Chapter 1

[Human]

[Marks: Nil]

[Tier: Nil]

[Skills: Nil]

Elian didn’t know why he bothered summoning his status screen when there was nothing there to see. He’d had access to it for a year now. Still, he was markless.

And the life of a markless was an unremarkable one.

Elian swung his pickaxe into the cavern’s wall, forearms burning with the effort. Flakes of salt spat onto his face, which was already caked with the stuff. His hands were dry. His mouth was dry. His whole damned body was dry.

He swung the pickaxe again. His mother’s words ran through his mind for perhaps the millionth time since he’d been forced to work the mines.

Choice was taken from you the moment you were born.

He remembered little of his mother, but these words had stuck with him. She’d told them to him many times.

They were her last words, too, whispered in a raspy voice as he’d sat at her deathbed.

She knew I’d be markless.

The cavern was dark, the only light that of a single lantern on the rocky ground, its flame flickering, creating dancing shadows out of the miners’ forms. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d begun working for the day—it was hard to tell the time without seeing the passing of the sun—but by how exhausted, and hungry, he was, it must be near to evening.

That damned overseer should have called a break long ago. Elian stopped, his pickaxe falling to the dirt, and dragged his canteen to his lips. A single drop trickled out.

Where is that man?

The other miners looked as worn out as he did, but they were still on their feet. None of them would want to face the overseer’s punishment for what he considered slacking.

We need a break. More water. And food.

Elian made to walk down the tunnel toward the salt mine’s entrance when a man grasped his upper arm in a firm grip. Baylin. His face was so caked in salt he looked as white as bleached parchment. The same could be said for most of them, but this man had spent more time working the mines than Elian had been alive.

“Where you off to?” Baylin said, voice gruff.

Elian jutted his chin toward the tunnel. “We deserve a break.”

“Bad idea, bothering the overseer. You know this.” Despite how tired he must be, Baylin still managed to stand tall. “You’ll gain nothing angering him. He’ll punish you.”

Elian gently shrugged the man’s hand away. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Baylin meant well—the older miner had always looked out for him—and Elian understood his point, but that didn’t mean he was going to stand by while the overseer ignored his duties.

Elian clenched his jaw and marched through the dark tunnels, hand trailing along the wall, headed toward the mine’s entrance. Although march wasn’t the right word. His legs were too tired for that. It was more like a half-stumble, using the wall for support as much as a guide. His body had grown strong over his years in the mine, but no matter how strong someone got it was hard to withstand nonstop work.

It took longer for the light to appear than he’d expected. It was basically a straight shot toward the exit, but in the dark, he could easily turn down one of the side tunnels and get lost.

If I get turned around, I might never find my way again. I’ll have to call out for help…

But those fears didn’t come to fruition.

Elian shielded his eyes as he reached the entrance. The sun was about to fall beneath the mountains, but right now it glared at him, extra bright after his time in the tunnels.

He halted when he reached the cave’s mouth. A shiver ran up his spine, standing on the threshold. The overseer should have been here. The man didn’t like being near the miners when they worked. Elian swallowed. As dry as his mouth and throat was, it stung.

The mining town was deserted. Most of the buildings still stood, having been made from stone. Though some lay in rubble, others heavily scorched. The town hadn’t been lived in since the Godfall, over four hundred years ago. Elian took a step back. He saw no threats. That didn’t mean they weren’t out there.

Demons can be silent as a thief in the night…

His hand clenched into a fist. Why had he left his pickaxe back in the tunnel?

Maybe the overseer isn’t even out here. Maybe he’s back in the mine, down another tunnel, or in his chambers…

Elian swallowed again, wincing at the sting. Dead gods, was he thirsty. “Overseer Cael?” he called out. “You out there?” Elian stepped forward, foot on the threshold again, a sharp rock jutting through the weathered sole of his boot. Should be safe here. He’d never seen a demon this close to the cave. Demons didn’t like salt. They couldn’t enter the mine.

Besides, they wouldn’t like someone all caked in the stuff either.

Rushed footsteps sounded from somewhere out in the town’s ruins, and something—a rock?—was kicked and skittered along the ground, thudding into a wall. A bucket sat by the entrance, half-filled with salt. Elian hefted it into his arms. Holding it made him feel marginally safer.

“Cael?” he called again, this time in a hushed voice.

A man wearing a dark cloak came running around the corner. He had a long wooden spear with a white-tinted blade in one hand, and a white-metal shield in the other. Saltsteel enchantment. He wore old, somewhat rusted ringmail armour that jangled as he ran. The armour, unlike his spear and shield, lacked a white-tint. Regular steel.

The man waved his spear when he saw Elian. “Get back in the damned mine!”

Elian didn’t need to be told twice. He took ten steps back, until he was draped in shadow, and watched as Overseer Cael sprinted toward the mine’s entrance.

Something roared behind the overseer.

A demon.

Elian clutched the bucket of salt. Was that why Cael had been out there, in the town, to bait demons?

Cael skidded to a halt before the mine’s threshold.

The demon came into view. It was a hellhound, one of the most common demon-types. Hellhounds were known as “lesser” demons, as they were only Tier 1, but that didn’t mean they weren’t terrifying—and incredibly deadly.

Especially to someone markless.

At the age of eighteen, Elian had been tested for the mark, as all citizens of the Valley of Auld were, but when he’d consumed the energy from the essence stone the seeker had handed him, nothing had happened. The essence had entered his body, his veins alight with power and pain. He’d watched as it had crawled up his arm, making red glowing lines on the surface of his skin until it reached his chest and entered his heart, but it hadn’t revealed his calling.

His status screen had remained the same.

That didn’t mean he had no calling. He could still be marked. Could still have a chance of going to the academy. Sometimes, more than the energy from a single essence stone was needed to reveal the mark. But as he didn’t have a bloodline, the seeker had refused to test him again, saying it would be a “flagrant waste of essence.”

The hellhound snarled as it bounded toward Overseer Cael. Cael stood his ground. His shield out in front of him, spear angled toward his enemy. He turned his back leg, boot crunching pebbles underfoot, bracing himself. The man looked formidable. Though Elian couldn’t help but see the line of sweat running down his forehead.

He’s afraid. He’s marked, yet still he’s afraid.

There was also a hint of a grin on the man’s face, and it wasn’t as though he was stepping back into the safety of the mine. No, he was still standing outside of it. “Watch closely, markless. This is why you toil in the mine, and I oversee it.”

Elian stiffened at the words. Not all markless worked in salt mines, he simply had no other option.

Choice was taken from you the moment you were born.

He gritted his teeth and watched.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been near a demon fight, though usually he couldn’t see what was going on, as he was locked up in one of the wagons used to transport miners from the Lower Town to the salt mine and back.

The hellhound’s eyes glowed a fierce red.

Fire affinity.

It looked like a dog, or maybe a wolf—a wolf the size of a pony. Its lips were pulled back in a devilish snarl, spittle flying from its mouth. Its limbs and body were densely packed with thick muscle, and its dark black fur was matted and wet, as though covered in dried blood.

Cael’s grin faltered as the thing approached. Was he… holding his breath?

He shouldn’t be taunting that thing—shouldn’t be bringing it near the mine! He’s supposed to be here to protect us, not put us in danger!

Though to be fair, there was no way that thing would get in the mine. The only person the overseer was putting in danger was himself. Elian just couldn’t understand why.

Cael was once-marked. An Invoker—he’d used his power on the miners enough times for Elian to know that. He said it was good practice for him, and a good punishment for them. Bastard.

As awful as the man was, Elian hoped he would win this fight. He watched the hellhound carefully.

There!

The thing faltered. Its eyes, which had been glowing red a moment ago, turned a stark white. Cael had stolen its sight. The man’s grin no longer faltered. The hellhound kept bounding forward. Cael stepped smoothly to the left. The hellhound’s hearing should have been strong enough for it to sense where he went, but it didn’t change course.

He must have taken its hearing, too!

Cael flanked the hellhound. The demon was still a good twenty feet from the entrance to the mine. From all the stories Elian had heard, the demon would be able to sense the salt even if it couldn’t smell it—there was no way Cael could trick it into running into the cave and getting stunned and burned.

The overseer sped up, charging to meet the hellhound from its left. Cael thrust his spear into the beast’s flesh, digging into the muscle at its side. The beast’s skin sizzled at the saltsteel blade’s touch. Cael leapt backward as the hellhound slashed out with vicious claws.

The hellhound snapped its jaws at Cael. Cael easily got out of the way, laughing at the deaf and blind beast.

The hellhound paused, raised its snout, then sniffed the air.

Can Cael only take two senses?

Elian wasn’t sure how strong the Invoker was. Marked rarely volunteered that kind of information—especially to markless, whom most marked barely spoke to at all.

He was probably Tier 1, like the hellhound.

Cael paused, watched the hellhound sniff him. He took a few rapid steps back as the hellhound slashed its claws at where he’d been standing. The man’s grin was replaced with a determined look.

He darted toward the hellhound and stabbed it again. It might be able to sniff him out, but it was still deaf and blind, and the spear’s reach was a great advantage to the overseer.

Elian winced as the demon howled in pain.

Cael didn’t let up. He thrust his blade into the meat of one of its legs. Once. Twice. Three times.

He’s going to win.

Then the hellhound’s head rose. It twisted, head turning to face the overseer’s exact position. Its eyes were still white, but it was almost as though it could see exactly where the man stood. A rumble formed in its throat.

The fire affinity!

Cael, standing at the demon’s flank, didn’t seem aware of the hellhound’s actions, despite the fact that the man’s sight and hearing should be vastly heightened.

He’s too focused on the kill.

The hellhound opened its mouth. Flames licked past its teeth.

It’s going to burn him where he stands!

Elian gripped the bucket of salt tight and sprinted out of the cave’s threshold on tired legs.

Chapter 2

What the hell am I doing?

Exhausted, Elian forced his legs forward in a sprint, running out of the mine’s entrance. On each footfall salt spat up from the bucket clutched in his arms.

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I’ve no right fighting a damned demon!

Flames poured from the hellhound’s open maw, streaming toward the Invoker. The overseer screamed as he began to burn. His long dark cloak caught fire. He flailed in pain. The demon’s eyes glowed red once more.

Cael’s invocation skill must have ended, its stolen senses returning. Had the skill’s duration run out? Or had his concentration faltered? Elian didn’t really know how these things worked.

What he did know was that now the beast would hear him coming.

When Elian was but a few feet away, he skidded to a halt across the dirt and thrust the bucket forward, flinging salt onto the hellhound’s massive head and musclebound neck. Its skin sizzled and the scent of burning flesh permeated the air, stinging Elian’s nose. He tried to fling more salt at the demon, but the bucket was empty. Half its contents had fallen to the ground before him, not even reaching the hellhound.

The stream of fire had been interrupted. The hellhound snarled and turned its head toward Elian. It hesitated at the clump of salt on the ground, its wounded hind leg faltering as it tried to step around it.

For a second time, a rumble started in its throat. Up this close, Elian saw a glow through the skin at its neck. The flames burning within, aching to be released.

Elian threw the bucket at the hellhound’s head.

Thunk.

The demon was momentarily dazed, then regained its bearings. Elian stepped back.

I should run. Back to the cave.

He took another backstep. The rumble sounded again.

If I run, will it follow? Or will it turn on Cael?

A shout sounded to Elian’s right. Cael, his shield discarded, his dark cloak burning in a clump on the ground, hair still smoking, thrust his spear into the demon’s neck.

Dark blood spurted from the wound.

The hellhound’s body slumped to the ground. Cael pulled his spear free and kicked the demon. When it didn’t move, he gave a curt nod, then patted his smoking hair.

The overseer shoved the butt of his spear into the dirt and knelt by the demon’s side, then he pulled a stone from his pouch.

An essence stone.

The overseer put a hand to the demon’s corpse. Wisps of glowing red energy flowed from the beast’s neck, like smoke wafting off a fire. It curled in the air then entered the stone in Cael’s other hand.

Elian breathed heavily, his hands clenching into fists, then relaxing, then clenching again. His gaze darted left and right about the abandoned town, ears perked. He’d never stood this far from the mine’s entrance. Not when the guards weren’t present, loading miners into the locked wagon.

What if more demons came?

Thirty seconds must have gone by as that essence flowed into the stone. When no more came, the stone glowed red. Cael placed it back into his pouch and pushed off his knees, wrenching his spear out from the dirt. He looked at Elian, then pointed with his free hand toward the cave. “Back to work.”

Elian blinked, mouth falling open, staring at the overseer. “What?”

“Are you deaf? No? Well, if you don’t wish to be, then do as I say!”

The overseer turned from Elian and stomped his cloak, smothering the lingering flames. He picked it up and looked at the burn marks and holes with a sour expression before throwing it over his shoulder, then he snatched his shield up from the ground.

When he was done, Elian hadn’t moved.

“Why are you still standing there?” Cael stepped toward him. “You shouldn’t be out here in the first place.”

“The…” Elian swallowed. He looked over at the hellhound’s corpse, lying on its side on the ground. “We’ve been working non-stop. All day. We need more water. Food. A break.”

Cael stood to his full height, though he wasn’t as tall as Elian, so he still had to look up. “It isn’t wise to speak to your overseer this way.” The sides of his mouth twitched into a sinister grin.

Elian knew what would come next. He didn’t care. “I just saved your life. The least you can do is treat us with—”

His vision went black. The shock of it made him stumble.

The Invoker bastard had just taken his sight!

A loud slap rang out. Pain blossomed on Elian’s cheek. The force of the strike almost sent him sprawling, blind as he was. Somehow, he managed to keep his feet. But he had no idea where the overseer was. He heard the man’s breath. His footsteps. But that was all.

“I’m in charge here, markless! You didn’t save my life, you threw some salt! A monkey could have done as much.”

A force slammed into Elian’s stomach. Felt like a kick. Elian crumbled, falling to the ground.

“Do!” Thwack. “Not!” Thwack. “Talk!” Thwack. “Back! You are nothing!”

THWACK!

The last kick was the worst. Something cracked. One of his ribs. Maybe more than one.

Elian lay on his side in the dirt. His arms and knees were up, trying to protect his body, but he couldn’t see a damned thing. Overseer Cael was breathing a little hard. His footsteps receding, crunching in the dirt outside the mine.

Suddenly it got cold, like a shadow had fallen upon him.

The sun… It’s gone down for the day!

Night was the worst time for demons.

He struggled to his feet, his vision still gone, trying to orient himself. He wanted to call out to Cael. Wanted to chase after him and kick his ass to the ground. He’d just saved the bastard’s life. This was the thanks he got?

But most of all, he wanted to get back to the mine.

A violent howl sounded somewhere in the near distance, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. A shiver of fear slithered up his spine.

Another hellhound.

“You can have your sight back.” The voice came from far away.

A moment after the words were spoken, Elian could see again. Colours came flooding back. The shock of having his sight returned was almost as much as it had been when he’d lost it. He looked around, hating himself for how afraid he felt. He’d been a step away from tripping over the demon’s corpse. The sight of the dead hellhound made him stumble.

A howl sounded again. Closer, this time.

Though he wasn’t proud of it, Elian sprinted back to the mine’s entrance, snapping up the now-empty salt bucket on his way. When he reached the threshold, he dropped the bucket and his legs lost all their strength. He leant heavily against the mine’s wall, feeling as weak as a newborn kitten. And dead gods, did he hurt.

My torso will be bruised for days.

He put a hand to his ribs and hissed.

In the safety of the cave, his legs shaking, Elian turned back and looked over at the corpse of the hellhound.

No matter what Cael had said, Elian had helped kill a demon. Had saved the overseer’s life. The Invoker should owe him a debt, yet he’d still treated him like this.

He turned from the demon, the first live one he’d seen up close, not just from the safety of the Lower Town’s walls. The first he’d killed.

Marked. They’re all the same. I should have let the bastard die.

Yet he still wanted to be one. Still wanted to be marked. To have the freedom it offered them. To learn at their academy…

Elian walked, in pain, back through the tunnels toward where he’d been mining, leaning even more heavily on the wall this time. Every step was a fresh agony brought on by the wounds Cael had gifted him. The darkness felt more oppressive. More dangerous. He kept hearing phantom noises. Kept jerking left and right.

No. He wouldn’t have let the bastard die, even if he did deserve it. Elian couldn’t stand by and do nothing while others were in trouble.

It wasn’t the healthiest of habits, but it wasn’t one he was about to throw away.

He just wished he could stand up to people like Cael. If he were marked himself, everything would be different.

Elian halted. He’d been walking through the tunnels, heading back to the other miners.

If he were marked…

What if I am marked, and I just haven’t consumed enough essence to reveal it?

He’d had this same thought a thousand times since he’d been tested, but there hadn’t been anything he could do about it. Essence stones were expensive. Not something a lowly, markless miner could afford unless they scrimped and saved for a good year—and for Elian, it had not been a good year.

Who am I kidding? It would take ten years for me to save for one.

For a once-marked, it would only require one essence stone to reveal their gift, whether they were an Invoker—like Overseer Cael—an Infuser, or a Necromancer.

Or a Summoner, Elian thought, reminding himself. But being a Summoner would be worse than being markless. It would be a death sentence. They won’t suffer a Summoner to live.

If he were twice-marked—gifted with more than one branch of abilities—he’d need to consume at least two essence stones to reveal his mark.

If he were thrice-marked? Well… he doubted he was thrice-marked.

And there are no full-marked anymore. Not since the Godfall.

Even thinking about full-marked made him shudder, which sent a string of pain through all his aches. The shock of what Cael had done to him was wearing off, the pain starting to truly set in.

If I’m twice-marked, all I’ll need is one more essence stone to prove it.

Twice-marked and thrice-marked were far rarer than once-marked, and they always came from strong bloodlines—which was the very reason the seeker hadn’t tested him for it.

Elian’s mother had no bloodline, and he had no idea about his father. He didn’t even know the man’s name. But he did know where to find an essence stone, one freshly filled with the power taken from a dead hellhound.

A hellhound he’d helped kill.

Chapter 3

Elian stumbled back into the cavern where he and the other salt miners had been working. The other markless were huddled at the far side of the cavern, sitting to their evening meal. Cael must have finally called an end to the day now the sun had set.

The overseer didn’t say a word to Elian as he walked past. He was eating his own meal a good distance from the miners. Most of the time the overseer took his meals in his chamber. Except when he wanted to make them uncomfortable.

At least, I can’t think of any other reason he’d want to eat here.

Baylin looked up from where he sat, forehead creased in concern when he saw the evident pain Elian was in. He gave a sad shake of the head, then motioned to a bowl of food set down beside him and patted the ground behind it.

Baylin leant in as Elian sat. “Told you it wasn’t wise to bother him.”

Elian hissed from the pain of lowering himself to the floor. He took up the bowl, stared at the paltry contents. As hungry as he’d been mere minutes ago, he’d lost his appetite after the beating he’d taken.

Everyone else’s bowls were already empty.

“Here, drink this.” Baylin handed him his canteen. The overseer must have finally allowed it to be refilled.

Elian began gulping water down, his mouth and throat so parched and dry they hurt.

“Small sips. Unless you wanna be sick.”

Elian forced himself to slow down. When he finished drinking, he sighed, then winced, clutching his side. “I saved the bastard,” he whispered, barely loud enough for Baylin to hear.

“What?”

“Cael. He’d attracted a demon to the cave. Tried to kill it himself.” Elian sipped the canteen again. As thirsty as he was, he still wished it was ale. “Damn thing almost killed him. He’s only alive because I threw a bucket of salt onto it.”

“Your wounds… They’re from the demon?”

“No. They’re the thanks I got.”

Baylin grunted, glanced back at Cael, then faced Elian with pursed lips. He gripped his earlobe, twisting it between thumb and forefinger. Ears everywhere.

Elian got the message. It didn’t matter that they were whispering. Invokers had their ways of hearing things. They couldn’t just steal senses—they could hijack them, hear or see through someone else’s body.

Head down, Elian forced the slop that passed for food in this place into his mouth. He still had no appetite, but his stomach was empty, and his body was more than just aching from wounds. He was exhausted.

And he would need all the energy he could get.

~

A day had passed since Elian had thrown that bucket of salt onto the hellhound, and night had fallen outside the mine once more. The single lantern within the cavern had been snuffed out. Elian lay on his thin bedroll, staring at a ceiling too dark to see. A stone jutted into his back—no matter how many times he cleared the ground, there was always a stone. He would have moved it, but the pain of it digging into one of his fresh bruises kept his eyes from falling closed.

The breathing of his fellow miners shifted as they each fell asleep. Didn’t take long until the first snores sounded. Cog was the worst. He made little gasping noises every so often as though he couldn’t breathe. Never stopped Elian from sleeping in the past, though, considering how damned tired he was every night.

Overseer Cael had retreated to his chamber, by the entrance to the mine. A step up from where the miners slept, but not by a great deal.

The man is marked. Not constrained in the way markless are. Yet he’s still stuck out here like the rest of us.

Elian hadn’t given a great deal of thought to Cael’s previous circumstances. The man had only been the overseer for the past few months, and was significantly younger than the last. Not to mention crueller.

He’s only Tier 1. He must still be at the academy, forced to serve a temporary posting out here.

Perhaps that’s why he was so harsh with the miners. Maybe he hated where he’d ended up, even if he didn’t have to mine the salt himself.

So he takes it out on us…

When Elian was sure the others had fallen asleep, he made it to his feet as quietly as possible. Not able to see a thing in the pitch-black cavern, he had to be careful not to step on the sleeping miners. He didn’t have to see them to know where they were—he picked up their positions from their breathing and snoring.

He left his boots off, easier to be silent that way, and tiptoed toward the wall to use it as a guide. By all rights, he should have been exhausted—his day had been a horrible one, with Cael demanding he work even with his injuries, and every swing had brought him pain—but a thrill of energy ran through him, his heart beating almost as fast as when he’d run toward the hellhound.

Dead gods was it dark.

This is a terrible idea. I’ll probably walk down the wrong tunnel.

And if he were caught… well, Elian tried not to think about that. The punishments the Invoker might make him endure…

Put it out of your mind.

Reaching the wall, Elian placed his hand on the salt and drew in a deep, silent breath. Walking around in a mine with no light source was a recipe for disaster. Miners knew that better than anyone. The ground wasn’t even. Tripping was a real possibility. He could walk into a wall, or simply get lost and run out of food.

The darkness. Dead gods. He couldn’t see his own hand. He was used to this darkness—he dealt with it every night, when the overseer blew out the light and left with his own.

The overseer didn’t need to guard them. He could simply leave them where they lay. Even if they found a way out through the tunnels, they weren’t going to go outside.

Where exactly would they escape to?

Not that the miners were slaves. No, markless weren’t slaves—despite how many of them were treated so poorly—they just had to do whatever jobs they could to survive, especially when they had no skills or education.

Like me.

His thoughts were spiralling. He stopped them. Took another breath. And remembered his plan.

Elian ran his hand along the wall as silently as he could. Felt the rough grain of the salt. Heard bits fall to the ground. The passing of time was a difficult thing to track in the dark. He wasn’t sure how long it took him to find the cut in the wall, an arrow facing the direction he needed. For a while there he’d wondered if he’d gotten turned around, but he’d been careful to put the mark on the wall his feet faced when he slept on his bedroll.

There, he thought with a silent sigh, feeling the grooves with his fingers. In theory, he could have just turned right when he’d reached the wall, but if it had been the wrong wall…

I might have gotten lost in these tunnels and never found the way back. I might still.

Slowly, he followed the wall. He felt when the surface shifted and changed. He’d been working these mines for the past six years, since he was thirteen, and had become familiar with the shape and structure of the tunnels.

This isn’t the hard part, he reminded himself.

Elian slowly and silently made his way through the mine, knowing when to turn left and when to turn right. He’d seen the overseer’s chamber before. It didn’t have any sort of door. Why would it need one? What markless in their right mind would sneak into the chamber and do the man harm? Or steal from him? They all left by the same wagon when their ten-day shifts were over. If one of the miners killed the overseer, they might all be held responsible. And if something went missing, their bags would be searched. They wouldn’t be able to get away clean.

If they harmed the overseer, they’d hang. If they stole something, they’d lose a hand.

Yes, no markless in their right mind would sneak into the overseer’s chamber…

After a while, Elian grew confident and walked a bit faster. He didn’t want to spend too much time in the tunnels.

His foot slammed into something hard. He went down, flung his hands out, and scrapped them along the ground.

He tried not to shout out or curse in pain. Sound travelled far in tunnels like these. The noise of his fall might have been enough to wake the damned Invoker as it was.

He lay there for a long while, breathing shallowly, as quietly as he could, just listening.

A few minutes must have passed by the time he made it back to his feet. He hadn’t heard a thing. The caves were silent but for his quiet breathing.

Elian walked slower this time, hoping being tripped hadn’t turned him around.

Then, finally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

The overseer’s chamber was fairly close to the entrance to the salt mine, and without a door it often got quite cold in the night. When he’d first seen the chamber, Elian couldn’t help but notice the fireplace that had been installed in the centre of the room, with a flume that stretched to the ceiling and through the solid rock.

Of course the overseer is blessed with light and warmth all through the night.

Elian hurried his steps the moment he saw the light, a fierce urgency swept over him now he was finally almost free of the darkness.

He took three loud long strides before he stopped himself. He’d never stolen anything before. He wasn’t a thief. But if he did this, even if he wasn’t caught, it would change who he was forever.

The overseer would be dead if not for me. It isn’t stealing. He owes me a debt.

Perhaps it was a poor justification, but it was enough.

Elian crept to the chamber’s entrance. There, he froze at the sight of Overseer Cael, asleep on his bed, a thick blanket pulled over him. Elian swallowed. The man’s chest slowly rose and fell.

Elian stared for a long time, then sprang into action. His gaze swept over the room. A wooden chest sat at the end of the bed. A chest with a heavy padlock on it. He bit his lip, considered turning back, but he hadn’t come this far for nothing.

The chamber’s floor was far better swept and levelled than anywhere else in the mines, making the ground even and easy for silent steps.

He found the key inside the bedside’s drawer. Cael snorted the second he picked it up, making Elian fumble it. The key slipped from his grasp and fell toward the ground, where it would surely clatter loud enough to wake the Invoker.

Elian snatched it out of the air, almost tripping in the process. His freehand clutching his heart like a frightened old woman, he glanced at Cael.

Still asleep. Dead gods was that close.

The chest looked heavy. Far too heavy for him to carry out and not make any noise—especially with his wounds.

Elian had to open it where it lay. He held his breath, inserted the key, and turned it with agonising slowness.

Click.

He froze. Waited. When Cael didn’t leap off his comfortable bed, Elian dropped his gaze back to the chest and opened it with care.

The hinges creaked.

Dead gods!

Once again, the overseer did not wake. Inside the chest lay exactly what he was after—the essence stone.

Not just one, either—there were five. Three of them glowed, signifying they were full. Elian grabbed one, the stone warm to the touch. He slipped it into his trouser pocket.

Now I just need to get out of here without waking him.