Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 14: The City of Esgard

The filth-strewn corridors of the pits twisted and turned like the decaying veins of an ancient beast.

Ian followed the woman closely, his boots squelching in the muck that coated the stone floor. The air filled with the stench of rot and despair, the walls slick with moisture that glistened in the dim glow of scattered torches.

It was a labyrinth, designed to disorient and trap. He tried to memorize the path, but the endless turns and identical corridors made it impossible.

"You have a name, slave?" the woman asked abruptly, cutting through the suffocating silence.

"Ian," he replied, his tone flat but his gaze sharp as he scanned their surroundings.

She glanced back at him, expression unreadable.

"You see, Ian, escaping the pits is impossible," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "I'm sure you were blindfolded before being taken to the dungeon. That's to ensure you don't see the way out. And even if you did, you'd never make it back without traversing these halls enough times."

Ian's brow furrowed. "So which is it?"

The woman paused, raising an eyebrow.

"Which is what?"

"Have you traversed these halls enough times," Ian said evenly, "or are we lost?"

She scoffed, her lips curling into a faint smirk as she turned and continued walking. Another turn led them to a large chamber with a heavy wooden door at its end.

The woman pushed it open, and sunlight—bright and blinding—flooded their vision. Ian raised a hand to shield his eyes, squinting as they stepped into a clearing at the heart of a dense forest.

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The air was crisp, a stark contrast to the damp oppression of the pits. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. Birds chirped in the distance, and the rustling leaves carried the promise of freedom.

"Does that answer your question?" the woman asked smugly, stepping into the clearing.

Ian blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light.

"No," he murmured. "It only raises more. Like why someone like you frequents the dungeons of the pits."

The woman's smirk deepened, but she didn't answer.

Instead, she gestured for him to follow as she led them into the forest. The path was narrow and overgrown, the towering trees silent sentinels.

Ian's mind spun, piecing together fragments of her motives, but every answer only led to more questions.

"You said I wasn't worth the amount you paid," Ian said after a moment, curiosity winning out. "So why pay it anyway?"

The woman sighed, her pace slowing slightly as she considered her answer. "Because we're desperate," she admitted, her voice measured. "And your potential alone is worth the risk."

Ian's eyes narrowed. "'We'? Who's 'we'?"

The woman halted abruptly, turning to him with an exasperated look. "Stop talking," she ordered. "You'll find out soon enough."

Ian fell silent, but his mind continued racing. Who was she? Who did she serve? And why was he worth this gamble? The questions imposed on him as they pressed forward, the trees thinning as they neared the forest's edge.

---

The forest gave way to a large city, its skyline dominated by a massive coliseum rising in the distance like a monument to blood and glory.

The setting sun bathed Esgard in a golden glow, but the city was only beginning to wake. The streets teemed with life—laughter, shouting, and the clatter of carts echoing through the air.

Ian's gaze swept across the scene.

The city was a glaring difference to the modern world he had known. Cobblestone buildings adorned with carvings and vibrant banners lined the streets.

Market stalls overflowed with goods, their vendors hawking to eager passersby. The rich aroma of roasting meat and fresh bread mingled with the ever-present scent of smoke and sweat.

But it was the coliseum that held his attention.

A towering structure of weathered stone, its grand arches and imposing gates spoke of spectacle and slaughter. Even from here, Ian could almost hear the echoes of past battles—the cheers of the crowd, the clash of steel, the cries of the fallen.

As they walked, Ian noted the city's energy—vibrant and alive—but beneath the surface, something darker could be felt.

A tension in the air, a shadow behind the revelry.

"Most pit slaves never see the city," the woman remarked, breaking the silence. "They say it's better that way. Better if they know nothing beyond blood, sand, and death."

Ian thought back to the moments before he was thrown into the pits—the blindfold, the rough hands dragging him into darkness.

It made sense now.

They moved deeper into the city, leaving the bustling markets behind. The streets grew quieter, the buildings larger and more ornate.

The facades were adorned with elaborate carvings and banners, signaling wealth and power.

The woman led him toward an estate, its towering gates guarded by men in polished armor. They nodded at her approach, their expressions respectful but wary.

Beyond the gates was a compound, its grounds meticulously maintained. Servants moved with quiet efficiency, their murmurs blending into the ambient hush of the estate.

The woman guided Ian through the grand entrance, leading him into a study lined with bookshelves and illuminated by the warm glow of candlelight.

A large desk sat at its center, cluttered with scrolls and maps.

But it was the woman seated behind it who captured Ian's full attention.

She was unlike anyone he had ever seen. Her presence was commanding, her beauty near otherworldly.

Braided white hair framed her sharp features, cascading down her shoulders like woven silver . Her piercing blue eyes, vivid and unyielding, seemed to strip away pretense, seeing straight through him. She wore a gown of deep midnight blue, its fabric shimmering in the flickering candlelight, the rich color a striking contrast against the bronze of her battle-worn skin.

Ian barely had time to process the sight before the woman beside him bowed deeply.

"Your Highness," she said with quiet reverence.