"Who did you kill?"

The words hit me like a boulder on free fall. I can feel my shock and confusion written all over my face as I stare at Seras, who stands before me with a smug smile.

His smirk only deepens as he watches me, enjoying my reaction to his accusation.

We've both been working on this plantation for years, indentured laborers brought here as toddlers from the orphanage to work in the fields of Meresinan.

But despite our shared history, Seras has always held a grudge against me, ever since I refused to give him a portion of my harvest to help him meet his daily quota.

Seras has always been a slacker, more inclined to spying for the taskmasters than doing any actual work. Everyday he’d steal harvested crops from the weaker laborers to meet his quota, threatening to tell lies about them to the taskmasters if they didn't comply. The prospect of being surrendered to the Shadow or worse, being thrown outside the plantation walls to face the reds, was enough to keep most people in line.

But not today. Today, Seras is dressed in a cloak of blackness, a stark contrast to the meek beige of the ragged clothes of the laborers. His knee-high leather boots, adorned with a blood-red stripe to the side, are a cruel reminder of the power the taskmasters hold over us.

"Talk, Inan," Seras growls, his hand hovering on the spiked iron bludgeon on his right hip. "Or I’ll have your tongue."

"What the hell do you mean, I didn't kill anyone?!" I roar, my voice shaking with anger and disbelief. "I've been delivering my morning quota early for years. Just ask Tonsen, he knows!"

A searing pain shoots through my skull, causing me to stumble and knock over the heavy baskets at my feet. Oranges spill out onto the dirty ground, rolling in every direction.

I cradle my throbbing cheek. It’s wet and sticky.

This can't be happening. Just a few hours ago, I was tending to the fields, working hard as I always do. And now, I'm being accused of murder. It's a nightmare, one that I can't seem to escape from.

I try to take a deep breath and steady my racing thoughts. Seras is standing in Tonsen's usual spot, the taskmaster who normally oversees my sector. Tonsen is a decent person, always fair and never unnecessarily cruel. If you're old or sick, he'll always turn a blind eye if your quota is a bit lighter than it should be.

It was Tonsen who inspired me to work as hard as Essan did. Essan was a laborer when I first arrived on the plantation as a toddler. He was the hardest worker of us all. I still remember the shock I felt when I saw Essan one day wearing the black attire of a taskmaster.

One day, Essan was gone. Tonsen told me that the lords had selected him to be a merchant, and he was now living in a huge house in the village outside the plantation. It wasn't long before he was made a lord. Tonsen used to keep me updated on Essan's progress. He also told me that merchants and lords are given an elixir that allows them to live longer, healthier lives.

Tonsen promised me that if I worked my butt off and learned to read and write as was required for higher roles, he would recommend me for the position of taskmaster. Maybe one day I could even become a lord like Essan.

Every evening, I dragged my tired body back to the barracks after a grueling day in the fields. As I ate my meager meal, I taught myself how to read and write from the books I traded with cats—laborers who had connections in the village and could obtain rare items for us in exchange for favors.

As I lay down to sleep, I would dream of a life beyond the plantation. I would wander through a vast garden surrounding my own home, where my wife and children played happily. They would spot me and run to embrace me, laughing as we fell together onto the soft grass.

But these dreams were always shattered by the harsh realities of my life. The barracks were cold and drafty, and my sleep was filled with the heart-wrenching wails of mothers mourning the loss of their infants, offered up as sacrifices to the Shadow. And every day, I was subjected to backbreaking work, my body aching from the previous day's labor, all to enrich my oppressors while I shivered in the cold.

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As the gnawing hunger in my stomach threatens to distract me, I try to focus on the task at hand. Where is Tonsen? Is he sick and has Seras replaced him for the day? It doesn't make sense, everyone knows Seras is a lazy sack of shit.

"You expect me to believe that an old man like you can harvest this fast?" Seras sneers, his left hand tight around my collar, cutting off my air supply.

"Who did you kill to steal their quota?"

'Old.' The word hits me like a punch to the gut, reminding me of the thing I try to forget every day. I'm already 24 years old. I have eight years at most before the Shadow comes for me. And that's if I'm lucky—as a bound, I probably have even less time. I've already started to feel the effects of the Shadow's slow claim on my flesh. I need this job as taskmaster more than ever.

Gods, why did this have to happen today? I've worked so hard, waking up before dawn every day to harvest, working through the rain, even when I was coughing up blood the night before. I've had to deliver a heavier quota than anyone else just to prove myself as a bound.

I need this job - it could be years before the lords choose a new taskmaster. I won't survive that long working at this pace.

I try to push away my panic and focus on finding Tonsen. He is the only one who can vouch for me. As I search for him, a chilling realization dawns on me. Tonsen mentioned that the lords would be arriving this week to select a new taskmaster. They could be here already. I need to find Tonsen before it's too late—

"Seras, you've started your new assignment before the official announcement," a familiar voice says. "Not only have you gotten rid of that thief Tonsen, but you're starting early as well." The ground beneath my feet crumbles. Tonsen is with the Shadow now.

"Thank you, Lord Kalas," Seras says, bowing his head. His hand releases its tight grip on my collar, and I finally manage to draw a desperately needed breath. I'll need it for what's coming.

"What's going on here?" Lord Kalas says, his bored repulsion clearly visible as he towers above me on his majestic white stallion. His pride as the ruler of this plantation oozes from every inch of his being. He has even met the Emperatrix of Tesara in the flesh.

"Nothing, my lord. Just another liar and murderer. Don't worry, I've caught him red-handed. I'll take care of him," Seras says, as his grip tightens around my neck, rendering me unable to speak up in my own defense. I struggle to break free, but his hold is too strong. Soon I'll join Tonsen, wherever he may be.

The world around me spins and darkens, even though it's only noon. I can't hold myself upright anymore, I'm so exhausted. All I want is to sleep. As I slump forward, I see the red stains on Seras's bludgeon. My own blood. A drop falls to the parched ground.

No. Not to the ground. The drop falls straight into the open jaws of the Shadow, drinking my blood before my time is up. Rage explodes within me. I won't let the Shadow take me, not yet.

I pretend that the demon has taken possession of my body, and I let myself drop to the ground. This startles Seras, who immediately releases my shirt, as if afraid that the devil might possess him as well.

I fill my starved lungs with as much air as they can hold, and grab the heavy bludgeon that his hand is now distractedly holding.

I yank Seras's foot out from under him, causing him to crash to the ground. I straddle him, holding the bludgeon tightly in my hand, and I blast his temple with all the rage and grief that's boiling within my chest.

One hit for Tonsen, one for myself. I'm about to hit him a third time, to avenge all the people he's stolen from and ruined, when I hear a disapproving tsk.

I turn to see Lord Kalas standing there, his expression one of annoyance, like he's just found a leaking barrel of manure that needs cleaning up. He glances over his shoulder at another man on a brown mare behind him, who slowly approaches me. This man is also a lord, dressed in the same radiant white attire of their class.

He looks familiar, and it takes me a moment to place him. It's Essan! He made it, he became a lord after all. And he's still alive, when he should have died by now. All of the things Tonsen told me were true!

Essan has been my inspiration, my beacon of hope in the long, dizzying summer days and frostbitten nights. I'm so struck by the sight of him that I completely forget how I must look, with sprayed blood coating my clothes and skin. Tiny fragments of his skull and brain cling to me like barnacles that found themselves a new vessel.

All those years of hard work, all for nothing. I've screwed everything up. Now, I'll be delivered to the Shadow. Fear consumes me, and as if things couldn't get any worse, the familiar sensations start to take over.

No, no, no! If I die with the devil inside me, he'll drag me down to the underworld with him and I'll be bound to him for eternity.

But it's too late. The demon that possesses me is taking control of my body. I try to avoid looking up, but these are no longer my eyes. The spirit is looking through me, and the world explodes with fantastical colors that shouldn't exist. Bright lights pulse in a twisted rhythm.

The flames of the underworld needle my fingers spreading through my arm, devouring me.

Lord Essan glances at me like I'm nothing more than a dead leaf on a tree, and this is completely normal, expected even. He quickly turns his attention to Lord Kalas, who gives the slightest nod.

Lord Essan responds immediately. He nods back and makes his horse turn around, positioning its back to me. Then he pulls on the bridle three distinct times. By the time I realize what's happening, it's too late. The mare's hoof connects with my chest with the force of a cannonball and I'm sent flying. I hit the rocky ground hard, and the only souns is a loud crack before darkness engulfs me.