Father rises slowly, each movement deliberate and careful. The broad shoulders that once seemed capable of holding up the world now curve inward, as if protecting something fragile within.
"Don't fuss over me, Illy." His smile holds traces of the warmth I remember from childhood, but exhaustion shadows the edges. "I'll be fine by morning."
He moves toward the narrow staircase leading to their bedroom. Each step requires conscious effort—his right hand grips the wooden railing with white knuckles while his leftbraces against the wall. The man who used to bound up these stairs two at a time now pauses halfway, breathing heavily.
When did his shoulders become so narrow? The work clothes that once stretched taut across his frame now hang loose, fabric pooling where muscle used to fill the space. His beard, more silver than brown now, can't hide the sharp angles of cheekbones that weren't there six months ago.
"Sweet dreams, darling." Vaelra's voice drifts up from below, honey-smooth.
The bedroom door closes with a soft click.
2
AZRATHIEL
The dying sun bleeds crimson across the volcanic peaks, casting long shadows that stretch toward the horizon like grasping fingers. I stand at the summit's edge where obsidian glass meets empty air, the heat from dormant magma chambers rising through fissures in the stone.
My ledger materializes beside me—a towering monolith of black stone carved with contracts in burning script. Each line pulses with infernal fire, names and terms writhing across the surface like living things. The weight of a thousand binding agreements presses against the evening air.
I trace one finger down the ledger's face, searching for expiring terms. Most contracts burn steady amber—years remaining, payments current. But one flickers deep red near the base, its script wavering between visibility and ash.
Elren Warbol. Dark elf. Contract term: Seven years. Status: EXPIRED. Collect payment.
The ember-veins beneath my skin pulse brighter as I read the details. Seven years of protection from rival houses. Seven souls delivered punctually. Until this year.
My hand cuts through reality itself, tearing open a rift that bleeds shadow and sulfur. The volcanic peak dissolves around me as I step through into the Undercity's depths.
The chamber materializes in gradual focus—carved stone walls slick with moisture, the stench of unwashed bodies and desperation thick as fog. Chains rattle in distant corners where Elren keeps his inventory. Human merchandise cowering behind iron bars, their eyes reflecting torchlight like trapped animals.
"Lord Azrathiel." Elren's voice carries forced confidence, though his pale hands tremble as he approaches. "How unexpected. Surely we can discuss?—"
"The contract expired at sunset." My words echo off stone walls, each syllable precise as a blade's edge. "Payment is due."
"Ah, yes, about that." He gestures toward the cages lining the chamber's perimeter. "Perhaps we might renegotiate the terms? I have three prime specimens here—young, healthy. Worth far more than a single soul."
The celestial markings across my shoulders begin to warm, faint light seeping through the fabric of my coat. "You mistake me for a merchant, Elren."
"Then tribute! Gold, jewels, rare minerals from the deep mines." His words tumble over each other in mounting desperation. "Surely the great Lord Azrathiel values?—"
"Covenant law does not permit renegotiation once the term ends." I step closer, and the temperature in the chamber drops by degrees. "You knew this when you signed."
"But circumstances have changed! The soul markets have shifted, the trade routes?—"
"Excuses." The word cuts through his protests like winter wind. "The law stands immutable, regardless of your convenience."
His pale face grows ashen. "Please. One more year. I can deliver two souls, three even."
"Only the signatory can fulfill the contract terms." I watch understanding dawn in his violet eyes—the terrible clarity that comes when all escape routes crumble. "Your soul, Elren. No substitutions."
"But that's—that's barbaric! Surely there's precedent for?—"
"You signed the contract in blood."
His pupils dilate as panic floods his system. For a heartbeat, he stands frozen, calculating odds that don't exist. Then survival instinct overrides reason.
Elren bolts toward the chamber's rear exit, his boots slipping on the damp stone. The caged humans shrink back as he crashes past their cells, some whimpering at the sudden movement.
I don't pursue. Instead, I extend one hand and speak a single word in the old tongue.