Chapter 1
Beginning
Luca Milagro
Fear clung to the outer town square of Asfalis like smoke. The air reeked of decay, the stench seeping through the splintered crates that held the unending line of the dead. Families wailed over lost loved ones, while others exhaled shaky breaths of relief, knowing this time… the dead were not theirs.
We belonged to the second-lowest tier of society: the chosen sacrifices, the ones sent to die. The lowest rank was already a whisper of extinction. The famine and frost across the wastelands had devoured them, and now, it was coming for us too.
I’m Lucian, though I prefer Luca. the last one in my family strong enough to stand here. My gaze fell into the cracked crate where my father lay, his lifeless hand clutching an engraved metal tag bearing our family name: Milagro. It means miracle. But no miracle could bring him back. First, I lost my mother. Now, my father.
To my right, through the smeared window of a butcher’s shop, I saw my sister. Clarabelle. Ten years old, and still somehow holding onto hope. Even now, her lips moved in silent prayers for a return she already knew wouldn’t come. She was all warmth, a small girl with softly wavy hair that caught a golden glow under the sun, and dark, starry eyes that made mine seem dull and lifeless. Maybe it’s just because I’m twenty now, already ground down by a world that doesn’t care if I live or die.
“Out of the way, boy! Don’t block the road!”
A soldier’s bark cut through my thoughts. A heavy hand slammed against my shoulder, shoving me aside. I instantly dropped my gaze to the ground. It was the rule - never look a higher rank in the eyes.
His boots came into view: polished brown leather, gleaming so bright I could see my reflection in them. A level B soldier. I was level D, just above the beggars and homeless. The ranks went: Z, A, B, C, D, and F. F was the bottom pit. D was barely better, the workers with scraps to keep us alive.
“HEY! Are you deaf or dumb? I said MOVE!”
The soldier’s kick knocked me onto a jagged stone, pain slicing into my rib. A warm sting spread across my side as blood seeped through my linen shirt. Thank the gods it wasn’t deep, I couldn’t afford to waste supplies on this.
“S-sorry, sir… I didn’t see you. I-I’m sorry…”
“If you’re sorry, you’ll vanish before the generals arrive. I’m showing mercy by not killing you here and now.”
He leaned close, his breath hot and rancid against my cheek.
“But my general? Can’t make any promises.”
My stomach tightened. I couldn’t let anything happen to me—not while Clarabelle needed me. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I scrambled out of the road.
“I’m deeply sorry, sir… It won’t happen again.”
“Someone get this body out of here! General Marcus will be here any minute!”
The mortuary workers—Level D like me—lifted my father’s crate and carried it toward the burning truck. My chest tightened. I wanted to scream, to beg them to stop. But I couldn’t. The truck would take him beyond the city walls to be burned or dumped in piles for scavengers.
I’m sorry, Father. I can’t even let Clarabelle see you one last time. Forgive me.
I felt hollow, too used to death to cry.
Another worker was thrown aside, just as I had been, and I pulled myself to my feet, weaving through the crowd to find Clarabelle.
“Luca? What—”
“Quiet, Clarabelle. Don’t say anything. General Marcus is here.”
I tugged her behind the butcher’s cart, as though my scrawny frame could shield her from anything.
General Marcus—a level A. Out of the five generals, he had the reputation of being the most just. He didn’t order killings for sport like the others. Fair. Reasonable. At least, I wanted to believe that.
He was older now, with peppered hair slicked back, his face carved with lines of age and battle. His deep-blue uniform glittered with medals and stars, while his black boots struck the ground with heavy, commanding thuds.
But why was a general here, this far south? We were nothing. The dead here barely mattered.
“Luca, look! They have a royal notice…” Clarabelle whispered, pointing.
Sure enough, the general’s assistant held an envelope sealed with purple wax flecked in gold—Z level. A royal decree.
“People of Asfalis! Hear the royal crown’s decree!”
The royal crown. The king and queen of Azkena. Their word was law, unquestionable, even if it cost lives. They descended from a bloodline of dragon-wielders—or so the stories claimed. Now, they had no more magic than the rest of us. Just power, built on the bones of their ancestors.
“Luca! Stop cursing them in your head!” Clarabelle muttered.
I blinked. Psychic.
“I’m not psychic. You’re just easy to read,” she shot back.
Yup. Definitely psychic.
General Marcus’s voice boomed over the square, commanding silence.
“As you know, tragedies have swept across Azkena. Now, even Halmia—and more importantly, Drigane—is being affected.”
Drigane? The capital? My jaw clenched. Of course, now they cared—because the royal family was inconvenienced.
“As the royal crown pushes deeper into the Voidlands, we have hit a barrier. And we require your help to break it!”
The Voidlands? Beyond the outer oceans? They were mad. People rarely came back alive from the oceans, and they wanted to go beyond them? The stupidity of power never failed to amaze me.
“I’m just a poor scavenger! But I wanna go to the Voidlands too!”
Of course. Cain. The twelve-year-old fool. A dreamer who thought he’d be the hero of every story.
General Marcus laughed, a sound that actually warmed the tense crowd.
“Don’t worry, young man. Your time will come. But for now, we are seeking men and women between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five.”
Clarabelle’s eyes lit up. “Luca! That means you!”
“Oh, hush. If this is a suicide mission, I’m not signing up.”
Marcus continued, “We will hold a test in two days. Those who pass will join me at the Kaltalon training grounds, preparing for the expedition into the Voidlands.”
A test. Probably physical. Perfect. With my pathetic muscles, I’d fail on purpose. Clarabelle needed me alive, not on some mad royal voyage.
“The test details will remain secret until the day. This is the order of His Majesty, King of Azkena. Every man and woman aged nineteen to twenty-five must attend. Ages nineteen to twenty-one in the morning, twenty-two to twenty-three in the afternoon, twenty-four to twenty-five in the evening.”
“Let’s go, Clarabelle,” I muttered. “This has nothing to do with us.”
“But… what if this is your chance to go to Halmia? Maybe I could come with you—”
“NO.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “I’m not taking you to Halmia, especially near Drigane. The rich and royals… they don’t even see us as human.”
“But—”
“No means no, Clarabelle! It’s just you and me now, and Dad is—”
I stopped. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, her small face tight with emotion she was trying to hide.
Idiot, Luca. Watch your damn words.
Her voice trembled as she said softly, “I already knew Dad was gone. Just… let’s listen to the general. Please?”
“No one is exempt,” Marcus’s voice rang out again. “Those chosen will be cared for by the King himself. May the best succeed.”
With that, the general mounted his horse and rode away, leaving a wave of murmurs in his wake.
“Great,” I muttered. “Exactly what I need. More on my plate.”
“Wait, Luca, isn’t that the same day as—”
“I know, Clarabelle. I know…”
