Chapter 35: Haven For The Damned
Ranevia.
A northern territory in name alone—more a scar on the map than a functioning province. The air felt like it bore witness to war. The winds were cruel, thick with frost and bitter resentment, gnawing at skin like unseen teeth. Even the sun, when it managed to break through the oppressive grey clouds, looked tired.
The land was untamed. Jagged hills and crooked forests framed a territory that had long since rejected kings and laws. The earth was frozen, cracked and infertile. No crops grew. No noble estates remained. All things dignified had withered or been driven out long ago.
It wasn’t just the manabeasts—though those alone would be enough to choke any honest settlement. It was the people.
They called them the north rebels, or less kindly, the rot.
They were outlaws, murderers, thieves, disgraced mages who’d lost their status, mercenaries too bloodstained for even the black markets. Ranevia was the dumping ground of Solaris—where the kingdom tossed its undesirables and looked the other way.
And yet, not all who lived there had chosen the life.
Some were just too poor to escape. Too powerless. Refugees, castaways, orphans. People who had no coin, no magic, and no home to return to. So they survived under the rule of gangs and tyrants, trading labor or flesh for shelter, praying each day wouldn’t be their last.
---
Lan stood at the top of a cliff, boots sinking slightly into the frozen dirt, his pale eyes scanning the landscape of his new domain.
The town below looked like something from a past life—stonework foundations half-collapsed, rooftops patched with whatever scraps could be scavenged. Once, it had been a proper settlement, likely built with noble intentions. But now?
It reeked of savagery.