A massive wooden bridge creaked as it rolled down over the moat. The water below lay still and dead, a dull stretch that, as far as Asta could tell, ran the entire length of the fortress walls. The stonework above it was old and uneven, ancient blocks fused with newer repairs by far less skilled hands. The wall rose high and held firm. Solid. Unyielding. It was easy to see why the King ruled from within these walls. Breaking through them would be no small feat.

  A mercenary nudged him from behind, and Asta stepped onto the bridge.

  The far side told a different story altogether. Vast stretches of land opened before him, cut through by tunnels and elevators that plunged deep into the ground. People moved constantly in and out of them. Across the yard, metalworkers and laborers swarmed ancient relics pulled from the earth, repairing and reforging what time had buried.

  Swords. Spears. Shields. Armor. Bows.

  They lined the fortress walls in perfect order, each piece restored with care.

  Asta felt it then, a pressure beneath his feet. Power stirred below the stone, heavier and denser than anywhere else on the island. Aether. It radiated from deep within the mines, raw and untamed, a remnant of an age long forgotten. Whatever lay buried beneath the fortress was old, and it was powerful.

  “We stand atop the ruins of an Ancient Kingdom,” Lance said as he moved ahead, signaling the mercenaries to open an inner gate. He glanced back. “You can feel that power, can’t you?”

  “Can you?” Asta asked.

  That caught his interest. He felt nothing from Lance himself, yet the man sensed something. Enough to recognize it.

  Lance nodded toward the weapon on his back. “My spear came from down there.”

  “So it’s ancient,” Asta said. “I felt the spiritual power around it earlier. You can control it.”

  “Aye. That much I can,” Lance replied. “I’ve trained for years to master it. I need it to protect my people.”

  “You protect them like this?” Asta asked.

  Lance’s jaw tightened. “We do what we must to survive. An outsider wouldn’t understand.”

  Beyond the inner gate, the air changed. The noise faded, replaced by a strange calm. The space opened into several small square gardens, neatly kept and surrounded by tall stone walls. It was almost peaceful.

  As expected, they were led down. Stone stairs carried them into a basement where damp air clung to the walls. Rats scurried along the floor, nesting in the shadows. A line of cells stretched down the corridor, some occupied, others empty.

  Lance stopped at one of the vacant cells. “I’ll speak with the General about what to do with you,” he said. “You may be sent to work in the mines. King Seneca can be an understanding man.”

  He waved the other mercenaries away, then shut the iron door, leaving Asta inside.

  “Why are you doing this?” Asta asked.

  Lance lowered his voice. “Does it seem like I want to?”

  “I can help you.”

  Lance hesitated. “And that is exactly why I’m glad you’re here. I can watch you. You would put my people in danger.”

  “They are already in danger,” Asta said. “I know what’s buried under this fortress. I know what weapons you’re pulling out. Eventually, all of them will die.”

  He stepped closer to the bars. “I think you’re a good man. You could have hurt Alina back at the bar, but you didn’t. I felt you holding back when we fought.”

  “You’ll make it worse,” Lance said quietly. “Trust me.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Asta replied. “I want to help you. You can stand with me or against me, but I will break out of here one way or another.”

  “Don’t!” Lance slammed his hands against the iron bars. “The last rebellion ended with dozens dead. General Valgurhard is powerful, and he shows no mercy.” His voice wavered. “I beg you. Don’t cause any trouble. I will try to help you leave this island. Just don’t do anything.”

  Asta slowly nodded. This conversation would go nowhere; this man was afraid and broken. Whatever had taken over the island had ruined him. He stepped back and sat on a cold stone slab. Alina’s words echoed. His instinct was to break out of the jail and take down whoever ruled over the people, be it the King or the General, but… he would have to kill. Was it needed? Would helping the people here really help his mission?

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  “I will do as you say,” said Asta, “just make sure my companion, Alina, is safe. She’s very… new to everything, let’s say.”

  “I will find her and shelter her if needed. You have my word,” said Lance.

  He hated it. He hated the smell, the mercenaries, and most of all himself. But it was this or death. Not just his own, but the slow, grinding death of everyone around him. He had seen it before, had watched what happened when they resisted. He would not let it happen again.

  Right or wrong no longer mattered. He was buying time, waiting for help that might never come.

  Lance stared at the surrounding people with empty eyes. His body stood there, rigid and alert, but his mind was far away. At least the sun was sinking low. His shift would end soon, and he could think in peace back home.

  “Lance,” a mercenary said. “The King and the General want to see you. They want a report on the outsiders you picked up today.”

  Of course they do.

  He nodded and followed the man, passing once more through the inner garden, then down a short flight of stairs that led to tall, polished wooden doors. They opened for him, revealing a lavish foyer dressed in red carpets, fresh flowers, and crystal lamps that bathed everything in pale blue light.

  Beyond it stood another set of doors. These were old. Original, he always thought. Carved stone shaped like a leafless tree. He never knew what it meant, only that it was beautiful. Crystal-infused motors hummed as the doors opened, revealing the throne room. A man sat on the throne.

  That pompous bastard.

  The so-called King lounged there with his thick brown mustache and thinning hair. His face was plump, flushed almost red, and he draped himself in velvet capes like a caricature of royalty.

  Lance bowed. “My king,” he said.

  “Ah, Sheriff,” Seneca replied. “I’ve been expecting you ever since we received reports of outsiders. Tell me, has the problem been dealt with?”

  “Sir, I…” Lance stopped.

  Heavy footsteps echoed behind him.

  The General entered.

  Valgurhard was a towering husk of a man, nearly the size of two grown men pressed together. Every muscle looked carved from stone. His black and silver armor clanked loudly with each step, as if he enjoyed announcing his presence. Lance often wondered if the man slept in it. He probably did.

  Sun-darkened skin stretched over a sunken face and a wide mouth. Gray hair pulled into a topknot completed the mismatched sight.

  He took his place beside the King without a word.

  Lance hated him.

  “I apprehended them shortly after our spotters saw their ship,” Lance said. “A man and a woman. The man resisted briefly and was detained. The woman was left in town.”

  “You left the woman?” Seneca said with a smirk, nudging the General with his elbow. “Was she good-looking at least? I’ve grown bored with the women here. Perhaps a foreign one would brighten my chambers. Gods know how running this island weighs on me.”

  Disgusting beast.

  “I don’t believe she would be to your liking, sire,” Lance said evenly. “She appears underfed.”

  “Don’t presume to know my tastes, Lance,” Seneca replied, lifting a cup of wine. “Maybe I want something different. Besides, we are running out of men. They slow down, they die, and we lose several each month. At this rate, we will need the women to help. Weak as they are, they can still work. What do you think, General?”

  “I’ve said it before,” Valgurhard replied. “Bring the women in. They do nothing useful, rotting outside or tending fields. We can import food from other islands. We’ll simply raise weapon prices to cover the cost.”

  His voice was deep and guttural, the kind that rattled the chest.

  “Yes,” Seneca said, tapping his cup with one finger. “Bring the foreign woman tomorrow. We’ll run a trial. Make sure she visits my chambers first, before you dirty her in the mines.”

  Lance drew a slow breath.

  “Yes, sire.”

  “And the man?”

  “He’s in the dungeons. His boat is ruined. He appears capable. He will begin work tomorrow or be punished.”

  “Excellent,” Seneca said. “You may go. We have important matters to discuss. Our fortunes are rising. We received a sizable order from a drug lord in Town Maria. All thanks to you, Sheriff. You will share in our success.”

  “I appreciate your words,” Lance said, bowing once more.

  He turned and left the throne room. Every instinct screamed for him to run or smash something, but neither would help. This was the moment he had feared, the moment they turned their eyes toward the women.

  Outside the fortress walls, he spat back at them. “Fortress of Seneca,” he muttered, walking away.

  The land between the walls and the town was sparse, broken only by a few farms on the far side of the island. The bar was lively, miners pouring out after their shifts. They would not welcome him. Most hated him. He passed by and followed a dirt road instead.

  Behind the bar, past the crumbling remains of the town, stood clusters of dilapidated houses connected by narrow paths.

  His own home was no better.

  He stopped short when he saw Martha and the young woman from the bar waiting outside.

  “Martha?” Lance asked. “Why are you here?”

  “The girl has something you need to hear,” Martha said.

  “Asta, is he in prison?” the young woman asked.

  “Yes,” Lance replied. “I’ve spoken with him. I’ll get you both to safety as soon as I can, but I have little time. The King is making changes.”

  “You need to listen to me,” she said. “Asta isn’t normal. He’s different. I’m afraid he’ll do something reckless.”

  “I already warned him,” Lance said. “I promised to keep you safe, and I intend to do that. But I have something I must deal with first.”

  “What is it, kid?” Martha asked.

  Lance swallowed. “He’s coming for the women. And if he takes the women, the children will follow. We’ve run out of time, Martha. I failed all of you.”

  “No,” she said sharply. “Don’t do it.”

  “I have no choice,” Lance said softly. “I need to kill him.”

  “So everyone here solves their problems by killing?” the young woman asked.

  Lance shook his head. “Not everyone. But this man won’t stop any other way.”