Soon after the council adjourned, Lady Vorenna descended into the containment levels beneath the Sunborn Empire—The Albritiz Dungeon. She walked with an elegant certainty, receiving respectful nods and shallow bows from guards as she passed. Grand Arbitrator was one of the highest titles in the Coalition, and she was the youngest in history to hold it.
She ignored the catcalls and jeers of prisoners—human and nonhuman alike—as she made her way deeper, down toward the lowest tier. This final level was carved into a vast dirt cavern, lined with thirty heavy, rune-sealed gates than contained the cells. This was where the condemned awaited execution. Ten Light Elven guards accompanied her. When she stopped before Cell 3008, one guard leaned in.
"Is something wrong, Lady Vorenna?"
"This is his cell, correct? Atlas'?"
"Yes, ma'am."
The guards tensed instinctively, but Vorenna only smiled. She was unshakably optimistic by nature—sometimes to a fault. One guard placed his palm against the iron gate; yellow runes flared, and the seal disarmed with a low hum. The gate groaned open.
Inside, suspended by chains, hung a man. Short, lean, exhausted. Hazel eyes dulled from sleeplessness. Messy black hair fell past his ears. His olive skin caught faint torchlight held by one of the guards; the rest of the cell was swallowed in darkness. A gnarly scar, that ran from his forehead and diagonally across his face to the bottom of his left cheek, was bolded by the torchlight. A straight-jacket bound his arms, and he was chained high enough that he couldn't rest.
Lady Vorenna inhaled to speak—
—and Atlas yawned loudly.
"What do you want, woman? Execution isn't until tomorrow. I'm trying to get the last sleep of my life here."
Ignoring the guards' hands reaching for her, Lady Vorenna stepped forward into the cell, stopping directly beneath him. She tilted her chin up to meet his eyes.
"What if I told you that execution isn't necessary at all? That your entire record could be wiped clean?"
Atlas gave a short, humorless laugh. "What makes you think—"
She cut him off smoothly. "Though I doubt you actually want that. You didn't surrender yourself for nothing. You came here knowing you'd die. You've accepted it—you want it."
His face tightened. He turned away as much as his restraints allowed.
"You've given up on life," she added, voice calm and precise.
"What's it matter to you?" he muttered.
"It doesn't," she answered plainly. "I don't care whether you throw your life away in an alley or rot by your own choosing. But I do need your abilities."
That made his ears twitch. Another dry chuckle escaped him. "How?"
Vorenna reached into her leather satchel and held up a dusty, ancient book engraved with a phoenix and sword.
"Do you recognize The Deathforged Contract?"
Atlas scoffed.
"A soul marked for death may alter its fate if it performs deeds equal in weight to the sentence itself." Atlas recited casually before locking eyes with Vorenna. "But that's old law. Pre-Godfall. The gods wrote that thing half a millennium ago. It's void."
"The Coalition approved its reinstatement," she said, smirking. "By majority vote."
That got his attention. "What?!"
She paced the cell with measured steps. "They did. Tell me, Atlas—do you know the full classifications of Resonance?"
He rolled his eyes. "I know there are different types. Doesn't matter. I can't use any of them. I'm Null."
"Correct. So allow me to fill in the gaps. So that you can fully graspvthe point I will make." Her tone shifted—lecturer, composed, authoritative."There is Aether Resonance, pure force: barriers, blasts, telekinesis—rare, favored by Light Elves and certain Demon Clans. Veil Resonance, used by Dark Elves and the Fae—includes illusions, emotional manipulation, shadow-walking and stealth craft. Terra Resonance, common to Giantbloods—earth shaping, immense physical fortitude. Vitae Resonance, the power of body, blood and vitality. Wild Resonance, used by Beast-kin—heightened instincts and senses."
Atlas exhaled sharply. "Yeah, yeah. I know all that. What's your point?"
"You forgot the final discipline," she said quietly. "The rarest. The most dangerous. Chronicle Resonance. Manipulation of memory, possibility, and fate. The ability to see branching outcomes within all resonant life. And you know the one man who wields it."
His expression soured instantly.
"Drakos," she finished.
She stepped closer. "I know as an Assassin you couldn't care less of politics and war. But regardless, it has come to our doorstep. Drakos intends to bring back the gods. And if he succeeds, the stored magic released will overwhelm every being with a Resonant signature. Humans alone would survive the surge...Ninety percent of the world would die."
Atlas stared down at her, jaw clenched.
"With The Deathforged Contract," she continued, "we can send individuals so unpredictable, so chaotically divergent, that even Chronicle Resonance cannot account for them. Drakos cannot foresee choices made by people he deems beneath significance."
Atlas snorted. "He's not stupid."
"Precisely." She smiled. "He would never believe we are idiotic enough to use this law. He doesn't even know we recovered it. It's the perfect blind spot. You are Resonance null, meaning he can't predict you."
She let the final words fall like a blade:
"I know you don't care about ninety percent of people being slaughtered, because you're human. You would survive, so why would you care? But I know you'll be fond of this..." She took a deep breath before saying, "You would be the one to kill him. If you accept my offer, you will have the chance."
Atlas froze. Then slowly, his eyes narrowed.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll do it. I assume I'm your first pick. Why?"
"I want you to lead the team."
"I'm not a leader!" Atlas barked.
"Then I will make you one," she replied, unfazed..
Vorenna motioned to the guards, but before they could act, he sighed. "I'm fine. I'll do it myself." The sound of rustling and clinking could be heard as the straight jacket loosened. To everyone's amazement—and fear—he slipped out of it. Like he could have done that at anytime, though his hands were still cuffed. The guards immediately raised their weapons. Yet, Lady Vorenna raised a hand.
"Stand down."
Atlas twisted his wrist; a hidden dagger slid from his sleeve into his palm. He used it to unlock the shackles, rubbing the raw skin around his wrists. "Who do you have picked so far?" he asked. Obliging, she handed him four slips of parchment. Slowly he skimmed through them.
"You're joking."
"No. I am not."
He handed them back. "Fine. When do I meet them?"
"Tomorrow. In the High Court."
Atlas sank back into the corner of the cell. "Great. Can't wait," he said flatly.
The guards resealed the gate as Lady Vorenna turned to leave. Tomorrow morning, the first officially sanctioned Deathforged Contract in history would be signed.
And the world's last gamble would begin.