That's how long Elena had been gone. I didn't need Seraph to calculate it--the number was burned into my skull, a countdown I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. Every morning I woke up thinking maybe today, and every night I went to sleep knowing not yet.
The half-orc woman sitting across from me didn't know she was my fourth client today, or that I'd rather be hunting leads in the Lower District's back alleys than sitting in this chair playing businessman. But rent was due, and corpses didn't pay bills.
Neither did missing sisters.
Her hands shook as she slid the contract across my desk. I didn't tell her that trembling fingers made for sloppy signatures, and sloppy signatures meant loopholes. I'm an asshole, not a monster.
Usually.
"You're sure about this, Mrs. Krevash?" I kept my voice level, professional. The kind of tone that said I'm giving you one last chance to back out while my Charisma stat did the heavy lifting to make her feel like I actually cared.
I did care. Just not enough to turn down fifteen thousand credits.
She nodded, green-tinged skin pale under the flickering luminos crystal overhead. "My daughter needs the surgery. They won't operate without payment upfront, and the banks..." She trailed off. Three jobs. Sixteen-hour days. The dark circles under her eyes told the rest of the story. "I have nowhere else to go."
That's where I came in. The last resort for people with no other options.
Hence the shop's name.
"I understand." I tapped the contract with one gloved finger. "Ten percent of your Soul Integrity for fifteen thousand credits, payable over twelve months at eight percent interest. Miss a payment, and the percentage increases proportionally. Three missed payments, and I invoke Collateral Seizure."
"I won't miss a payment." Her tusks jutted out as she set her jaw. "I swear it."
They always swore it.
I activated Soul Appraisal, and my vision shifted--overlaying her physical form with streams of data only I could see.
[SOUL APPRAISAL - COMPLETE]
Target: Mira Krevash | Level: 14 (Laborer)
Soul Integrity: 87/100 | Debts: 10,740 Cr (Medical/Rent/Living)
Threat Level: Minimal
Virgin soul. No previous trades. She was drowning, but she'd fight like hell to keep her head above water. I respected that.
"Alright." I pulled my silver fountain pen from my jacket--pretentious, sure, but presentation mattered. "Sign at the bottom. Make your payments, and the fragment returns to you in twelve months. Simple."
"And if I can't pay?"
"Then the fragment stays with me permanently. Your Soul Integrity drops to 77%." I leaned back, leather creaking. "You'll experience minor side effects--difficulty sleeping, occasional emotional numbness, sporadic memory gaps. Nothing life-threatening. And I've reviewed your financials, Mrs. Krevash. You can make the installments. Barely, but you can."
She took the pen. Hesitated for exactly three seconds.
Then signed.
The moment ink touched paper, reality shifted. The contract glowed pale blue, and ethereal chains materialized between us--visible only through my Pawnmaster's sight. They snaked around her chest, pulled, and extracted a glimmering fragment no larger than a marble.
Mrs. Krevash gasped, hand flying to her sternum.
"The separation," I said quietly, catching the fragment in a prepared crystal vial. "It fades in a few minutes."
I capped the vial, labeled it with her name, and filed it in the cabinet behind me. Rows upon rows of borrowed souls, each one representing someone's desperation. My inventory of broken dreams.
"Your credits have been transferred. Check your account."
She did. Relief washed over her face--the kind that made lines disappear and shoulders unbunch. "It's there. All of it."
"I'm many things, Mrs. Krevash, but I'm not a thief." I stood, extending my hand. "First payment is due in thirty days. Don't be late."
Her grip was stronger than expected. "Thank you, Mr. Vorst. I know people say--well. Thank you."
She left without finishing that sentence. The door chimed softly.
I was alone with my conscience and thirty-eight thousand credits that wouldn't bring Elena home.
Almost alone.
"Calculating moral bankruptcy coefficient," Seraph's voice emanated from the glowing blue orb hovering near my shoulder. "Current reading: moderately damned. Congratulations, you've maintained your baseline."
"Your sarcasm module is functioning beautifully," I muttered, collapsing into my chair.
"I also manage your calendar, track your debts, and prevent catastrophically stupid decisions. You're welcome."
"Noted."
The Last Resort wasn't much to look at--a cramped storefront wedged between a regular pawn shop and a noodle bar in The Shroud's merchant district. But it was mine. The shelves held cursed daggers that whispered, memory crystals from dead adventurers, luck charms that actually worked, and a taxidermied two-headed cat I kept because it unsettled clients just enough.
Above the counter hung my Pawnmaster certification. Three years and two hundred thousand credits to earn that piece of paper.
Worth every credit. Mostly.
"Incoming message," Seraph announced. "Encrypted. Source: Unknown."
I straightened. Unknown encrypted messages were either lucrative opportunities or death threats.
Sometimes both.
"Open it."
The hologram shifted:
"A soul you seek walks the Ashenfell plains. Prove your worth, Pawnmaster."
--The Broker
My blood went cold.
Then my hands started shaking--actually shaking, something that hadn't happened since the night Elena vanished. I gripped the desk edge hard enough that my knuckles went white.
Ashenfell.
A soul you seek.
Five years, three months, and seventeen days of silence. And now this.
For exactly four seconds, I was back in our apartment. Elena's scream cut short. The smell of ozone and burnt copper. Empty space where she'd been standing. My own voice hoarse from shouting her name into the void.
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Then I was back in my shop, heart hammering, staring at a message that might be a lead or might be a trap designed specifically for desperate idiots like me.
"Lucian?" Seraph's voice was quieter. "Your heart rate just spiked to 140 BPM."
"Scan that message. Authentication code. Is it really The Broker?"
"Confirmed. Encryption signature matches previous communications. This is legitimate."
The Broker. The one who'd taught me soul trading five years ago, after Elena vanished and I'd been drowning in debt and rage. The one who always seemed to know more than they should.
"Ashenfell," Seraph continued. "Scanning databases... Ashenfell: frontier planet, Sector 7-G, third galaxy from New Veridian. Clearance Level A required for detailed files."
Third galaxy. That meant Galactic Gate access--reserved for the ultra-wealthy and the incredibly powerful.
I was neither.
Yet.
"Why now?" I murmured. "Why after five years?"
"Unknown. But Lucian... the probability that this is coincidence is--"
"Zero. I know." I looked at the photo on my desk. Elena and me, ten years ago. She was smiling. I wasn't sure I remembered how.
My fingers moved before my brain caught up.
"Send a reply. Tell The Broker I'm interested."
"Lucian--"
"Do it."
A pause. Then: "Message sent. Response incoming."
Fast.
"Quest accepted. Await further instructions. Oh, and Lucian? Check your door."
My hand went to the collapsible baton under my desk--old habits from when I couldn't afford wards. I moved to the entrance, every sense on high alert.
The door was closed. Locked. Wards active.
A small package sat on the doorstep.
I deactivated the wards and picked it up. Plain brown paper, shoebox-sized. My name in elegant script across the top.
"Scanning... no traps, no explosives, no obvious curses. Probably safe."
"Probably?"
"I'm an AI, not a miracle worker."
I carried it inside and unwrapped it carefully. Black velvet box, the kind for expensive jewelry.
Inside: a silver pocket watch with intricate engravings that made my Pawnmaster senses sing.
The moment my fingers touched metal, information flooded my mind:
[ITEM ACQUIRED: Soul Compass]
Rarity: Artifact (Rare)
Description: Points toward specific soul signatures within 3 light-years. Requires soul fragment of target to activate.
Durability: 47/100
A soul compass. Expensive. Illegal in most jurisdictions.
Exactly what I needed.
A note was tucked beneath:
"Consider this an investment. Use it wisely. The game has begun."
--The Broker
I turned the watch over, mind already calculating. If I could activate this with Elena's soul fragment--but I didn't have one. That was the problem. She'd vanished completely.
Unless someone at the right kind of event might know where to find one. Or who took her.
"I recognize that expression," Seraph said warily. "That's your 'monumentally reckless' expression."
"The Black Auction. Three days from now, right?"
"Yes, but you barely have credits for entry, let alone bidding. And those events attract people who'd kill you for that compass alone."
"Then I won't let them see it." I checked my account. Thirty-eight thousand, four hundred fifty credits. Entry fee was five thousand. "Pull up everything we have on Consortium shipping manifests. Cross-reference with disappearances--young women, early twenties, high Soul Integrity. Five-year timeframe."
"That's going to be depressingly long."
"Elena was special. Virgin soul, SI above 95%, no debts. Those don't vanish without powerful people noticing."
"You think you'll find leads at an illegal auction?"
"I think The Broker doesn't make contact without reason." I pulled up holographic displays. "If they're pointing me toward Ashenfell, someone at that auction knows something."
The shop's door chimed.
I looked up sharply. After hours. The wards should have--
A figure stood in the doorway, backlit by The Shroud's neon twilight. Tall. Female. White and gold robes of the Church of Eternal Souls.
My stomach sank.
"Hello, Lucian."
Mira Ashwyn stepped inside, and for the first time in two years, I was face-to-face with the woman I'd once loved. The woman who thought I was damned beyond saving.
She wasn't wrong.
"Oh good," Seraph muttered. "This won't be awkward at all."
Mira's amber eyes swept the shop--taking in the soul vials, the contracts, the evidence of everything she despised--before settling on me. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I'd known her long enough to read the disappointment underneath.
"We need to talk," she said.
I leaned against the counter, affecting casual indifference even as my pulse kicked up. "I wasn't aware we were on speaking terms."
"We're not. But I'm here anyway." She moved closer. The scent of incense and holy oils--smells I associated with the Church, with who Mira had become instead of who she'd been.
"Make it quick," I said. "I have an appointment."
"At ten PM?"
"I keep irregular hours."
She didn't smile. "I know about the Soul Compass."
Second time my blood went cold tonight. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't." Her voice hardened. "The Church has eyes everywhere, Lucian. We know The Broker contacted you. We know they sent you an artifact. And we know you're planning something stupid."
"I'm always planning something stupid. Be specific."
"The Black Auction. You're going to try to find information about your sister."
The mention of Elena hit like a gut punch, but I kept my face blank. "Still not seeing how this is your business."
"It's my business because you're walking into a trap." Her facade cracked, showing genuine worry. "The people who run those auctions--they're Consortium elites, crime lords, demons who trade in suffering. If they realize you have that compass--"
"I can handle myself."
"Can you?" She gestured at the soul vials. "You're at what, 62% Soul Integrity? How many pieces of yourself will you trade away before there's nothing left?"
Right number. Of course she'd know.
"Why do you care?" The words came out harsher than intended. "You made it clear two years ago that I was a lost cause. 'Beyond redemption,' I think you said."
Mira flinched. "I was angry. You'd just--"
"Traded away my capacity for trust to pay off an information broker? Yes. I remember. You called me a monster and walked out." I met her eyes. "So forgive me if I'm skeptical about this sudden concern."
"I never stopped caring about you, you idiot." Her voice broke slightly. "I just couldn't watch you destroy yourself anymore."
Silence stretched between us, heavy with years of unspoken words.
"I'm giving you two privacy," Seraph announced, dimming. "Try not to have emotional breakdowns."
Traitor.
Mira took a breath, composing herself. "I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to offer help."
"I don't need--"
"The Church has information about the soul trafficking ring. We've been investigating for months." She pulled a data chip from her robes. "Victims taken from the Lower District, souls extracted and shipped off-world. Connected to Consortium operations."
That got my attention. "What kind of information?"
"Names. Locations. Shipment records. Everything we've gathered." She held up the chip. "In exchange, I want you to do something for me."
Of course there was a catch. "What?"
"Let me come with you. To the auction."
I laughed--short and bitter. "Absolutely not."
"Lucian--"
"You'd stick out like an angel at a demon convention. The Church isn't exactly welcome at these events."
"I can be subtle."
"Mira, you're wearing robes with holy symbols."
Her jaw set stubbornly--the expression I remembered from childhood, from when we'd explored the Middle District and she'd defended kids from bullies twice our size.
"I can change clothes. Disguise myself." She pressed the chip into my hand. "You need backup, whether you admit it or not. Take the information. Use it. And if you find anything about the trafficking ring, you share it with me. Deal?"
I looked at the chip. At her. At the door that represented walking away.
The smart move was to refuse. Mira represented complications--emotional, tactical, moral. She'd question my methods, judge my choices, remind me of who I used to be.
But she also had information I desperately needed.
And despite everything--despite the years, the anger, the hurt--I still trusted her. More than I trusted anyone except Seraph.
Stupid. But that terrified me more than any auction.
"Fine," I said. "But you follow my lead. No heroics. No trying to save everyone. We get in, get information, get out. Understood?"
Relief flickered across her face. "Understood. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. There's a good chance we both die horribly."
"Wouldn't be the first time we've faced bad odds together."
True.
Mira turned to leave, then paused at the door. "Lucian? For what it's worth... I hope you find her. Elena deserves to come home."
Then she was gone, leaving me alone with a data chip full of secrets and the ghost of who I used to be.
I reactivated Seraph. "You're back."
"I take it the emotional reconciliation went swimmingly?"
"She's coming to the auction."
"...I'm sorry, what?"
"You heard me." I inserted the data chip. Files flooded my screens--shipment manifests, victim profiles, Consortium memos. "Cross-reference this with our existing data. Priority search: Ashenfell, high-purity souls, off-world facilities."
"Bringing Mira is a terrible idea."
"I know."
"She's going to complicate everything."
"I know."
"You're doing it anyway because you still have feelings for her."
"I--" I stopped. Sighed. "Just run the search."
"Your emotional dysfunction is noted and logged."
I poured cheap whiskey from the Lower District and settled in to review the files. Somewhere in this data was a thread. A connection. Something that would lead me to Elena.
Three days until the auction. Seventy-two hours to prepare for my only shot.
I opened the Soul Compass. The needle spun aimlessly without a soul fragment to lock onto.
But soon. Soon I'd have answers.
The alternative--that Elena was gone forever, that I'd wasted five years chasing ghosts, that I'd sold pieces of my soul for nothing--was unthinkable.
My terminal chimed. New notification.
[QUEST ACCEPTED: THE ASHENFELL GAMBIT]
Rank: S (Hidden Quest)
Objective: Reach planet Ashenfell and locate target soul
Reward: ???
Failure Penalty: Permanent Soul Collapse
TIME UNTIL ASHENFELL DIMENSIONAL WINDOW CLOSES: 8 Weeks
Eight weeks.
Not five years. Not "eventually." Eight weeks.
The countdown had begun.
I made a promise to the empty room, to the sister I'd failed five years ago:
I'm coming for you, Elena. Whatever it takes. Whatever it costs.
Outside, The Shroud's neon lights flickered. Sirens wailed in the distance--another night, another crime, another soul lost to New Veridian's machinery.
I downed the whiskey and got to work.
The game had begun.
And I was already behind.
* * *
Mass release starts now. New chapter every day for the first week.
Thanks for diving into New Veridian. If you're curious where this search for Elena leads, hit follow so you don't miss the next drop.