Chapter 1

The man wandered aimlessly. He felt as if he would cough an organ as he clutched his bloody side. Pain and exhaustion blurred his vision.

Most men would pass out from the pain, but not him. He kept moving, forcing each step with the determination to lose a limb if need be. Because this man, known as Edgnat, knew he was a dead man—and time was running out.

Edgnat once held the world between his fingers, and many hated him for it. He ruled both the underground and society as a whole. He was a king without a throne. And everyone who knew him would say the same thing about him: he was vile.

But there was something that people never failed to mention: the gods hated him.

People often said that his existence was an affront to them. That he was born evil for having such an evil power. A power he didn't ask for, but one he was thankful to have.

But none of it mattered anymore.

He was dying. Struck by the very monster he helped save.

Alone but not forgotten he fell into the ground's cold embrace.

...…..

Edgnat's entire body screamed in pain as he opened his eyes to the unfamiliar ceiling.

He raised his body, grimaced, and eyed the unfamiliar furniture and thin shaky walls.

Confusing as it was, it didn't take him long to gather his thoughts. Inhaling sharply, he somehow got his feet dangling against the bed. Then threw himself off the bed. The pain was yet another reminder that he was alive.

"Hey," a voice whispered.

Edgnat looked to the side. A woman with pale skin and platinum hair, wrapped in religious clothing made her way towards him, smoothly, like the the moonlight opening it's eyes. "You're not like the others." The woman's eyes darted around his bandages and the things tucked under them. The burn marks, the giant scar stretching from the neck to ribs, and, the most unsettling—his eyes.

His gaze was cold. Very cold. Yet she had been intrigued by those amber eyes.

The woman held her hands behind her back. A weapon? No, that was pointless. None of it mattered. He had already made his peace. But try as he might old instincts were hard to forget.

"I found you collapsed," the woman uttered, inching closer. "Tell me stranger, what happened to you?" As she spoke her fingers brushed the side of his neck.

Edgnat narrowed his eyes at her.

"Did you join the fight against Boros and his army of undead?"

Boros. The Lich, the Undead King, the Conqueror. He goes by many names, names that every man, woman, and child knows. After being freed, his army destroyed the greatest city in the world: Alexandria. "Do I look like someone willing to die for others?" Edgnat said. "I'd sooner choke on my own blood then fight for King Bertranius."

Her hand froze as she looked him in the eyes.

"Then… were you fighting alongside the undead?"

"And what if I was," Edgnat hissed.

"…"

Edgnat turned away, looking at the small fireplace.

The nun stared at Edgnat before setting herself on the bed beside him. "Mind if I ask how that came to pass?"

"Why would I tell you anything?"

"Because I think the gods want me to and…." Her eyes didn't waver. "Everyone deserves to be remembered."

Everyone deserves to be remembered, huh. Something about that line triggered a forgotten memory, of laughter and perfume. Besides, what did it matter? What did anything matter.

"It started… with my brother."

Even Edgnat was surprised at how easily he found talking to this strange woman was, but the truth was—he was tired of being alone.