Throughout the whole night, I kept waking up—every twist and turn fueled by the constant gnawing in my stomach.

  Ugh… I swear it’s getting worse.

  The worst part? The fat pig snoring peacefully beside me wasn’t helping. Porky let out soft, content oinks in his sleep, his round belly rising and falling like some cruel reminder of everything I didn’t have.

  I glare at him in the darkness. "You’re lucky I don’t eat boar meat, you walking buffet..."

  Another growl.

  I roll over, clutching my stomach. Come on, Eli, just sleep through it. You’ve been through worse…

  The boar shifts, letting out another obnoxious snort.

  "Yeah, real helpful, Porky. Glad you’re living the dream."

  By the time the first light creeps through the trees, I feel like I’ve been in a wrestling match—with my own hunger.

  "It's already morning... I guess—"

  Growl.

  I clutch my stomach. "Okay, yeah, I really need to find food."

  I glance at Porky, who's still snoozing away like the oversized loaf he is. "Must be nice not having a human metabolism..."

  Dragging myself to my feet, I stretch and feel every muscle complain. "Alright, let's find something edible before I pass out—and no offense, Porky, but you're off the menu."

  The forest stretches out around me, quiet except for the occasional chirp of birds. I start walking, eyes scanning for anything remotely edible—berries, mushrooms, literally anything.

  Come on, Eli. How hard can it be to find food in the middle of nature?

  Ten minutes later, I'm staring at a very suspicious-looking mushroom.

  "...Yeah, knowing my luck, that'll probably kill me." I glance back at it.

  Growl.

  "Maybe... I might be lucky today."

  I snatch the mushroom from the ground and—without giving myself time to second-guess—shove it straight into my mouth. The texture is weird, like chewing on a damp sponge, and the taste? Absolutely disgusting.

  "Blegh!" I gag, but force it down anyway. "Okay... now I just wait for the inevitable."

  I stand there for a solid minute, completely still.

  Nothing.

  "Hey... I think I'm—"

  BOOM!

  A sudden explosion of nausea hits me like a freight train. My stomach twists, vision blurs, and I drop to my knees.

  "Oh no... bad idea, bad idea—!"

  I curl up on the ground, groaning in pure regret. Porky waddles over and gives me a judgmental oink.

  "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, you walking ham sandwich..."

  A few agonizing minutes pass before the pain starts to fade.

  "Never again," I mutter, wiping sweat off my forehead. "Never eating mystery mushrooms again."

  And just like that, my day of survival is off to a fantastic start.

  As I continue trudging through the forest, every step feels heavier than the last. My stomach growls like an angry beast, and my mind is laser-focused on one thing: food.

  "Why did I decide to go to this forest instead of the village..." I grumble, brushing past low-hanging branches. Then it hits me. "Oh right—they wanted to kill me!"

  Another loud growl echoes from my stomach, louder this time—like it’s scolding me for my terrible life choices.

  "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Starving wasn’t exactly part of the plan."

  Porky trails behind me, snorting and occasionally stopping to sniff at random patches of dirt. I swear, if he finds food before I do, I'm going to lose it.

  The trees seem to stretch forever, thick and towering, like nature’s own prison. Every rustle of leaves feels like a taunt.

  "At this point, I’d kill for some rice—hell, I’d settle for instant noodles."

  Suddenly, a faint rustling sound comes from the bushes ahead. I freeze.

  "Please, for once in my miserable luck... be food and not some demon creature ready to rip me apart."

  I slowly approach, every nerve on edge, praying it's something edible—and not another bad decision waiting to happen.

  A figure steps out from the bushes—small, hunched, and ugly as sin. A goblin.

  Its beady yellow eyes lock onto me, and it bares a row of jagged teeth, probably thinking I’m the easy meal here.

  But all I can think about is food.

  "Hey... You’re edible, right? I mean, if I just cook you?"

  Without wasting a second, my hand shoots to the hilt of Nyxrend, drawing the blade from its sheath with a clean, metallic shing. The weight of the sword feels comforting—familiar.

  "No one's around," I mutter, tightening my grip. "So my sword shouldn’t attract any unwanted attention."

  The goblin snarls and takes a shaky step forward, claws flexing like it thinks it has a chance.

  I smirk. Wrong move, buddy.

  "Now... how unlucky of you, Mr. Goblin."

  The wind stills for a moment—then I charge.

  With a quick, ruthless slash, Nyxrend cuts through the goblin’s neck like a hot knife through butter.

  The head hits the ground with a dull thud, eyes still wide in shock as the body crumples, spilling blood across the dirt in thick, dark streams.

  But I don’t care.

  I stare at the lifeless body, not with pity or regret—just hunger gnawing at my gut like a wild animal.

  "Food," I mutter, stepping over the mess. I grab the goblin’s scrawny arm, dragging the corpse toward a nearby clearing.

  "I don’t have the luxury to be picky right now."

  The thought of eating a goblin should make me sick. Instead, my stomach growls like it’s encouraging me.

  "Sorry, little guy," I whisper, though there’s no sympathy left in me. "But it’s either you... or me."

  "Now, how do I make a fire?"

  I glance around the clearing, gathering anything that looks remotely useful—dry leaves, twigs, and brittle sticks. Perfect fuel.

  No mana, no shortcuts... Just good old-fashioned survival skills, I think bitterly.

  I crouch down, stacking the sticks into a small teepee shape with the driest leaves packed underneath. "Alright, Eli, basic survival mode. Just gotta spark it somehow."

  I grab two rocks from nearby—jagged and rough, hopefully good enough to create some friction. This is gonna suck.

  Clack! Nothing.

  Clack! Still nothing.

  Minutes stretch on, frustration bubbling with every failed attempt. My stomach growls again, louder this time, like it’s mocking me.

  "Come on! Just give me one spark!"

  I slam the rocks together with everything I have—clack! A tiny ember flickers.

  "Yes! Yes! Okay, don't screw this up."

  I lean in close, gently blowing on the ember. The leaves catch, a small flame flickering to life.

  "I actually did it..." I whisper, staring at the tiny fire like it’s the greatest achievement of my life.

  Now, time for the real challenge—cooking a goblin without throwing up.

  I cut up the goblin’s limbs, the blade slicing through muscle and bone with unsettling ease. The smell is already horrendous, like rotten meat mixed with wet dog.

  "God, this is disgusting," I mutter, trying not to gag as I shove a stick through each severed limb. "Goblin on a stick. Five-star cuisine, right?"

  The fire crackles as I set the skewered limbs over the flame, turning them slowly. The fat—or whatever that is—sizzles, sending up a greasy, foul-smelling smoke.

  I glare at Porky, who's watching with wide, curious eyes. "Don't judge me. You’re the one who brought me into this whole mess in the first place."

  The meat starts to darken, crisping at the edges.

  "Okay... this looks technically edible now. Probably."

  I pull a skewer away from the flame, hesitating. My stomach growls violently, overriding every ounce of logic telling me this is a terrible idea.

  "Alright, Eli. Bottoms up."

  I bite down—and immediately regret every life choice that led me here.

  "Fuck... This shit is so ass..." I mutter, forcing myself to keep chewing. Every bite is like punishment—bitter, rubbery, and tasting like something that shouldn't be food.

  But my stomach doesn’t care. It just growls louder, urging me to keep going.

  "It's better than nothing," I choke out, my voice cracking under the weight of desperation.

  Tears prick the corners of my eyes, uninvited but inevitable. Not from the taste—no, from the sheer humiliation of it all. Here I am, chewing on goblin meat in the middle of a damn forest, starving, hunted, and blindfolded with holy water-soaked cloth just to suppress the aura that makes everyone want me dead.

  I swallow hard, every muscle in my throat protesting.

  Porky oinks softly, staring at me with what feels like pity.

  "Don't look at me like that," I snap weakly, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "You're not the one eating goblin kebabs just to survive..."

  Another bite. Another wave of regret.

  "Tomorrow… I need to find real food. Or at this rate… I might actually miss that stupid village."

  I stare at the pathetic remnants of my so-called meal—charred bits of goblin meat clinging to the stick, greasy and blackened from my barely-passable fire. My stomach has stopped growling, but it’s not because I’m full. No, it’s given up, like the rest of me feels like doing.

  I toss the stick into the dirt with a dull thud and lean back against the rough bark of the tree.

  "Real food tomorrow," I whisper. "That’s the goal."

  Porky shuffles closer and flops down beside me, letting out a content little grunt as if everything’s fine.

  "At least one of us is living the good life," I mutter, pulling my makeshift blindfold tighter. The cloth is still damp with holy water, cold against my skin, but the eerie glow of my Demon Eye keeps working through it. The world is still visible—faint outlines, movements, like seeing shadows in the dark.

  I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come.

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  Every branch creak, every rustle of leaves sends a spike of tension through my body. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s out there, watching. Waiting.

  No. Just paranoia, I tell myself. You're tired. You're hungry. You’re—

  Snap.

  That wasn’t in my head.

  I sit up instantly, hand gripping the hilt of Nyxrend—my sword cold and heavy in my grasp. Porky stirs beside me, ears twitching.

  The forest is silent now. Too silent.

  Another crack of movement, this time to my left. Something’s there. Something big.

  I swallow hard, forcing myself to stand, every muscle protesting from exhaustion and hunger.

  "Who's there?" My voice comes out hoarse, but steady enough.

  No response. Just the sound of leaves brushing against each other—closer this time.

  I ready Nyxrend, feeling the faint pulse from the cursed blade, almost as if it’s… hungry too.

  "Alright... If something’s out there looking for a fight—" I tighten my grip, eyes narrowed behind the blindfold.

  "—then come and get me."

  A figure appears, standing atop a tree branch. Another emerges to my right, and one more to my left. How cool. Their uniforms are cloaks adorned with intricate patterns, each bearing a distinct badge. Their faces are concealed by smooth, featureless masks, making it impossible to read any expression.

  "Who are you guys?" I ask, my voice steady despite the creeping unease.

  The one on the right steps forward first, their cloak shifting just enough for me to catch a glimpse of the badge pinned to their chest—an unsettling emblem shaped like an eye, surrounded by jagged, lightning-like lines.

  "Outsider," the masked figure says, their voice cold and sharp, like frost biting at bare skin. "You’ve caused quite a stir."

  Great. Just what I needed. More people who want me dead.

  The figure on the tree branch finally speaks, their voice calm but heavy with authority, distorted slightly by the mask. "You carry the stench of demonic corruption... yet you wear a symbol of the holy." His gaze lingers on my blindfold. "Interesting."

  I grip Nyxrend tighter, my heart hammering in my chest. These guys aren’t just random thugs. They’re organized—and dangerous.

  "Yeah, well, it’s been a rough week," I mutter. "I don’t suppose you’re here to offer help, are you?"

  Suddenly, another figure drops from the tree, landing awkwardly with a dull thud. Their hood falls back, revealing their face—no mask to hide behind this time. Pitch-black eyes, endless and empty like a void, stare back at me, and messy blonde hair falls across their forehead.

  "Ugh… That hurts," they groan, clutching their side as they struggle to stand.

  "Hey!" The one on the right snaps, their voice laced with irritation. "What are you doing without your mask?"

  The blonde figure waves them off lazily, clearly unfazed by the sharp reprimand. "Relax, it’s not like he’ll live long enough to tell anyone," he says, flashing a grin that doesn’t quite reach those hollow eyes.

  Okay. Definitely unhinged.

  I tighten my grip on Nyxrend, taking a cautious step back. "Look, I don’t know who you guys are or what you want, but I’m not in the mood to play games. If you’re here to kill me—"

  The blonde guy cuts me off with a lazy chuckle. "Kill you? No, no. That would be too easy. You’re… interesting." His unsettling gaze drifts to my blindfold. "Especially with that on your face."

  The tension thickens, every instinct in my body screaming to run—but I stand my ground. "Yeah? Well, interesting doesn’t mean helpless. You want to test me? Go ahead."

  For a second, there’s silence. Then, the masked figure on the tree branch chuckles darkly. "Perhaps we should see what makes you so... special."

  The figure on the left suddenly dashes toward me, moving like a blur. A dagger glints in the light—way too close to my face.

  Shit, he's fast!

  I barely react in time, jerking my head to the side, but not fast enough. The blade grazes me, slicing a shallow cut across the side of my head. Pain flares hot and sharp. My blindfold slips off, falling uselessly to the ground.

  No, no, no—damn it!

  The rush of cold air against my exposed eye is immediate. And then—everything changes.

  Time seems to slow. My left eye—the Demon Eye—kicks in, uninvited but unavoidable. I can see it now. His next move, the slightest twitch of his muscles, the way his body angles for another strike—it's all laid out in front of me like a map of inevitability.

  The masked attacker lunges again, thinking he has the upper hand. But this time, I’m ready.

  I sidestep with precision, feeling the blade miss by mere inches. My body moves on instinct—fluid, sharp. Nyxrend hums in my hand as I twist and swing in one smooth motion.

  The figure skids to a halt just out of reach, clearly surprised by the sudden shift.

  "Well... that was unexpected," the blonde one says from above, voice dripping with amusement. His pitch-black eyes narrow, focused entirely on my uncovered face. "That eye... now things are getting interesting."

  I wipe the blood from my cheek and steady my breath.

  "Yeah?" I glare at him, gripping Nyxrend tighter. "Then come find out how interesting I can get."

  He charges at me again, daggers gripped tightly, but this time—I see everything. Every movement, every twitch. This Demon Eye is really something else.

  His thrust comes fast, but not fast enough. I sidestep with ease, my body moving on instinct.

  I swing Nyxrend in one clean motion across his torso. The blade slices deep, cutting through fabric and flesh like it’s nothing.

  He stumbles back, blood spilling from the gash. His breathing turns ragged, but the fire in his eyes doesn't fade.

  "You're... faster than you should be," he growls, clutching his side.

  I tighten my grip on the sword. "Yeah? Well, you're slower than you should be."

  The tension in the air thickens, but I’m ready for whatever comes next.

  "Stop!" The blonde guy shouts, his voice sharp and commanding. "You won’t win against him—you’re too slow."

  The wounded attacker freezes, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His grip on the daggers tightens, but the fight drains from his stance.

  The blonde one steps forward, his pitch-black eyes locking onto mine. There’s no fear in them—just cold calculation.

  "You’re not just some wandering demon, are you?" His tone is eerily calm, like he's sizing me up, peeling back layers I didn’t even know I had.

  I raise Nyxrend, ready for anything. "I’m just hungry, man. You really wanna keep pushing this?"

  He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Interesting answer... Maybe we were wrong about you."

  The air stays tense, every second stretching longer than it should. What do they want from me?

  "How about you join our group?" he says, raising his hand like he's offering a friendly deal—but that grin? It's anything but friendly. It's sharp, menacing, like a predator playing with its food.

  "You’ll fit right in with us," he adds, voice dripping with twisted enthusiasm.

  I stay silent, gripping Nyxrend tighter.

  "We’ll feed you, give you shelter," he continues, pointing straight at me. "And all you have to do is carry out orders for us."

  Then he laughs—cold, mocking, like he already owns me.

  Great, I think, a gang of masked creeps wants to recruit me. Just my luck.

  I glare at him. "Yeah? And what kind of 'orders' are we talking about?"

  His grin widens. "Simple. You kill who we tell you to kill."

  The forest feels colder now, the wind carrying an uncomfortable stillness.

  Do I really have a choice?

  The figure that attacked me suddenly drops to the ground with a dull thud, blood pooling beneath him. His body twitches once—then goes still.

  I stare, stunned. Did I really just…?

  "Welp, he's dead," the blonde guy says casually, as if someone just dropped a sack of potatoes instead of a corpse. That grin of his? Still there—wider now, almost gleeful. "Now you definitely have to join us!"

  I grip Nyxrend tighter, my heart hammering in my chest.

  "You think killing your own guy makes me want to work with you?" I snap, voice low and sharp.

  He tilts his head, unfazed. "Oh, please. He was weak—if you didn’t kill him, I would’ve. We don’t need dead weight."

  The other masked figures stay silent, unmoving, like shadows waiting for their command.

  "You're strong. And strength? That’s all that matters in this world." His voice drops, the threat behind his words barely hidden. "You will join us. Because out here? Alone? You’ll starve, or worse. With us, you’ll survive. You’ll thrive."

  I glance at Porky, who’s shuffling nervously behind me.

  Damn it. Do I actually have a choice? I mean, this is a cool group either way—but they might kill Porky. No way I'm letting that happen.

  I steady my breath, tightening my grip on Nyxrend before lowering it. "Fine. I’ll join you. But you’re going to meet my conditions first."

  The blonde guy raises an eyebrow, still grinning like this is all some big joke. "Conditions? You’re not in much of a position to bargain, y’know."

  "Yeah, well, listen anyway," I shoot back. "First, help me remove this demonic presence—I can’t keep walking around like a moving target. Second, no one else but you three can know about my demonic eye. And finally… you can’t touch Porky."

  The tension hangs in the air for a beat. His eyes narrow just slightly, like he’s sizing me up all over again.

  Then—he laughs. Not mocking this time—just… amused. "Done," he says without even thinking twice.

  That was too easy…

  "You’ll find we’re good at keeping secrets," he adds, waving a hand lazily. "And as for that demonic aura? We’ve got someone who can handle… cleansing."

  Porky oinks nervously behind me.

  "Relax, pork chop," the blonde says, giving him a wink. "You’re safe—for now."

  I swallow hard. What the hell did I just get myself into?

  He raises his hand high, voice dripping with dramatic flair. "Welcome to the Gravewalkers!" His pitch-black eyes lock onto mine, and that damn grin stretches wider. "Our motto? Fear the weight of your sins."

  What is that edgy name... I deadpan internally, already regretting life choices.

  He spins on his heel like some over-the-top villain and throws his arms out wide. "Our headcount is now four!" His voice echoes through the trees, like he’s announcing a grand achievement.

  Wait—four?

  "Why do you look shocked?" The blonde bursts into laughter, loud and unhinged. "Did you really think we were some big, scary organization? HAAHAHA! I just started this whole thing yesterday!"

  I blink. Yesterday?

  "Yesterday?!" My voice cracks like dry wood. "You’re telling me I just joined a group that’s not even a full day old?"

  He wipes a tear from his eye, still grinning like a lunatic. "Yep! You’re practically a founding member now. Congrats!"

  Oh, fantastic. Not only did I join the edgiest-sounding club in existence, but it’s also a startup cult run by a psycho with commitment issues.

  I stare blankly at him, trying to process how my day went from starving in the woods to joining a budget villain squad.

  "Don’t look so depressed," he says, slapping my back again—hard enough to nearly knock me over. "We’re gonna be legendary."

  "Yeah," I mutter under my breath, glancing at Porky, who looks just as done with this nonsense as I am. "Legendary disasters, maybe."

  Growl.

  Everyone turns to stare at me. Even Porky looks mildly concerned.

  I clear my throat, trying to play it off. "Uh… yeah. Guess I’m still hungry."

  The blonde guy’s grin stretches wider—how does his face do that? "Hungry, huh? Perfect timing! Let’s head back to our base."

  Base? That’s generous. I bet it’s just a hole in the ground with a tarp over it.

  He spins on his heel dramatically, throwing his arm out like some kind of discount villain. "Follow me, Gravewalker! You’re about to witness our fortress of doom!"

  I glance at the others. They seem way too into this. Great. Just great.

  Sighing, I pat Porky’s head. "Come on, buddy. Let’s go see just how depressing this ‘base’ really is."

  Porky oinks like he already knows we’re in for disappointment.

  The walk isn’t as long as I expected, but the deeper we go into the forest, the colder the air feels—like the trees themselves are watching. Eventually, we stop in front of a cliffside covered in thick vines.

  The blonde guy turns dramatically, that ridiculous grin plastered on his face. "Welcome to our base, Gravewalker."

  He pulls back the vines, revealing a hidden stone door. With a heavy grind, it creaks open, and—okay, I’ll admit—it’s not what I expected.

  The place is huge.

  The ceiling stretches high above, with jagged stone formations hanging like teeth from the dark. Shadows dance across the walls from scattered torches, making everything look ten times more ominous than it probably needs to be.

  But the real kicker? The treasure.

  Gold coins, shimmering jewels, and piles of valuables are just scattered everywhere—like someone raided a king’s vault and couldn’t be bothered to organize it. Expensive weapons rest lazily against the walls. Luxurious rugs are tossed on the cold ground like cheap rags.

  "This… all of this?" I blink, trying to wrap my head around it.

  The blonde guy throws his arms out like he’s presenting art. "Courtesy of some very generous donors. You know—corrupt nobles, greedy merchants. They won’t be missing it. Mostly because, well... they're dead."

  I stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking. He isn’t.

  Another guy—still masked—leans casually against a chest overflowing with gold. "Took everything they had. They deserved worse, honestly."

  The blonde guy claps me on the back like we’re old friends. "Pretty cozy for four people, huh? You can thank our generosity redistribution program for that."

  I glance around at the scattered wealth. Okay, I won’t lie—this is kinda badass.

  Porky sniffs at a jewel-encrusted goblet on the ground, clearly unimpressed.

  "Welcome home, Gravewalker," the blonde guy says, voice dripping with that same smug confidence. "Not bad for a group of ‘nobodies,’ huh?"

  Yeah… this might actually be more trouble than I thought.

  He suddenly whips something out from behind his back with way too much enthusiasm. "TADA!"

  In his hands is a silver platter—well, okay, it's more tarnished than silver, but still, the effort’s there. He yanks off the lid like he’s unveiling a treasure.

  "Goat meat from the best of the best!" His grin is wide enough to split his face in half.

  The smell hits me instantly—rich, savory, and actually good. My stomach growls so loudly Porky snorts in agreement.

  I stare at the perfectly cooked meat, juices still glistening under the torchlight. It’s tender, steaming, seasoned with herbs I didn’t even know existed in this world.

  "Where… how did you even get this?" I ask, my voice half in disbelief, half drowned out by another stomach growl.

  He shrugs like it’s no big deal. "Oh, you know, one of those generous donors had expensive taste. Shame he couldn’t enjoy it."

  I glance down at the food again. My pride wants to refuse—because seriously, this guy is way too smug—but hunger wins.

  I snatch a piece and take a bite.

  …Holy hell.

  It’s tender, juicy, packed with flavor—like every bite is pure bliss. I don’t even care if this came from some rich dude’s private stash.

  Porky nudges my side, eyes locked on the platter like a starving beast.

  "Fine," I mumble, tossing him a chunk. He devours it in seconds.

  The blonde guy watches, arms crossed, smirking like he just saved my life. "See? I told you joining us would be worth it."

  Yeah… maybe it actually will be.

  The blonde guy claps his hands together dramatically. "Now, how rude of us! We haven’t even introduced ourselves."

  He steps forward first, tossing his messy blonde hair back like he’s some kind of hero in a bad drama. His pitch-black eyes still hold that unsettling void-like depth, like they could swallow you whole if you looked too long.

  "Name’s Ravyn—with a ‘y,’ because I’m fancy like that." His grin is sharp, borderline predatory. "I’m the leader of this little operation—Gravewalkers, remember?* Fear the weight of your sins* and all that edgy crap." He laughs like it’s the funniest thing ever.

  He gestures to the massive figure standing silently to the side. "This big guy right here?"

  The man steps forward, and big doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s built like a fortress—easily over 6'5", broad shoulders, arms thick with muscle. His square-jawed face is marked by a couple of deep scars running across his cheek and nose. His short, dark hair is neatly cut, and his steely gray eyes feel like they’re always calculating something.

  "Mark," he says, voice low and gravelly.

  "And last but definitely not least..." Ravyn gestures toward a figure leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

  She steps forward—tall and lean, with jet-black hair tied back in a tight ponytail. Her sharp emerald eyes cut right through me, and there’s a jagged scar trailing from her eyebrow down to her temple. Her smirk screams trouble.

  "Lena," she says coolly, voice smooth with a hint of sarcasm.

  Ravyn claps again, clearly enjoying the moment way too much. "And there you have it! The Gravewalkers! A little rough, sure, but we get the job done."

  He shoots me that same manic grin. "Now, what should we call you, newbie?"

  "Eli. You can call me eli"

  Ravyn’s grin stretches even wider, if that’s even possible. "Eli, huh? Simple. I like it—short, sweet, and easy to remember."

  Lena raises an eyebrow, giving me a quick once-over. "Eli?" she repeats, like she’s testing how it sounds in her mouth. "You don’t look like much… but that little trick with the sword back there says otherwise."

  Mark just gives a low grunt of acknowledgment. Not exactly talkative, but I’ll take it.

  Ravyn throws an arm around my shoulder like we’re suddenly best friends. "Well, Eli, welcome to the Gravewalkers. You’re officially one of us now, which means food, shelter, and... whatever this chaos is." He waves his hand around the messy base, piles of stolen riches scattered like someone gave a child a treasure chest and told them to go wild.

  He leans in closer, voice dropping just enough to sound a little more serious. "And don’t forget our deal. We’ll help with that little demonic presence of yours—and keep your secret safe."

  Lena smirks again, arms crossed. "Hope you’re ready for some real work, though. We don’t take dead weight."

  "Dead weight?" Ravyn snorts. "You saw what he did back there—he’ll be fine."

  Porky oinks from the corner, munching on some scraps someone must’ve tossed his way.

  I let out a breath. Great. A psycho leader, a human wall, a sarcastic blade-wielder, and a fat pig. What could possibly go wrong?

  "Get some rest, Eli," Ravyn says, finally stepping back. "Tomorrow, we start your first job."

  First job? Yeah, this is gonna be fun.