Prologue
Would a sane person envy dust?
No. Of course not.
But being held in an underground ring did tend to rot away at ones' brain. And dust? Ooh, she had a lot of complaints. Yes, it was less disgusting than the filth they called food.
But it made her skin itch. It settled into the oozing wounds on her body, clinging to the stump of her right knee, which hung loosely and held together only by metal latches. And every. Waking. Day. It mocked her.
It was dirty and always built up in the chamber she had come to know as her childhood prison, yes. But the worst of it all?
It was free.
Dust could move wherever it wished. It drifted, unbound, in the thin sliver of light that filtered from the wooden door at the end of the hall—a door that stood so close, yet remained so impossibly distant, down the rows of cells.
The door sagged, worn from years of use. Screws came undone. Spells, once potent, were on the verge of breaking, bound only by the fragile threads of ancient magic that she doubted the guards would know anything about.
Each time she saw that door, a pang of longing twisted in her chest. She envied the dust, its freedom. If only she, too, could move at will, to explore the world beyond her cell.
But that was not her reality. Her world was one of cold, harsh facts. Every other day, when she wasn't punished for refusing to kill other living beings, she was shackled to the walls by iron chains. Each link was engraved with alchemical symbols and runes—ancient marks that confined her. Her eyes could only wander to the bars of her cell, the thin line that separated her from the outside world. When the chains were removed, she could lean against the bars and stare at the door, but today was not one of those days.
The top of her head itched, a constant reminder of the healing wound and the debris that had settled there after she'd passed out and been chained up for more than three days.
"I wouldn't trust her, Ede'. Let's stick to the plan," came a metallic voice from the cell on her left. The voice was too high-pitched and loud for the grim atmosphere of the dark, and it made others groan as they tried to rest before their next match—or what they called "Play-time." A game among many others, including her own twisted games of 'tag.'
Squeak, a man nearly decades older than her, was a reminder of the dangers of crossing the guards. Years ago, during his prime, he'd insulted one too many, and one guard in particular had taken offense. The result: his voice had been damaged beyond repair, forcing him to rely on an old, glitchy translator device. Whenever he won a match, the translator's battery was replaced, clearing up some of the static, but it was always a bit off.
It was a pity, really. Squeak had once been striking with deep blue eyes, sun-kissed skin, and midnight-black hair. Sometimes, when the light caught his gaze just right, she could have sworn his eyes glowed a faint purple. But being locked in a cell for so long made her question whether she was seeing things. Or perhaps she was just longing for a sense of familiarity from her old life in the form of someone in her new life.
"There's no getting out," he muttered, his voice metallic.
"She can be trusted. I know it," she insisted, glancing over at him. She met his doubtful gaze. She hated being doubted—it only made her more anxious about her decisions, made her feel smaller, less sure of herself.
"They don't see us humans as living beings, Edith. I know she's half human, but she's probably sold her morals to the demons. That's the only way our kind survives and thrives in this place. Join us. Leave with us." His words stung with the coldness of truth, though his voice softened toward the end.
"Ten!" a grumpy voice called, and the creaking of the door signaled the arrival of a toad-like guard. Not to body-shame. She was sure she heard something about him genuinely being of a toad clan.
"Trust me, Squeak," she said, her words trailing off as she was dragged away. Her eyes flicked back to him for a brief, longing glance. "She can help me, and then I can—"
"No. Just... just don't get in our way," he muttered, his voice trailing off with hesitation. Despite his cold words, she could feel the weight of his reluctance. He'd be willing to change the plans if it meant she could join them, but there was something more pressing at stake for her.
She couldn't let the chance to see her family slip away—no matter how deep her bond with the others ran.
If only she'd known then what further horrors awaited her, for taking the hands of a demon disguised as human skin.