Darkness.
Not the kind you see when you close your eyes, not the soft, familiar blackness of sleep but the heavy, suffocating kind that swallows the soul whole. A void. No light. No sound. Just pain… and silence.
Then, a breath.
Sharp. Rushed. Like my lungs were inflating for the first time.
I gasped.
Air flooded into me like a storm. I coughed violently, choking on the thick stench of rot and decay. My body convulsed, slick with sweat and grime, and as consciousness returned, so did the unbearable pain. My wrists screamed from the friction of tight iron shackles. My back was raw, as though it had been flayed. My stomach twisted with hunger.
I tried to open my eyes, but even that felt like a war.
Finally, after a moment or maybe an eternity my vision adjusted to the dim light flickering from a guttering torch outside the bars of the cell I was in. The walls were stone, slick with mildew, and the floor beneath me was nothing but dirt and splinters. Rats skittered nearby, unconcerned by my presence.
Where… am I?
Then the memories came. Not from this life but from another.
I remembered the roar of an engine. The blinding headlights. Screeching tires. Glass shattering. A woman screaming. And then… fire. So much fire.
My name was Jace Elrin. I had been twenty-three years old, a computer science graduate with a black belt in taekwondo, a loner who lived more online than off. I wasn't a hero. I wasn't anyone special.
But I was dead.
And yet, somehow… I was here.
Alive.
But not in my body.
I looked down at my arms skinny, bruised, sun-darkened. My hands were calloused, my nails chipped and dirty. Chains ran from my wrists to a rusted ring bolted into the stone wall behind me. My ankles were shackled too, and a thick iron collar sat heavy around my neck, pulsing faintly with some kind of rune-etched magic.
I wasn't just imprisoned.
I was enslaved.
Around me, I saw others dozens huddled in small cages or chained to the walls like animals. Men and women of various ages, some emaciated, others bloodied. A few lay still dead, or close to it. There were children, too. One girl, no older than seven, sat curled in a corner, humming to herself and rocking back and forth. Her eyes were blank. Hollow.
My fists clenched, but the chains held firm. Rage swelled inside me but with it, something else. A cold clarity.
This wasn't Earth.
This was another world. A place where slavery was alive and well. Where magic glowed in the air, ancient and dangerous. I could feel it even now humming through the collar, crackling in the air like static. There were things here I didn't understand… yet.
"You're awake."
The voice was hoarse. I turned.
Next to me, in the adjacent cell, sat an old man with sunken eyes and silver hair that might've once been regal. His body was withered, skin hanging from bone, but his eyes his eyes were sharp.
"First time dying, huh?" he asked with a bitter smirk.
I stared at him.
"You… you know?"
He nodded. "You're not the first soul to fall through the Veil. Most don't last a week. Some are lucky. Most end up like us." He rattled his chains. "Magic brands you. Twists you. The nobles, the mages they feed on the strong and discard the rest."
Before I could ask more, the heavy iron doors at the far end of the dungeon screeched open. Light poured in. Footsteps echoed sharp, purposeful.
A group of armored guards entered, each one wearing a black tunic marked with a flaming insignia. One of them a tall man with a jagged scar across his cheek stepped forward and barked:
"Auction block's ready. Move the merchandise."
The cells opened one by one, and slaves were dragged out like cattle. Whips cracked in the air, and the screams of the slow echoed through the chamber. When they reached mine, two guards grabbed my arms and yanked me to my feet.
I didn't resist. Not yet.
But I memorized their faces.
Outside the dungeon, we were herded into a courtyard surrounded by high stone walls. The sky above was purple with dawn, and strange birds circled the towers. Beyond the walls, I could see spires of crystal and floating towers in the distance.
Magic.
This world was steeped in it. I could feel it pulsing beneath my feet.
A platform stood in the center of the courtyard, flanked by torch-lit braziers and banners. Nobles in silks and cloaks stood in clusters, sipping wine and laughing as if they were at a theater. They pointed at the slaves like we were livestock judging bodies, muscles, scars.
A robed man stepped forward and raised a twisted staff.
"Begin the binding," he said, his voice cold.
The collars around our necks glowed in unison. I felt my body freeze completely paralyzed. I couldn't move. Couldn't blink. Couldn't even scream.
A soul-binding spell.
My thoughts still raced, but my body was no longer mine.
I was pushed onto the stage, my feet moving without command, and I stood stiffly as the auctioneer called out:
"Male specimen. Sixteen years of age. Broad shoulders. Healthy organs. Slight defiance in the eyes. Excellent for mining, construction… or training for the pits."
Laughter erupted from the crowd.
"One silver!"
"Two!"
"Five!"
Then silence fell.
"Ten gold."
The voice was calm. Deep. And it silenced the crowd like a guillotine.
All eyes turned toward a figure cloaked in black, standing alone at the edge of the courtyard. His face was obscured by a hood, but from the shadows, I saw two silver eyes glowing faintly, like starlight.
Even the guards flinched.
"Ten gold, going once… twice… sold!"
My chains were unlocked, and I was dragged across the courtyard toward the hooded man. As I reached him, the air around him shimmered not with heat, but with sheer pressure, like standing too close to a storm.
He didn't look at me at first. Instead, he turned to the auctioneer.
"Remove the binding. I want him… aware."
The auctioneer hesitated, then nodded. A brief chant later, the runes on my collar dimmed.
The weight vanished.
I gasped and fell to my knees, finally in control of my limbs again.
"You… bought me," I muttered. "Why?"
The man knelt beside me, his voice like ice.
"Because I can smell the other world on you."
He paused.
"You're not of this place, are you, Jace Elrin?"
My blood ran cold.
"How, how do you"
"You remember your death. You remember your name. That makes you valuable." He stood, his black cloak billowing. "You are a rare piece in a much larger game."
He offered me a hand.
"Stand. If you serve me well, I'll give you the power to rewrite your fate."
I hesitated… then took it.
As we stepped onto a floating carriage of obsidian metal and glowing glyphs, the world of Valtheon opened before me vast, cruel, and ruled by magic.
I wasn't here to survive.
I was here to conquer.