Rough hands shoved him forward.
Ren stumbled, barely catching himself before he fell. The bindings around his wrists were cut, the rope dropping to the floor with a soft thud. Before he could straighten, someone pushed him again.
He crossed the threshold and the door slammed shut behind him.
Clang.
The sound echoed through the narrow space.
A voice came from the other side, muffled through iron and stone.
"Stay here. The Warden will come soon."
Ren nodded automatically, though no one could see it. Footsteps retreated.
Then the smell hit him fully.
It was thick and suffocating, a mix of rot, old waste, damp stone, and something sour that clung to the back of his throat. The cell was small. The floor was slick in places, dark stains spreading unevenly across the stone. Straw lay piled in one corner, long past useful.
He exhaled slowly and rubbed his wrists where the rope had bitten into the skin.
"What the hell…" he muttered.
His shoulders sagged as the adrenaline finally drained away, leaving behind a deep, bone-tired heaviness. He leaned back against the wall, feeling the cold seep through his clothes.
'It smells like shit!'
He pressed his lips together, jaw tightening.
'I can't believe I had to beg for my life the moment I arrived in this fucked up world.'
The thought tasted bitter. He stared at the iron bars, at the dim light leaking through from the corridor beyond.
He scrubbed a hand down his face and let out a slow breath.
The smell lingered, inescapable.
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the stone, listening to the distant drip of water somewhere beyond the walls.
'This place really is hell.'
The silence pressed in on him.
Too quiet. Too still.
Ren sat against the wall, knees drawn up, staring at the damp stone as his thoughts began to loop. The smell, the darkness, the waiting. It all blended together until time lost its edges.
'Is this a fever dream?'
The idea crept in slowly, almost comforting. Pain, fog, monsters, citadels... None of it felt real enough to be permanent. His head throbbed faintly, a dull pressure behind his eyes.
'Yeah. That makes sense. I collapsed back in the store. This is just my brain frying itself.'
He let out a hollow breath.
'If this is transmigration… then where's the golden finger?'
The thought was absurd.
'Isn't that how it's supposed to go? Cheat ability. System. Some kind of interface. Everyone gets one in the stories.'
He straightened slightly, a spark of desperate hope flaring in his chest.
"System!" he shouted.
His voice bounced off the walls and came back weaker.
Nothing happened.
"Status!"
Silence.
He swallowed and tried again, louder this time.
"Shazam! Awakening! Interface! Anything!"
The cell remained unchanged. The air still stank. The walls did not glow. No translucent screen appeared before his eyes.
His shoulders slumped.
'…Nothing.'
A shaky laugh escaped him, short and brittle.
'Of course. Why would it work for me?'
The weight in his chest returned, heavier now.
'I'm going to die again...'
He rubbed his face with both hands and let out a long sigh, the sound scraping out of him.
Soon after, footsteps approached.
Slow and measured.
Tap. Tap.
Ren stiffened. He lifted his head.
Black boots stopped just outside the bars. His eyes traced upward. Gray trousers. A wide belt bearing a moon-shaped emblem. A black uniform, sharply cut, military in design, adorned with dark metal badges he did not recognize.
A lantern hung from her left arm, its light steady and cold.
It was a woman.
She was tall, close to his height, maybe taller. Her posture was straight, unyielding. Sharp features framed her face, and a single beauty mark rested beneath her chin. Her dark pupils reflected the lantern light, and when her gaze met his, Ren felt something cold settle in his gut.
Not hostility or curiosity.
Assessment.
Her hair fell straight down her back, long enough to brush her waist. The air around her felt heavier.
'…So this is the Warden?'
Ren swallowed, his mind abruptly clear.
This wasn't a dream.
And whatever came next, he knew one thing with certainty.
She was not here to save him.
"You're name is Ren Santier."
The words settled heavily in the small cell.
Ren stared at her, his expression blank, confused.
"Your mother doesn't originate here," she continued calmly. "More like the east... How she arrived in Namarra is unclear. Records are incomplete too."
She tilted her head slightly, studying his face.
"And yet," she added, "you don't seem to know that name at all."
Ren said nothing.
Inside, his thoughts churned.
'Ren… Santier?'
He didn't recognize the surname. The first name, though, made his chest tighten.
'My name is Ren too.'
A coincidence.
Or not.
'Was this planned?'
He remained silent, eyes fixed on her lantern, its light swaying faintly with her breathing.
She raised a gloved hand and touched her chin, the beauty mark beneath it briefly catching the light.
"It seems your memory loss is quite real."
Her gaze sharpened.
"And somehow, you don't have a scratch on you. Not after the fog."
Her voice was soft.
It sent a chill down his spine.
'This woman is nuts.'
He swallowed.
"How is it," she asked, "that you are clean while the others died?"
Ren exhaled slowly. He had been ready for this question.
"I don't know," he said truthfully.
She watched him for a long moment. Then she spoke again.
"You want to live, don't you?"
His answer came without hesitation. He nodded.
"Then you will have to work."
She straightened, her tone turning official. "You will collect corpses. You will identify them, record their names, and bury them."
Ren's eyes widened slightly.
"We are giving you this job because you were already dead," she continued. "Even if you are not infected now, the bodies will infect you soon enough."
Her lips curved faintly.
"But if you do well, you may earn a promotion."
Ren felt something loosen in his chest.
'I can live?'
Relief flickered across his face before he could stop it.
Then the meaning of her words sank in.
'Graveyard keeper.'
His jaw tightened.
'Fuck.'
He had no choice.
"I accept," he said quietly.
And just like that, his survival came with a shovel.
"Follow me."
Clank.
The cell door opened. Ren stepped out without hesitation.
He fell in beside her as she walked down the corridor. She really was about the same height as him. Maybe a little taller. This body felt longer than the one he used to have, broader in the shoulders, heavier in the legs. Strangely, it didn't feel unfamiliar. Just different. Like clothes that hadn't been worn in a long time.
Step. Step.
The walk felt long. His feet were bare, the stone cold and damp beneath them. Every step sent a faint chill up his legs. He kept his eyes forward, listening to the echo of their footsteps and the distant hum that seemed to live inside the walls.
They passed through a side exit and the air changed immediately.
After a few more meters, the space widened. Fog hung low over an open field behind the main structure of the Citadel. Rows of tombstones stretched out unevenly, some leaning, some half-sunk into the earth. The ground was dark and soft, trampled by many feet.
At the center stood a small house. Stone walls. A slanted roof. Smoke stains near the chimney.
Ren frowned slightly.
This place was behind the building.
That felt wrong somehow.
She stopped and turned to face him. "This is where you'll be staying."
He looked between the graves and the house.
"Here?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied. "It's close to your work. That's intentional."
She walked toward the house and gestured for him to follow. As they moved, she spoke without ceremony, her tone steady and practical.
"Every body that comes in gets logged. Name, place found, condition. Most won't have all three. You write down what you can. If you recognize someone, mark it. If you don't, they get buried without a name or cremate them."
She pushed open the door and continued talking as if this were routine.
"You will work at dawn and again before nightfall. When the fog is active, you don't go out unless told. If a body moves, don't touch it. You need report it."
Ren listened closely, committing each word to memory.
"You also can't leave the grounds," she added.
"Food will be delivered and tools are already here. If you get sick, report it. If you don't, just keep working."
She looked at him then, really looked at him.
"This job will keep you alive. Nothing else will."
Ren nodded slowly.
"I understand."
She watched him for a second longer, then turned away.
"Good. Get settled. You'll start today."
She walked back toward the main building without another word.
Ren stood alone among the graves, the small house at his back, fog curling low around the stones.
He let out a quiet breath.
"I'm dead."