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The first sign of life I stumble upon in the Midland further saps the hope from my veins. Wind whistles through the drab buildings, thick mud makes up the empty streets of the village, and stains splatter the wood of the homes, dark and cracked. It can only be blood.

I settle atop the hill, the horse nickering, ears twitching with the cold breeze. But I sit for a moment, taking in the stillness of the village before me.

This isn't a sign of life; this is a sign of what the Midland truly is. Dead, abandoned, only remnants of the past weathering the stretch of time. Maybe this place was once a thriving village of farmers and townsfolk eager to help. But then the demons came. The demons, or the Empire.

The few days I've been travelling is enough time to feel the sheer loneliness of the Midland. The land is beautiful, most of it seemingly untouched. It's green and lush, but it's lacking life. Even the animals are limited. I've run into enough half-eaten corpses to understand why.

I continue on, giving the village a wide berth. I ride down into trees so dense they block out the sun. I try to stretch my back in the saddle but to no avail. There are some moments when I consider just walking the rest of the way to Sharlikire, but then I remind myself I don't have time on my side and I need to reach Norvin as quickly as possible.

There's a twang, then a hiss and my head tilts. I lurch to the side in the saddle and the arrow whizzes past my cheek. I straighten and blow out a breath, eyes scouring the trees around me.

The next arrow is a glowing arc through the trees, a streak of fire through the air and I watch it thud into a tree by the horse. The animal rears with a whiny and a gasp leaves me as I'm thrown from the saddle. The ground crunches into my shoulder but I'm quick to roll to my feet as the horse tears into the trees.

My pack. Ari's picture. I can't let the animal go.

I sprint after it, heedless of the dangers in the trees, thinking only of that drawing that I won't part with.

My thighs burn as I run, muscles straining, but I grit my teeth and leap. I hit the horse's side and cling to the saddle as the animal keeps galloping, not for a moment losing stride. I lift my legs to avoid the ground that whips past, my stomach aching. Then I heave myself back into the saddle, finding the reins with trembling hands.

Pain slices through my back and a cry tears from me. I look down to the arrowhead protruding from my side, glistening with blood. I focus my gaze ahead, ignoring the agony.

Someone steps into my path and I have a moment to observe their sleeveless leather armour and wonder why it's sleeveless in this cold before they thrust out a hand and a sygil on their arm ignites. My eyes widen as blinding lightning crackles towards me and slams into my chest. I jerk into the air, the breath knocked from my lungs in a whoosh, and searing heat engulfs my chest. I manage to wrap my arms around my head before I slam into the ground and tumble over rocks and sticks before stilling.

I can't breathe. Every attempt to draw breath into my lungs sends excruciating jolts of pain through my abdomen. I resign myself to lying in the dirt with my eyes closed, trying to suck in cold air.

When I do manage to blink my eyes open, it's to the sight of countless blades angled towards me.

"Hello to you too," I manage to wheeze out.

Someone steps forward. The one with the bare arms, leather armour encasing their broad shoulders. They lift their hands and remove the leather helmet from their head, dark brown skin glistening with sweat, black hair braided close to her scalp and not coming past her neck. "We're the Legion of the Dead," the woman tells me, inclining her head as my stomach plummets. "And you're awfully close to our supply lines."

"Didn't know the Empire enlisted women," I murmur, gradually gaining my breath back, but there's still pain in my ribs and I can only hope they're not broken.

"They don't," she tells me and crouches beside me. She tugs something from one of the pouches around her waist and unfolds the slip of paper before holding it up. "Mind telling me what the woman who assassinated the emperor is doing wandering around the Midland?" She flips the paper around and I'm looking at my face.

My head thumps back onto the dirt and I groan.

"We've heard all about you," she continues. Her hand reaches forward and she grasps the shaft of the arrow still in my side though partially snapped. She yanks it out and I spasm, letting out a hiss through clenched teeth.

But the pain... the pain is familiar. My fingers curl.

"I have a proposition for you."

I laugh at her and lift my hand, flames sparking between my fingertips. She grabs my wrist before I can do anything with the fire and then her knuckles slam into my jaw and I slump into nothingness.

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I wake with a jolt and a throbbing headache. I lift my hands to press to my head but the clanking of chain-links and the scrape of metal against my wrists prevents them from moving very far. I blink my eyes open, hit with the familiarity of waking up like this.

"Welcome back," comes a voice from the dark and I finally take in my dreary surroundings. The walls are made of uneven stone and the roof overhead are slats of wood, allowing water to drip through as the sound of rain drums against the stone.

I look to the wooden table before me where my wrists are chained to a loop in the table. I tug them, testing the restraints, but the table doesn't budge, bolted to the floor.

The woman who shouldn't be here because she's a woman steps into the light of the flickering torch by the door. I take a moment to admire her broad shoulders, muscles bulging in her biceps as she crosses them over her chest.

"My name is Illya," she says.

"Azura," I reply. Her features are stern. A square jaw, full lips that are slightly turned down and almond shaped eyes that peer at me with obvious suspicion. "Why aren't I dead?"

She steps closer, boots thudding on the packed dirt beneath us. She stands before me, looming over me. "Because I'm curious."

"Right," I mutter, settling back in my chair and cringing with the pain in my side. "And who—exactly—are you?"

"I'm the captain of this regiment of the Legion of the Dead," she says. "And you're the one who killed the emperor. You're a very, very wanted person."

"I suppose I would be. Which brings me back to my earlier question; why aren't I dead?"

"Assassins have been trying to kill that man for years. How did you manage it?"

I raise a brow. "First, I stabbed him with a letter-opener, and when that didn't work, I used the wonder that is magic."

"Magic," she muses, nodding her head. My gaze travels to her arms where sygils are embedded along her umber skin. "Well, you're here because I want you to kill something."

"I'm not for hire," I tell her, narrowing my eyes, refusing to fall into a situation similar to what Palmira dragged me into. I won't repeat the past.

Illya tilts her head again. "I can make your life difficult."

"It's already difficult."

"More difficult."

I wave a hand, chains clanking. "Out with it then. Though, I'm not for hire."

She pauses for a moment, rubbing her full lips together. "The Legion's job is to keep the supply lines through the Midland safe and secure for anything the Empire needs travelling along them. Of course, we offer this safety to normal folk too as the Empire really doesn't monitor us that closely. But because we're nearly a completely separate part of the Empire, we receive little assistance."

I nod along to her words, already knowing most of this. It still doesn't make the Legion an ally, but rarely are they the enemy. They're fighting a completely different war to the rest of the Empire, one against the demons and bandits of the Midland.

"We have structures all across the Midland, clearing a path. But recently, we've lost a section of the route and we really can't have that."

"Let me guess, it got overrun, you've sent men in to take it back, they've all died, and you can't risk any more people?"

She snorts, plants her hands on her hips, and nods.

"What makes you think I'd do this?"

"Well, to start with, you're currently our prisoner and at our mercy, but a word from me could change that."

I roll my eyes. "Or I could just escape."

"Or you could do that, but I reckon you're going to be travelling through the Midland a lot now that you've assassinated the emperor."

"What makes you think that?"

She frowns at me. "You're with the rebellion. Their biggest goal was just achieved. Now they have to move on to other things and I believe you're the person that's going to be doing them."

I shrug, glancing towards the door, wondering how many soldiers are beyond that door. Highly trained soldiers too. The tales about the Legion of the Dead are formidable.

"I offer you the chance to use the Legion's supply lines."

I look back to her, sitting a little straighter.

She pulls something from one of the pouches around her waist and sets it on the table with a clink. The metal token is about the size of my palm, painted black with a very angry looking skull in the middle. "This will get you through the roads without anyone looking too closely at you. Even if they do recognise you, this will show that you're an ally to the Legion."

"You'd go against the Empire like that?"

The woman chuckles again, taking back the token. "The men—and some women though don't tell anyone that—of the Legion aren't your average Sharlik soldiers. Coming to the Midland is a death sentence, and most of us are volunteers. We all know that leaving the Empire means being hunted down and killed, so this is the next best option." She crosses her arms over her chest again. "We don't receive back-up from the Empire, so why should we offer them any more aid than necessary?"

"And why can't you kill whatever it is you want me to kill?"

"Oh, I'll be coming with you," she says with a smile stretching across her lips. "I didn't become the captain of these fine gentlemen because I sit on my arse all day. Most of these men have had it beaten into them that women are inferior, so earning their respect has been a battle, one I'm not going to shirk. I'd just rather have someone formidable watching my back."

I run my tongue over my teeth, contemplating my options. I've always been aware that the Legion is mostly separate from the Empire, but I don't think I realised just how much. "Why me?"

She shrugs. "You got into the palace, killed the emperor, and you're still alive after being hunted. I think that makes you the perfect candidate."

"What am I killing?"

"A demon."

"Just a demon? A demon that you've had to hire the most wanted person in Rupteran to kill?"

"It's a big demon."

"How big?"

Her gaze goes to the ceiling and she quints before looking down at me again. "Pretty big."

"Gods," I mutter, wondering once again what I've fallen into.

"Think of it this way; you do this for us, then the Legion will be in your debt. With our presence in the Midland, that's a pretty powerful ally to have. I'll spread stories about you too, if you want. Stories about your bravery that matches your beauty—"

"Fine," I say, cutting her off. "I'll do it, just promise you won't tell stories about me."

She meets my eye, taps her fingers against her muscled arms, then smiles. "Can't promise that, stories help with morale."

I let out a sigh and lift my wrists to be unshackled, hoping I don't regret this, but knowing I will.