SOUL REAVER

The gavel slammed against the mahogany bench, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the cavernous courtroom. Vaelric Veyr didn’t flinch, though his knuckles were white as he gripped the railing.

"The verdict is final," Judge Hallowell droned, his voice devoid of even a shred of pity. "Vaelric Veyr, stripped of your title, your house, and your honor. You are hereby banished to the Cursed Frontier. May the gods have mercy on your soul, for the wastes shall have none."

The room erupted. The galleries were packed, a sea of nobles who had once toasted Vaelric with expensive wine now screaming for his blood.

Vaelric looked up at the viewing balcony. There, standing with his arms crossed and a smug, polished look on his face, was his brother, Lucien. The betrayal burned hotter than the brand that had scorched Vaelric’s skin earlier that morning.

"You really thought you could win, didn't you, brother?" Lucien called out, his voice cutting through the din. He leaned over the railing, a cruel smirk dancing on his lips. "It’s kind of embarrassing, honestly. Everyone’s watching."

Vaelric spat a glob of blood onto the pristine courtroom floor. "You set it up. Every witness, every ledger—it’s all a pile of lies, and you know it."

"Maybe," Lucien shrugged, adjusting his cuffs. "But lies work better than the truth in this city, Vaelric. You were always too stubborn to see that."

"You sold me out for a seat at the table," Vaelric growled, his voice raspy from days of interrogation. "You’re throwing away blood for a crown that’s going to rot on your head anyway."

"Hey, don't be dramatic," Lucien chuckled. "I’m just doing what’s necessary for the family. You were always the 'hero,' the one who cared about the common folk. Where did that get you? Into a cage."

Two burly guards grabbed Vaelric by the arms, yanking him upward. They didn’t handle him with care; they dragged his boots across the stone, his chains clinking with every ragged movement.

"Watch it," Vaelric hissed, though his head lolled forward. The beating in the dungeons had taken its toll, and his vision was swimming in gray spots.

"Shut your mouth, traitor," the guard on his left grunted, shoving a leather gauntlet into Vaelric’s back.

As they dragged him through the main gates, the sun was blinding. The city of Oakhaven was bustling, its streets filled with people who had no idea their champion was being led to the slaughter. When the crowd saw him, the mood shifted. Rotten fruit and stones began to rain down.

"Look at him!" someone jeered. "The Golden Knight of the Veyr family, reduced to a common criminal!"

"Should’ve executed him!" another yelled, throwing a handful of mud that splattered across Vaelric’s face.

Vaelric wiped his eyes, his heart hammering against his ribs. It wasn't the pain that hurt the most; it was the memory of the woman he had loved—Elara. She had stood by him until the moment the trial started, her eyes filled with tears, her hand slipping away from his as the guards stepped in. He hadn't seen her since. The thought of her sitting in this city, believing the lies Lucien had spun, was a dull blade twisting in his chest.

"Where are you taking me?" Vaelric asked, his voice barely audible over the jeers.

"Straight to the gate, trash," the guard replied. "The High Lord said we shouldn't kill you ourselves. Too messy. He wants the Frontier to do the cleanup."

"So, it’s not just a prison," Vaelric muttered, a bitter smile tugging at his cracked lips. "It’s an execution that takes longer."

"You’re smart," the guard sneered, shoving him toward the jagged, iron-wrought gates that led to the wasteland. "Keep that sharp mind working while you’re being torn apart by the shadow-beasts. It’ll make the screaming more interesting."

"You guys are really pleasant, aren't you?" Vaelric wheezed, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Did they teach you that in the Academy, or is it a natural talent?"

"You're done, Vaelric," the second guard growled.

They reached the threshold. The sky outside the gates was a bruised purple, choked with thick, unnatural fog that swirled like spirits. The air smelled of ozone and rotting vegetation. This was the Cursed Frontier—a graveyard for anyone the Empire deemed too dangerous to live but too prominent to simply behead.

"Get in there," the guard shoved him hard, sending Vaelric stumbling into the darkness.

He fell to his knees, his hands scraping against the sharp, blackened earth. The gate slammed shut behind him with a heavy, final thud. He was alone. The silence here was heavy, vibrating with an ancient, hungry energy.

"Lucien, you bastard," Vaelric whispered, pushing himself to his feet. He reached for a weapon that wasn't there; his sword had been confiscated hours ago. He stood in the gloom, his adrenaline spiking, every muscle in his body taut like a drawn bowstring. He refused to die here. Not like this.

Suddenly, the fog began to churn. It wasn't just the wind. Something massive was moving, shifting the shadows. A low, guttural growl vibrated through his very bones, so deep it sounded like an earthquake.

He backed away, his heart slamming against his chest. "Come on then," he whispered, his voice cracking with a mix of defiance and rising terror. "I’m not a finished meal yet."

A pair of glowing, sickly-yellow eyes ignited in the mist, followed by the sight of rows of razor-sharp, obsidian teeth. A massive, shadowy beast, lanky and monstrous, lunged from the fog, its jaws wide open, ready to swallow him whole.