As he strode behind the creature, Willem found himself stunned by what his gaze revealed. He had been expecting a wasteland, from what he knew and what he had been told of the Outlands. They were supposed to be nothing more than cracked earth and ruined stone, an utterly uninhabitable expanse that stretched to the Cold Sea. Certainly, he supposed that the arrival of this king of theirs must have changed things, but still he found himself surprised. Whatever he had been expecting beyond the tunnel, it was not this robust stretch of plains that ran on underneath that blasted sky.

Yellowed grass covered the ground, growing almost knee-high in clumps and tufts. Occasional shrubs dotted the landscape wherever they managed to take root. Small rodents and insects scurried underneath the cover, running away hurriedly as they approached. Above his head, birds circled in small flocks, cawing loudly despite the distance. While the landscape seemed sickly underneath that green sky, it was undeniably full of life—far more than what the Outlands ought to offer.

His gaze turned behind him, hearing Kat gasp in shock. Gazing up at the mountain that they had just came from, he was shocked to see a seeming network of canals and ducts carved into the stone. They carried water from the melting snows, gathering them and directing them down the side of the mountain. That water flowed in small rivers that had been carved into the ground, bringing water to the otherwise parched lands. Diggers worked the mountainside, carving more of the aqueducts and further refining that elaborate latticework.

They were walking on a road, he came to realize quickly. While it was not the paved cobbles and careful craftsmanship of a city’s walkways, the flattened dirt and pressed earth was clearly a path that led through the plains. And as they continued to walk forward, past a small hill Willem gazed down to see what could only be described as a town.

With the stone harvested from the mountains, these creatures had built homes and dens. Mud served as mortar in between the ground stone, the mixture hardened by flame to produce sloping walls. The roofs were capped with massive slabs of rock, ground smooth by the diggers and hauled over. There were perhaps twenty of these buildings, sprawled out over the small gulch. They all circled an empty center, where a well dug deep into the earth brought bucketfuls of water up to be emptied into something remarkably resembling a trough.

Additional water from the mountains was ferried over by stone construction, emptying into wooden barrels. Some houses had pens in the back, where strange animals were kept seemingly as livestock. With long, thin legs and short coats, they almost resembled warped deer. Yet the strangest of all were the people who lived in this village.

Some bore horns and hooves, others wings and claws. None seemed alike, but many were bestial in appearance and nature. A few seemed more humanoid, however, with plates of bone covering their bodies with an unnerving appearance. They wore no clothes and held no weapons as they milled about, many gathered around what seemed to be a butcher’ shop. Racks of meat hung from an outcropped roof, and the creatures handed over what appeared to be strange stones in exchange for slabs of meat. Many devoured them voraciously, entire chunks of flesh disappearing down their gullets with a single gulp.

A strange feeling filled him then, as he watched. It was a moment before he understood, that this sensation was one of awe. This king, whoever he was, had brought life to these lands. Even in the distance, Willem could see what appeared to be farms. Grain grew out of the patchu fields, fed by the mountainwater. They would feed the livestock that would in turn feed these creatures. This was no mere survival, no animalistic instinct. This was a coordinated society—a growing civilization. Led by a single one of these monsters, he thought.

“King!” their captor called out, the massive beast coming to a halt before bellowing through the village. His brethren lurched to a halt, all turning to gaze at him with unreadable expressions. “These ones want you.” he growled, and Willem felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. Not just single words and harsh grunts, but whole thoughts as well? A growing fear nestled inside of his heart from the notion that these creatures might be smarter than appearances suggested. Wits are all you have, a voice inside him whispered. If their wits match yours, then what is left to protect you?

Hearing the creature call out, a crowd of the beasts in the center of the town parted to let a single pass through. It was not as large as the others, barely larger than average man. Its body was vaguely lupine in appearance, with dark fur everywhere except for the scales that covered its arms. Stripes ran down its backwards-bent legs, the powerful limbs full of corded muscle. Its claws were night-black, wickedly sharp to the point that he half expected them to cut the very air they swing through. Underneath that layer of fur, he could see rippling muscle that flexed with its movements. Where their captors was entirely bulky and raw strength, this creature was refined and lean.

The creature waved its hand as it neared, motioning for their captor to leave, and Willem was able to better look at the face of this king. Its muzzle protruded like that of a dog’s, blunt-tipped and housing curved teeth with a black tongue. Its eyes were disconcerting as well, mismatched and piercing with one blood-red and the other yellow. Yet most shocking were the oily patterns that swirled across the fur on its face: the Maes. The boy inhaled sharply as he realized what this meant—that despite whatever it was, this king was a channeler like him.

“You.” it growled, coming to a halt in front of Willem. Their captor had let go of the ropes, and the cords had fallen slack at their sides. Yet they were frozen in uncertainty and fear, not daring to move as they watched this king. In return, this king watched him with those dissimilar eyes. “You are Oa’kul?”

Willem could only blink briefly, not understanding what this king was asking of him. “I—I don’t know what you mean.” he stammered out, trying not to flinch as he felt that thing’s hot breath on his cheek. The king peeled its lips back in a snarl, closing its eyelids slowly. When they opened next, they were a glossy white, snowy smoke billowing out of the corners. A single outstretched claw slowly moved towards Willem’s chest, right above his heart. He was screaming at himself to move, to run, but he found himself seemingly rooted to the ground as that black claw drew closer. And when it finally touched, he felt a radiant heat spread out from his chest.

There was a pause where none seemed to breathe, where none seemed to move, before the king finally drew back. His eyes closed once more, and then they were normal once more—at least, normal for the creature. “You are the one. Kha spoke to.” That last statement made Willem pause, and it was a moment before he realized that it was a question. Hurriedly, he nodded, his throat dry even as he tried to swallow.

The king snorted briefly before turning to call out to one of the others that were gathered in the center of the town. They were strange human-like ones, with bone and blade for bodies. “Give the others a den. Do not let them come to harm.” the king growled, and one of the bone-things nodded before coming over. With a ridge of bone sliding over its face, it was impossible to read its expression. In place of hands, it had plated growths that tipped its limbs. One was broad and shield-like, the other clearly a blade—the entire monstrosity was like a mockery of a knight. It prodded Kat in the back with its shield, clearly gesturing for them to move.

“Wait, I’m not leaving—” Kat started to shout before the bone-thing slammed into into his chest with its shield-arm. The soldier began to topple, the creature delivering another blow to his throat. Veins in Kat’s neck bulged, his voice choking as the bone-thing gave a swift strike to his forehead. It deftly caught him in the crook of its limb as he fell, stopping him just before he struck the ground. The entire exchange occurred perhaps in the span of a single breath, before Willem even had time to think, let alone move. Even Norus was unable to respond in time, taking a step to move just as his compatriot was beginning to fall.

The legionary let out a short hiss as he sank into a crouch, his blades and armor having been taken away by the diggers. “A construct,” the king suddenly grunted in apparent surprise, and Willem saw shock flicker across Norus’s typically expressionless face, “tethered to a soul. Pitiful.”

“Do not do what you will regret.” the king growled, lips peeled back in a challenging expression. Norus tightened his jaw, veins bulging in his forehead and throat as he struggled. Willem wanted to say something, wanted to do something, but in this time he found himself unable to do anything. He was an utter spectator as Norus let out a ragged scream, lunging towards the king with a surprising bolt of speed.

No, Willem wanted to scream, even as the king raised his hand. Purple strands of magic flew out—but not from the king. They came from Norus instead, tearing wounds in his skin as they flew out as if being drawn. Norus let out a heart-wrenching wail as more and more of the magic was pulled out of him, sinking into the king’s claws with a burning heat. Finally, as the tide slowed, the king lowered its hand and he collapsed to the ground. His skin was as pale as snow, his body unresponsive even as the bone-thing approached him. Slowly, it raised its masked head to look at the king, as if in question.

“That one is fine.” the king growled offhandedly. “Its soul is strong. Take them to a den.”

“Wait!” Willem called out, making the king turn to face him. “What are you doing? They’re my friends. I won’t let you just hurt them like that!” A hot rage built up inside his chest, a rage at himself, for being so bitterly useless. For standing as they fell, for watching as they screamed. He had no doubts that they would not watch if the same happened to him. So what made him different? What made him weak? Tears streamed down his face, utter frustration and disappointment with so much that he wished to lash out—if only he knew what to lash out at.

“They will wake.” the king spoke, as if that was an end to the matter. “You are what matters.”

“Me?” Willem breathed in shock, not daring to swallow as he once more found himself trapped in that creature’s gaze. He was a deer about to bolt, prey before a hunter.

“You have magic.” the king hissed softly. “You are of use. Will you serve?”

The question shocked Willem, made him step back in surprise. “W—what do you mean, serve? How?” he stammered, not understanding what this thing was asking of him.

The king threw its arms out wide, gesturing to the village behind him. It gestured to the mountains, to the diggers and creatures that worked them. “These lands. My people. Serve with us. Serve me.”

“What if I refuse?” he gasped out nervously, feeling his knees begin to tremble despite all he commanded.

“Then I break your body and enthrall your soul.” the king responded, a small smile tugging at the corner of its lupine mouth.

Willem swallowed hard, unable to break its gaze. “And if I agree?”

“Then I can help you.” the king replied almost immediately.

“How can you help me?” he started in reflex, his voice incredulous.

The king merely smiled, revealing those wickedly curved fangs. “I can give you a new body.”