They told us the mines were endless.
But they never spoke of the bones buried beneath.
I was just another broken soul, clawing at the earth for scraps that even beggars in the cities would turn their noses at. In the Hollow Vein Mines, your worth was measured in stone and sweat. Every breath was a gamble; every blink might be your last. Men vanished between shifts, swallowed by the darkness. No one asked questions. No one mourned.
Dreams had no place here.
Only survival.
The overseers' whistles screeched through the caverns, their echoes sharper than any blade. Day after day, they drove us deeper into the belly of the world, into veins untouched by any sane hand. Past the oil lamps. Past the old warnings carved into stone long before our grandfathers were born.
It was during the third shift that we found the breach.
A cave-in, they said, but the walls didn't crumble like stone worn thin. They cracked open, almost as if something inside had been pushing out. I still remember the way the dust seemed... different. Thicker. Heavy with the weight of things better left forgotten.
Behind the collapse stretched a corridor unlike anything we had ever seen. Smooth black walls, seamless and cold. Strange symbols spiraled across their surface, pulsing faintly under our torches' flickering light. Some of the miners crossed themselves. Others whispered prayers.
The foreman took one look and ordered the tunnel sealed.
But hunger is a louder master than fear.
When the night came, and the overseers drowned themselves in cheap ale and cheaper lies, a few of us returned. Tools in hand, eyes burning with a desperation we dared not name.
Only I crossed the threshold.
The others... they stayed behind. I didn't blame them. Even then, something deep in my gut screamed at me to turn back. Every step into that forgotten passage felt like stepping into a grave.
My torch barely lit the way, casting long, trembling shadows against the smooth walls. The air grew colder the deeper I ventured, thick and heavy, as if breathing underwater. The silence pressed against my ears until even the beating of my heart seemed a trespass.
And then — the corridor ended.
I stepped into a vast, domed chamber. It must have been ancient, built by hands that no longer existed in any history we remembered. At its center stood a monolith — a slab of black stone, tall as ten men, its surface covered in shifting glyphs that twisted and writhed when I wasn't looking directly at them.
Embedded deep within the monolith was a sword.
Or what resembled one.
It wasn't crafted from any metal I recognized. Its blade shimmered like frozen starlight, thin veins of silver running through its crystalline body. It hummed — not with sound, but with something deeper. A vibration that thrummed through my bones, whispering promises I could not understand.
It was waiting.
For me.
I approached, drawn as surely as a moth to flame. My mind screamed in protest, yet my feet moved of their own accord. The air grew denser, thick with unseen currents. Every instinct I had clawed at me to turn back.
But destiny rarely heeds the cries of the unwilling.
My hand rose, trembling.
The instant my fingers brushed the hilt, the world shattered.
Agony tore through me, a thousand needles raking every nerve. I fell to my knees, the torch clattering away, its light swallowed by the oppressive dark. But even blinded, I saw —
visions.
Cities, tall and proud, collapsing into ruin under alien skies. Armies clashing beneath suns that burned purple and green. Titans, their forms vast beyond comprehension, warring amidst the wreckage of shattered moons.
And over it all... a black sun loomed.
Watching.
Waiting.
Its gaze fell upon me — and I knew despair.
A voice, neither male nor female, neither kind nor cruel, spoke inside my skull:
> "The Last Warden shall rise."
The monolith cracked down the center with a deafening roar, sending tremors through the chamber. I was thrown backward, landing hard against the cold stone. Gasping for breath, I looked up.
The sword was no longer embedded in the monolith.
It was in my hand.
The blade pulsed with a soft, rhythmic glow, resonating with something deep within me. Lines of faint light traced themselves across my arms, the same glyphs I had seen carved into the walls. I could feel them sinking into my flesh, binding me.
Changing me.
Somewhere far above, alarms began to wail — shrill, desperate. The sound of men realizing something had gone horribly wrong.
The Empire would come.
They would not allow a relic like this — like me — to exist freely.
Staggering to my feet, I felt the first hints of something alien stirring inside my veins. Strength. Awareness. A terrible, yawning hunger.
I wasn't just Caelan Draven anymore — the miner, the forgotten son of a forgotten line.
I was something more.
Something older.
The walls of the chamber trembled. Dust rained from the ceiling as heavy boots echoed through the distant corridors. Shouts. Orders barked. The sharp crack of weapons being readied.
They were coming.
I clenched the sword tighter. Despite the exhaustion gnawing at my limbs, I felt a fierce grin tug at my lips.
I had been nothing all my life.
Invisible. Weak.
No longer.
The relic's energy surged through me, wild and untamed. For a heartbeat, I feared it would tear me apart. But instead — it sang. A deep, resonant note, harmonizing with something ancient in the very bones of the earth.
The sword guided my hands, moving as if by instinct. Sigils lit the air around me, weaving themselves into complex patterns. A gust of invisible force slammed outward, scattering loose stones and dust.
For the first time, I felt it —
Power.
Not borrowed.
Not stolen.
Mine.
A roar split the darkness as soldiers burst into the chamber, their armor gleaming in the torchlight. Their eyes widened as they took in the scene — the shattered monolith, the relic blade, the glyphs burning along my skin.
One of them raised a magitek rifle, its barrel humming with deadly energy.
I moved without thinking.
The blade in my hand sang through the air, and The blade in my hand sang through the air, and the first soldier fell before he could even pull the trigger.
There was no blood — not at first. The weapon cleaved through the man's chestplate like parchment, leaving only a line of pale, shimmering light across his body. He collapsed with a strangled gasp, his body severed as if reality itself had been sliced.
The others hesitated.
Good.
Fear was a blade sharper than any steel.
I surged forward, instincts and training I never possessed guiding my movements. The relic wasn't just a weapon — it was a memory, a whisper of wars fought long before my ancestors ever drew breath.
Another soldier raised his rifle. I sidestepped, the world slowing around me, every heartbeat stretching into eternity. The butt of my sword smashed into his helmet, sending him sprawling with a grunt.
Chaos erupted.
Shouts. Gunfire. The chamber exploded into violence.
I ducked low, feeling the passage of bullets carve through the air where my head had been moments before. Sparks flew as a stray shot ricocheted off the monolith's cracked remains.
They fought with discipline, I would give them that. But they weren't ready. Not for this.
Not for me.
The relic pulsed with every swing, amplifying my strength, quickening my reflexes. Where I should have tired, I moved faster. Where I should have faltered, I struck harder.
Within minutes, the chamber floor was littered with bodies — some groaning, some eerily still.
I stood alone amid the wreckage, my breath ragged, the sword's glow dimming slightly as if sated for now.
But the victory was hollow.
More would come.
The Empire did not suffer mysteries lightly. And I had just torn a gaping hole into one of their most sacred myths.
A rumble shook the cavern, deeper and stronger than before. The ceiling groaned in protest. Dust rained from above, and small cracks spiderwebbed across the walls.
This place would not stand much longer.
Clenching my jaw, I turned toward the way I had come. The tunnel yawned before me, a black throat ready to swallow me whole.
There was no going back.
No returning to the life I had once known.
The miners would turn me in if it meant a few extra coins in their pockets. The overseers would drag me before the Magisters, to be dissected and studied like some rare beast. The Empire's secret police, the Pale Watchers, would whisper my name into their ledgers before snuffing it out.
I had become a threat simply by surviving.
A living relic in a world that had no place for legends.
And somewhere, deep in the marrow of my bones, a truth settled — heavy and cold.
This was only the beginning.
The tunnels twisted and turned, a labyrinth designed to confuse and trap. I stumbled through them, relying on the faint pull of the relic to guide me. It pulsed faintly in my grasp, a heartbeat matching my own.
Around me, the mine groaned and shifted. Dust clouds swirled through the air, and the distant sound of boots — more organized, more numerous — echoed through the stone.
Not soldiers.
Hunters.
Specialized units trained for containment and extermination.
They would not hesitate.
They would not show mercy.
As I sprinted down a narrow corridor, a burst of rifle fire stitched across the wall beside me, showering me with splinters of stone. I ducked instinctively, rolling behind a crumbling support beam.
Too close.
I couldn't fight them all. Not yet. The relic's power was vast, but raw, unfocused. I needed time. Space.
A plan.
Above me, a ventilation shaft — old, rusted, barely wide enough for a grown man — caught my eye. Salvation, or another tomb. But I had little choice.
Gripping the sword tightly, I sheathed it instinctively — though no scabbard hung at my belt. Instead, the blade dissolved into thin air, a soft whisper of light, and a glowing sigil burned itself into the skin of my forearm.
I stared for a heartbeat, stunned.
The relic had become part of me.
Footsteps thundered closer. No time for awe.
I leapt, catching the edge of the shaft with both hands, hauling myself upward with a grunt of effort. Rusted metal groaned under my weight, but held. I scrambled into the narrow tunnel just as flashlights swept the corridor below.
"Where is he?" a voice barked.
"Vanished!" another snapped, panicked.
Silence.
Then — softer, almost too soft to hear — a third voice, colder than the grave:
"He has awakened the Key. He must not leave these mines alive."
My blood ran cold.
The shaft twisted upward, the air growing colder and thinner. I dragged myself forward inch by inch, muscles screaming, the relic's glyphs burning faintly on my skin. The voices faded behind me, replaced by the relentless beat of my own heart.
Escape was close.
I could feel it.
A final push, a final desperate climb — and then I burst out into open air.
The night slammed into me like a wall. Cold, sharp, real.
I collapsed onto the rocky ground, gasping for breath. Above, the stars burned with a hard, pitiless light. In the distance, the dark bulk of the Empire's outpost loomed — a fortress of iron and stone.
Alarms blared from its battlements. Searchlights sliced through the night, probing the darkness like accusing fingers.
I was already hunted.
Already marked.
The sword pulsed once against my skin, a steady reminder.
There would be no peace.
No sanctuary.
Only forward.
Only war.
Only ascension.
Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself to my feet. The wind tore at my ragged clothes, carrying with it the distant scent of smoke and iron. Somewhere far beyond these mountains, answers waited. Secrets buried deeper than even these ancient mines.
And perhaps, if I was strong enough —
Revenge.
I turned my back on the mines, on the hollow life I had known.
And with the first step into the wilderness, the Last Warden walked into the world once more.