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The chains were the first thing Ray felt each morning—cold, rusted iron biting into his wrists. The slavers of Recca City didn’t bother with padding. Scars were cheaper.  

*Clank… clank…*  

He shuffled forward, his bare feet numb against the frozen cobblestones. Winter had clawed its way into the slums, turning the air to knives. Around him, the other slaves hunched like specters, their ragged breaths fogging the dawn light. None spoke. Words were a luxury reserved for the free.  

“Move, maggots!”  

A whip cracked, and the **young man** beside Ray collapsed. The slaver—a wiry youth named Jarek, with a face like a rat and a laugh like broken glass—grinned as he kicked the **young man’s** ribs.  

“Pathetic. Can’t even walk?” Jarek sneered, raising his whip again.  

Ray kept his head down, his pulse throbbing in his ears. *Don’t look. Don’t react.* But he’d seen this before. The **young man’s** eyes were glassy, his lips blue. The cursed sleep was taking him.  

*He’s not collapsing from exhaustion. He’s being called to the trial.*  

The thought flickered in Ray’s mind, bitter and unwelcome. The cursed sleep wasn’t just fatigue—it was a **harbinger**. For decades, whispers had spread through the slums: those marked by the Dead Gods would fall into a sleep that eroded their souls. If they survived the trial, they’d awaken with power. Freedom. A place in the government’s ranks.  

But if they failed? Their bodies would rot where they fell.  

Jarek’s whip struck the **young man’s** throat, cutting off his wheezing breaths.  

“No!” The cry tore from Ray before he could stop it.  

Jarek turned, his smirk widening. “Got a problem, slave?”  

Ray clenched his jaw. *Idiot. Why did you speak?* But the **young man’s** face—gaunt, resigned—mirrored his father’s in those final moments. Another victim of the sleep. Another corpse denied the trial.  

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“N-No, sir,” Ray muttered, staring at the ground.  

“Smart boy.” Jarek spat on the **young man’s** body. “This one’s done. Toss him in the river.”  

Two slaves dragged the corpse away, their faces blank. Ray’s stomach churned. The government’s laws were clear: anyone entering the cursed sleep was to be secured and reported. But Jarek didn’t care. To him, the slaves were meat. And meat didn’t deserve trials.  

---

The group trudged onward, the city gates looming ahead. Beyond them lay the mines—Yuhon Trading Company’s death sentence for the “unworthy.” Ray’s legs trembled, but he forced himself to stay upright.  

*I can’t sleep. Not yet. Not here.*  

The cursed sleep had been gnawing at him for days. It started as a whisper in his dreams—a voice urging him to *let go*. Then came the visions: a desert, a temple, a beast made of sand. He’d resisted, chewing his tongue until it bled to stay awake. If he slept now, under Jarek’s watch, he’d never wake up.  

“Almost there,” a slave beside him whispered. A girl, no older than twelve, her eyes hollow. “The mines… they say it’s warmer underground.”  

Ray didn’t answer. He’d heard stories of the mines. Dark pits where slaves vanished, their screams swallowed by the earth. But the cold above ground was just as lethal.  

A carriage waited at the gates, its iron bars caked in grime. Inside, shackles gleamed. Jarek shoved the slaves forward, laughing as they stumbled.  

“Line up! The Yuhon heir wants his stock *inspected*.”  

Ray’s breath hitched. The Yuhon heir—Yusuf. A man as feared as the cursed sleep itself. Rumor said he’d once slit a slave’s throat for coughing too loudly. But he followed the law. *All* the laws.  

A shadow fell over the group.  

“This is the batch?”  

Yusuf’s voice was gravel, sharp and unyielding. He stood a head taller than Jarek, his face split by a scar that ran from brow to chin. His eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the slaves.  

“Y-Yes, sir,” Jarek stammered, his bravado crumbling. “Prime workers, all of them.”  

Yusuf’s gaze lingered on Ray. “This one’s shaking.”  

Ray froze. *Don’t look up. Don’t—*  

“Look at me, slave.”  

Reluctantly, Ray raised his head. Yusuf’s eyes were black pits, devoid of mercy.  

“You’re marked,” Yusuf said quietly.  

Ray’s blood turned to ice. *He knows.*  

The cursed sleep left signs—a faint glow in the veins, visible only to those who knew to look. Yusuf leaned closer, his voice a whisper.  

“You’ll sleep soon. Let’s hope you’re strong enough to wake.”  

Before Ray could respond, Yusuf turned to Jarek. “Secure them. The marked ones go to the holding cells. Protocol must be followed.”  

Jarek’s face paled. “B-But sir, the mines—”  

“Are you questioning me?”  

“N-No, sir!”  

Yusuf’s lip curled. “The law is clear. Any slave entering the trial is property of the state. Fail to comply, and you’ll join them in the cells.”  

Jarek nodded frantically, but his eyes burned with rage as he yanked Ray’s chain. “You heard him! Move!”  

Ray stumbled, his vision blurring. The cursed sleep pulled at him, relentless.  

*Just a little longer…*  

But Yusuf’s presence changed things. The man was a monster, but he followed the rules. If Ray slept now, he’d be taken to a cell, not killed. Survive the trial, and he’d walk free.  

*Awakened.*  

The word ignited something in him—a spark of hope. He’d seen an Awakened once, years ago. A woman from the slums, her eyes blazing with unnatural light. She’d torn through a gang of slavers like paper.  

*I could be like her. I could burn this place to the ground.*  

But first, he had to survive.  

The slaves were herded into the carriage, the door clanging shut behind them. Jarek’s face appeared at the bars, his smile venomous.  

“Enjoy your trial, *challenger*,” he sneered. “When you fail, I’ll be the one dragging your corpse to the river.”  

Ray didn’t answer. The cursed sleep was rising now, a tide of shadows at the edge of his vision. He slumped against the wall, his body giving in.  

*Ding.*  

A bell tolled in the darkness.  

“Awaken, mortal challenger.”  

When Ray opened his eyes, the world was sand.  

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