The air hung heavy with the oppressive scent of decay. The stone walls, slick with moisture, seemed to weep in silent lament, while the floor beneath was an unforgiving expanse of cold, unyielding stone. A symphony of odors assaulted the senses—a noxious blend of mucus, blood, and feces that permeated the stale air.

Amidst this suffocating atmosphere, a figure lay sprawled upon the frigid ground, his young frame contorted in agony. He appeared to be around fifteen years of age, though the passage of time had left its mark, robbing him of his innocent looks. His features were obscured by shadows, his once-vibrant eyes dulled by the weight of his suffering.

With a hesitant movement, the boy slowly peeled open one eye, his heart pounding in his chest with anxiety. For a fleeting moment, panic gripped him as he feared the darkness had claimed his sight, but soon, he realized he was merely ensnared in the grasp of the dungeon's gloom.

A searing pain lanced through his skull, momentarily eclipsing his senses as he struggled to rise. Agony flared in his chest and leg with every movement, spreading like wildfire through his weary body. The clanking of chains reverberated through the silence, a reminder of his captivity.

Gritting his teeth against the torment, the boy summoned the strength to sit upright, his muscles protesting with every motion.

"Better than the smell in The Belows," Eis whispered in his husky, dry voice. What he wouldn't give for water right now. Eis was sure that there would be hardly anyone to grant his request. Even if you didn't count the fact that he was already a criminal, it was rare for someone from The Belows to get something just like that - except being beaten to death, of course. Of that, he could get plenty.

Within the confines of The Belows, mercy was but a distant mirage. Survival was the only law that held sway, and even that was a tenuous thread woven with the blood and sweat of the desperate.

It was located in Stonehold, and local authorities had never been happy about it. The place was literally built on garbage and waste. It was rumored to have originated from the last of the flying cities that crashed after the Fall. What a glorious origin for the biggest dumb in the world, filled with misfits, criminals, and slavers. Even if "the world" meant just the city and some of its outskirts for him. The outside was always woven in mystery that he never had the means to explore.

Of course, Eis didn't care. In The Belows, one had more significant concerns than mythical nonsense, exploration, and travel.

He frowned. In fact, Eis loved to read about adventure and had taught himself to do so. A collection of scavenged books was hidden in his haunt. It was a sight of him that he carefully kept hidden. Showing one's weakness can only spell your doom in no time.

Well, it didn't matter. There was nothing Eis could do about it.

It was not uncommon for the denizens of The Belows to awaken to the cold kiss of steel pressed against their throats, the promise of a swift and merciless end. Those fortunate enough to escape such a fate found themselves at the mercy of the slave traders, their suffering commodified for the profit of others.

Eis knew this world intimately, for he had been forged in the crucible of its despair. From the moment of his birth, he had been condemned to the shadows, a survivor amidst the wreckage of broken dreams. Yet, in the face of insurmountable odds, he had persevered, his spirit unbroken by the weight of his circumstances. His mind was sharp and uncorroded by the madness he had seen so many times.

'Or was it? What a fun question!' Something asked deep within him.

"I've never been better!" His laughter echoed through the darkness, and a faint echo answered it in the distance.

Eis made himself more comfortable despite the pain and examined his wounds. The guard had done him worse before.

A few cracked ribs and bruises. There were no fractures. Eis ran a hand through his long black hair and felt the dried blood. He would survive. At least a little more. The thought struck him as funny, and he laughed again.

"Another madman. Keep it down. I'm trying to sleep."

From the murky depths of the opposite cell, a voice pierced the silence, drawing Eis' attention like a moth to a flame. His eyes, accustomed now to the darkness, discerned a faint movement behind the iron bars.

"Why? Do you have an early rise awaiting you? Perhaps some pressing matter demanding your attention?" Eis quipped, a sarcastic grin tugging at the corners of his lips. It's too bad the other person couldn't see it.

The voice from beyond the bars responded, its tone laced with resignation. "What's your name?"

"Eis," He said after a short pause.

"Keo," the voice offered in return, the syllables heavy with the weight of impending doom. "Tomorrow holds promise, Eis. It marks the Lord's birthday. They plan to make a spectacle of it, hanging more than a few souls for the amusement of the masses. It seems we may find ourselves in the spotlight."

Eis scoffed, his laughter ringing hollow in the suffocating darkness. "How optimistic of you," he retorted, though the bitterness in his tone betrayed the facade he was trying to maintain.

But Keo offered no further words.

Eis thought a little over what was said. In this world, a swift demise was a gift from the gods. There were fates far worse than death, whispered tales of anguish and torment that haunted the nightmares of even the bravest souls. In a perverse way, it was really something to look forward to.

His gaze lingered upon the runes etched into his skin.

Although he couldn't see them in the darkness, he could feel them. They were there waiting...

Expecting...

Eis subtly summoned them, and before his eyes appeared yet another fate he had not asked for.

[Congratulations, Eissen, you have received a seed!]

[Time before death: 7 days]

'What a delight!' Eis couldn't help but shrug at this information.

His relationship with death was close every day, but for the first time in his life, something so irreversible and specific appeared. Finality could, of course, be reversed if he entered a portal before those seven days were up. An impossible task for someone like him. Each kid went through preparation for the moment when they could be "blessed" with a seed. If such a child passed the portal test, he would be given societal privileges. Exactly what Eis didn't know. No one from The Belows had been able to pass it. They were usually collected and sent into the portal if it was about to fully open and wreak havoc so the time before such happening could be extended.

As far as he had heard, such an event changed the environment to match that of the portal, and all the monsters inside were released. That could mean the end of a town like Stonehold. Not that Eis really cared.

'The whole city can burn in hell.' He thought. With his friends gone... nothing really mattered to Eis anymore. Except... maybe her...maybe.

'No! Never!' Eis pushed his feelings deep inside him and wrapped them in a layer of hatred.

The Awakened were required by law to close the portals, but they were too few to be everywhere. It was much easier to assemble a squad of ragged scumbags to throw inside for the slaughter.

This extended the life of the portal until an awakened appeared to close it.

Slaves could also be used for this purpose. However, they were expensive. Why use gold when there is such a cheap alternative? That is why The Belows survived and have not been annihilated over the years. Or at least that was the reason on the surface. Some powerhouses that even the King wouldn't want to anger were hidden there.

Eis closed his eyes in resignation. The gallows were better. If he died inside the portal... he had heard stories. The hollows, they called them. A soul doomed to serve... whatever god-like being was creating the portals. Neither alive nor dead. Doll on strings following the whims of an unknown force.

While Eis was absorbed in thoughts, silence enveloped him like a blanket. Sleep never came, but memories of the previous days flooded his mind like shards of broken glass. He recalled the fateful decision to embark on one last heist - a daring bid to secure a fortune so that he could spend his last days genuinely free and comfortable for the first time. As little as they were.

He didn't know precisely what comfortable meant, but he was open to the idea nonetheless.

Eis had heard stories from the others. Stories of a life so distant from his own that it felt almost mythical. A soft bed, where the sheets didn't scratch your skin, and the pillows cradled your head like a gentle hand. A warm meal, served just for him, no need to steal or fight for it. The idea seemed almost laughable, a fantasy so far removed from his reality that it felt like a cruel joke. And yet, somewhere deep inside, Eis wanted to believe in it.

He dreamed of visiting a particular place, a tavern in the heart of the noble quarter. The Red Dragon. Geb had told him about it once, with a wistful look in his eyes, as if the mere mention of its name conjured up the aroma of roasted meats and the sound of laughter.

It didn't matter anymore. Not in the world Eis lived in, where survival trumped dreams and where each day was just another battle in an endless war.

It didn't matter anymore because they were all gone anyway.

Two days earlier.

Hidden amidst The Belows' labyrinthine alleys and decrepit buildings, Eis' home lay concealed, a sanctuary of solace in a world devoid of mercy. Perched three stories above the dirty street, his abode nestled within the confines of an abandoned building

A small, boarded-up window served as the portal to his secluded corner of the world; the entrance below collapsed and forgotten. To reach his lair, Eis relied on a rusty gutter that clung precariously to the weathered facade.

Inside his room, the air was thick with the scent of rot, mingling with the faint aroma of old discarded clothes now used as a bed. The walls, cracked and weathered by the relentless march of time, bore witness to the stories of those who had come before him, their whispers echoing in the shadows that danced upon the uneven floorboards.

In one corner of the room lay Eis' most prized possessions - a secret stash concealed beneath a few loose boards. А handful of coins, a frayed map, and other trinkets salvaged from the world far away.

But most importantly, his books were there.

With nimble fingers, Eis pried open the loose board, its aged wood groaning in protest as it reluctantly gave way. A faint cloud of dust rose from the hidden compartment, dancing in the dim light filtering through the barricaded window.

Carefully, Eis retrieved each volume from its resting place, cradling them in his hands as if they were delicate treasures. He ran his fingers over their worn covers, tracing the faded lines and intricate designs etched into their weathered surfaces. Despite their worn condition, the books still held a sense of magic and wonder, their pages whispering tales of adventure.

With a sense of reverence, Eis opened each book, his eyes scanning the yellowed pages with anticipation and longing.

As he turned the pages, Eis's imagination soared, transporting him to distant lands and forgotten kingdoms where anything was possible. For a brief moment, he was no longer just a boy trapped in the depths of despair - he was a hero, a sorcerer, a dragon rider embarking on a journey of discovery.

Among Eis's treasured tomes was "The Chronicles of Aranthia: Quest for the Lost Kingdom" by Eldrin Stormcaller. Bound in faded leather and adorned with intricate gilded designs, the book bore the scars of countless readings.

Beside it lay "The Sorcerer's Tome: Secrets of the Arcane" by Lyra Nightshade, a spellbook of ancient wisdom and knowledge. Or at least Eis thought so.

It was one of the most dangerous books he owned. A mere hint of this treasure whispered to the church would be followed by an immediate pursuit by the Inquisitors until all memory of its existence was wiped from the world.

Although the book's descriptions and drawings were utterly incomprehensible to Eis, this wouldn't have mattered much. The church was fanatic about exterminating magic, even if there was a hint of its existence.

Another gem in Eis's collection was "Legends of the Dragonlords" by Thalion Darkfire, a tome filled with tales of mighty dragons and valiant warriors. Its cover, adorned with a majestic dragon in flight, had been marred by time and neglect; its once-vibrant colors faded to muted shades of gray. Despite its worn appearance, the stories within its pages still sparked Eis's imagination, filling his mind with visions of soaring through the skies on the back of a dragon.

With a gentle touch, Eis carefully returned each book to its rightful place within the hidden stash beneath the loose floorboards. As he closed the makeshift alcove, a heavy sigh escaped his lips.

His face shifted in an instant, the fleeting smile vanishing as if it had never been. The spark in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. His expression hardened into a mask devoid of emotion, a stone-cold gaze that revealed nothing. In The Belows, showing emotion was akin to courting death, a dangerous vulnerability anyone could exploit. Eis allowed himself the luxury of letting his guard down only when he was far from prying eyes. But even then, he wondered if what he showed was indeed his original self. After all these years, Eis still had no answer. The lines between who he was and who he had become had blurred so absolutely that even he couldn't distinguish them anymore.

The boy who had found his way to The Belows on his own all those years ago. Was there anything of that boy left at all, or had The Belows consumed him entirely? The question gnawed at Eis, but like so many things in his life, the answer remained out of reach, buried deep beneath layers of pain.