I died, but the devil claimed it was illegal

CHAPTER 4 – THE FIRST STRANGER

A man stood outside the ruined archway.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in worn leather and a heavy coat. A sword hung at his hip. Two more figures stood behind him, carrying spears.

The man stared at Ivarn, his eyes narrowing.

"By the seven," he said. "What in the abyss are you?"

Ivarn opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"Lost," he finally said. "I'm lost."

The man looked him up and down. Then he laughed.

"You're not just lost, friend. You're dead."

Ivarn's blood went cold.

"What?"

The man gestured at his clothes, his face, his whole self. "No weapons. No armour. No supplies. Walking alone in the Barrens. You're either the luckiest fool in Elarion or the unluckiest corpse I've ever met."

"I'm not a corpse."

"Could've fooled me." The man stepped closer. "Name's Belric. Belric Thorne. I'm a merchant, and these are my guards. We're heading to the Dominion. If you want to live through the night, you come with us."

Ivarn stared at him. "The Dominion?"

"Veyrath. Demon territory." Belric raised an eyebrow. "You really are lost, aren't you?"

Ivarn looked back at the violet sky, the cracked moon, the black stone.

"More than you know," he said.

Belric nodded. "Then stick close. And try not to get eaten."

He turned and walked away, and his guards followed.

Ivarn stood there for a moment, alone in the dark. Then he ran to catch up.

Belric walked fast for a man carrying a heavy pack. Ivarn had to jog every few steps just to keep up.

"So what's the Dominion?" Ivarn asked. "You said demon territory. What does that mean?"

Belric glanced at him. "You serious?"

"I'm new."

"New." Belric snorted. "You keep saying that. Where exactly are you from?"

Ivarn hesitated. Something told him not to say Earth. Not yet.

"Far away," he said. "Very far."

Belric didn't press. "The Dominion is the demon homeland. Ruled by Zevrakh Dreadmoor. The Devil himself."

"The Devil."

"You've heard of him?"

"I've heard the word."

Belric laughed. "The word and the man are different things. Zevrakh rules Veyrath, and has for thousands of years. Demon houses answer to him. Even the angels think twice before crossing his borders."

Ivarn's head was spinning. Angels. Demons. A ruler called the Devil who had been alive for thousands of years.

"You're telling me angels and demons are real."

Belric stopped walking. He turned and stared at Ivarn with an expression that was half pity, half suspicion.

"Where," he said slowly, "are you from?"

Ivarn swallowed. "Like I said. Far away."

One of the guards behind them muttered something. Ivarn didn't catch the words, but the tone was clear.

Belric resumed walking. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But if we run into trouble because of you, I'm leaving you behind."

"Fair enough."

They walked for what felt like hours. The violet sky never changed, and the cracked moon stayed in the same place.

"Does the sun ever come up here?" Ivarn asked.

"Sun?" Belric frowned. "The Light of Aethrion rises in the Crownlands. We're in the Barrens. No light here except the moons."

Ivarn decided not to ask what Aethrion was. He had a feeling the answer would make his head hurt worse.

Instead, he watched the ruins as they passed. Broken walls. Fallen towers. Pillars carved with symbols he didn't recognize. Every so often, he saw that same circle divided into seven sections.

"What do the markings mean?" he asked. "The circle with seven parts?"

Belric's guards exchanged a look. Belric didn't answer right away.

"That's the mark of the First Jurors," he finally said. "The seven beings who made the laws of this world."

"Laws?"

"The Mortality Ledger." Belric touched his chest, a small gesture, almost a reflex. "Every living thing has its death recorded. Birth, life, ending. All written down."

Ivarn laughed. He couldn't help it. "You're kidding."

Belric didn't smile. "I've seen the Ledger. Once. The registrar showed me my death date."

Ivarn's laughter died. "What?"

"A good friend of mine tried to cheat it. Lived three days past his recorded hour." Belric looked at the ground. "The celestial enforcers found him on the fourth day. What was left of him."

Silence fell over the group.

"So it's real," Ivarn said quietly.

"It's real."

Ivarn thought about that: a book that recorded everyone's death, kept by clerks and registrars and enforcers. It sounded like a nightmare version of the paperwork he'd spent his whole life fighting.

"Who keeps the record?" he asked. "Who decides when someone dies?"

The lead guard spoke up. His voice was low and rough. "You ask too many questions."

"Leave him alone," Belric said. "He's new. New people ask questions."

The guard grunted but said nothing more.

Belric lowered his voice. "The First Jurors keep the record. Seven laws. Seven beings. They've existed since before the first civilization. Some say since before the first sun."

"And nobody questions them?"

"People question them all the time," Belric said. "Then people disappear."

They reached a small settlement just as one of the moons began to set.

It wasn't much, a cluster of dark stone buildings surrounding a market square. Demons walked through the streets.

Ivarn stared.

They looked mostly human. Taller, some of them. Their skin came in shades of grey and red and deep purple. Some had horns, and some had ridges along their arms. But they wore clothes. They haggled over prices. They carried baskets of strange fruit. One of them was arguing with a baker about the cost of bread.

"Dellard would hate this place," Ivarn muttered.

Belric led them to a cheap inn. The sign above the door was written in a language Ivarn couldn't read.

"No rooms left," the innkeeper said. "Unless you want the cellar."

"We'll take it," Belric said.

The cellar was cold and damp and smelled like old potatoes. But it had blankets. Ivarn wrapped himself in one and sat against the wall.

Sleep didn't come easily.

He kept thinking about the record. The Mortality Ledger. Everyone in this world had a death date. Everyone knew when they would die.

"What if you don't believe it?" he had asked Belric earlier. "What if you just… live?"

Belric had given him a strange look. "Then you find out what happens to people who don't believe."

Ivarn pulled the blanket tighter.

In the morning, Belric would take him to the registry. He needed papers to stay in the Dominion, temporary identification, something to prove he existed.

Ivarn closed his eyes.

"Existed," he whispered. "I just want to exist."

The cellar was silent. The cracked moon had already set, and the dark pressed in from every side.

Somewhere above them, in the ruins of the black stone city, something with too many legs crawled out of its burrow and began to hunt.