New York City – 3:47 a.m.
Underground Level: Decommissioned L-Train Tunnel, East Brooklyn
Rain poured through the cracks in the concrete above like the city was trying to drown its forgotten. A symphony of dripping water echoed down the tunnel where Ezra Quinn crouched near a rusted barrel fire, the flickering flames painting shadows across the jagged walls behind him. He didn't flinch when the far-off rumble of a subway trembled through the underground; he didn't look up when rats scurried past his boots. This was home.
His hands, bruised and cracked from another night of street fighting, cupped a tin can of stolen soup like it was holy. The taste was metallic and cold. He drank it anyway.
Ezra had long stopped caring about taste. Or pride.
He was nineteen, probably. He couldn't be sure. Dates blurred when you grew up in group homes that forgot your birthday year after year, then spit you onto the streets the moment you turned legal.
He stared into the fire, watching it dance like it knew secrets he didn't. A voice echoed in his head—not his, not real. He hadn't heard it in years, but tonight it returned with a whisper: You were meant for more, Ezra.
He crushed the can in his palm and tossed it aside.
More? What did "more" mean when you had less than nothing?
A shriek pierced the silence.
Ezra froze. Not a rat. Not the wind.
A woman.
It was distant, maybe a few blocks over—aboveground. The kind of scream you knew wasn't play. He bolted up, adrenaline burning the cold from his blood, and grabbed his coat. Threadbare. Torn at the cuffs. The zipper barely worked. But it was his only one.
He ran.
4:02 a.m. – Manhattan Bridge Entrance
By the time Ezra reached the surface, the rain had become a thunderstorm. Lightning streaked above the jagged skyline, briefly illuminating the alley ahead.
The scream came again—closer now, sharper.
He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop.
Three figures loomed in the dark, their shadows stretched like monsters against the graffiti-covered brick. A girl—no, a woman, maybe his age—stood between them, knife in her hand, one arm bleeding. Her platinum hair clung to her face, soaked. Her eyes were sharp. Fierce. Even wounded, she looked like she could kill.
The men surrounding her weren't ordinary muggers.
Ezra knew the look of Ranked Hunters—people who had been chosen by the System. Their veins glowed faint blue beneath their skin. The Veil pulsed faintly around them like heat waves in summer air. Only Awakened had that shimmer.
She was one of them too.
And she was outnumbered.
Ezra had no rank. No class. No System interface. He couldn't see stats or power levels. Just fists. Just instincts. And something deeper—something colder.
She moved first, lunging at the one on her left with a burst of unnatural speed. He caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted, and slammed her into the wall. Her knife clattered. She dropped to one knee, blood pouring now.
Ezra didn't think.
He ran forward and slammed his fist into the man's jaw.
A shock ran up his arm like he'd punched steel, but the guy staggered back, surprised. The other two turned.
Ezra ducked under a wild punch and drove his knee into a gut. Then a boot caught him from the side, hard. He hit the wall. His ribs screamed.
"You're not even Awakened," one of them scoffed. "Wanna die for some stray b—?"
The girl kicked the back of his knee, and Ezra, despite the pain, swept his leg under the third.
Chaos.
Rain. Screams. Blows. Everything was instinct, until a hard strike caught Ezra in the temple. He dropped.
His vision doubled. Blood in his mouth. The sound of the girl calling out. Then—
Silence.
4:27 a.m. – Vision Unknown
He wasn't awake.
But he wasn't dead either.
There was nothing—just a void stretching in all directions, broken only by a whisper.
Not one voice. Thousands. Wailing. Moaning.
And one louder than the rest.
"YOU… ARE NOT MEANT TO DIE… YET."
His chest burned. His bones ached. Something entered him. Cold, invasive. Like a chain threading through his spine.
A flash of his past—faces of people long buried. Ones he barely remembered. Then…
A word, burned into his skull:
Class Acquired: [Forbidden] – Necromancer (Strength Variant)
You have been claimed by Death.
You are Gravebound.
4:30 a.m. – Back in the Alley
Ezra gasped, sitting up with a violent jolt.
The pain was gone. His blood was gone. His skin tingled like fire beneath ice.
And the three attackers?
Lying around him—dead.
No blood. No wounds.
Their eyes were open. Staring.
The girl stood several feet away, her knife raised, her body tense, shaking. She hadn't killed them. He knew. She was watching him.
"You died," she said, voice trembling.
Ezra blinked. "I—"
"You died," she repeated, this time like an accusation. "And then they died. What the hell are you?"
He couldn't answer.
His fingers were twitching. Not from fear—but power. Purple tendrils curled from his knuckles. The ground beneath the bodies shifted. And then…
A hand emerged.
Decayed. Skeletal.
One of the men sat up with a broken neck, eyes glowing faint violet. No breath. No heartbeat. Obedient.
Ezra stumbled back. "No—no, I didn't—"
"You raised them," she whispered. "You're Gravebound."
Lightning lit up the sky again.
The girl looked at him like he was a bomb that had just gone off. "We need to go. Now."
"What?"
"Before Guild Control gets here. You don't know what you just did."
"I don't know anything!"
She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the dark, sprinting.
Ezra looked back.
All three bodies… were moving now.
And following.
5:18 a.m. – Abandoned Hotel, Lower Manhattan
The place smelled like rot and mold, but it had four walls, and more importantly—no cameras.
Selene paced like a caged panther. She hadn't stopped looking at him like he might explode.
Ezra sat on a broken mattress, palms open, staring at them like they were foreign. "You gonna tell me what the hell just happened?"
"You awakened," she muttered.
"Pretty sure that's not supposed to happen after you die."
She stopped pacing. "Not unless your class is cursed. You weren't picked by the Veil like everyone else. You were taken. Claimed by something older. Deeper."
Ezra shook his head. "So what now? You gonna turn me in?"
"I should."
"Then do it."
Selene looked at him hard. Then sighed. "But I won't. Because you saved me."
"You saved me first."
A long pause.
She walked over, sat across from him. Her voice softened. "I'm Selene. Selene Cross. And if you're smart, you'll stay away from everyone for a while. Especially other Awakened."
"Too late for that."
"I mean it," she said. "You don't understand what being Gravebound means. Necromancers are forbidden for a reason. If the Guild finds out what you are, they won't question you. They'll kill you."
Ezra looked down at his hands again. "I didn't ask for this."
"No one does," she said. "But now that you've Awakened… the System won't let you go."
The wind howled outside, rattling the windows.
Ezra glanced at her, suddenly curious. "You said forbidden. How do you know so much?"
Selene didn't answer.
But her eyes shimmered with something dark. Pain. Secrets.
She stood. "Get some rest. We move at dawn."
"Move where?"
"Somewhere they won't find you. Yet."
Ezra leaned back against the wall, exhaustion finally catching up. But sleep wouldn't come.
Not with the undead curled up outside like obedient dogs.
Not with a girl hiding secrets beside him.
And not with death crawling under his skin like it belonged there.
> System Message: [Class Progression Activated]
> Objective: Raise 3 Human Corpses
> Status: 3/3 Complete
> Skill Acquired: "Bonebind (Lv. 1)"
> Congratulations, Ezra Quinn. Welcome to the Veil.