Born Without Magic, Destined to Rule All

Chapter 010 – The Steel Door

The heavy steel door slammed shut behind Zarek. The loud, metal sound broke the silence like a scream trapped in iron, echoing down the dark, narrow halls underground. This wasn’t just a door closing—it felt like his fate was being sealed. The air smelled of rust and old wet stone, the kind of smell that clings to your skin and reminds you of death. Zarek didn’t move. He leaned against the freezing concrete wall, the cold sinking into his bones like something alive, slowly eating at him. He breathed through clenched teeth, each breath tasting of mold, metal, and something sharp and strange—a scent he feared without knowing why. Even in the darkness, small flames danced around his knuckles. They gave off no warmth and brought no comfort. They flickered silently, like they were feeding on old memories, refusing to disappear—just like the past he couldn’t forget.

The visions came back, as they always did—unwanted and cruel. He saw the villagers again. Their faces were frozen, lifeless and blue under a layer of ice. They looked like statues stuck in time—some with hands raised in prayer, some caught mid-laugh, others twisted in pain. It was like time itself had been stopped by some ancient, evil magic. But one face haunted him the most—a young boy, maybe ten years old. His mouth was open in a silent scream, eyes full of fear. Just before the ice took him, the boy had looked right at Zarek. That look still followed him, begging for help Zarek could never give.

Now Zarek was trapped under Dr. Malrik’s fortress, locked not just by stone and steel, but by his own mind. The walls seemed to hum softly, like they were alive, feeding on his guilt and fear. The lights buzzed above, flickering and casting shaky shadows that moved when he wasn’t watching. Blood was still under his fingernails, but he couldn’t remember whose. It didn’t matter. He had made his choice—and paid the price. Revenge was eating him from the inside like rats in a grave. And now, he wasn’t sure if he controlled it—or if it controlled him.

A voice broke the silence, low and rough as gravel. "You’re new. And you’re angry."

Zarek’s eyes snapped toward the shadows. His body turned instinctively, flame blooming faintly across his forearms in a slow pulse of heat. He narrowed his gaze, the dim magical light from the ceiling bars catching on the man who now moved from the darkness like a slow tide.

He sat cross-legged, chained at the wrists and ankles, the cuffs engraved with runes that pulsed in dull blue light — enchanted steel, anti-magic bindings. His hair was long, black streaked with silver like night swallowing moonlight, and his eyes… gods, those eyes. They glinted with a sharp, unnatural awareness, as if he were cataloging every breath Zarek took.

The man smiled, not kindly. Just knowingly. "Welcome to the belly of Malrik’s beast."

Zarek didn’t relax. "Who are you?"

The stranger gave a smirk that barely moved his lips. "Just another guest of Dr. Malrik’s hospitality. You?"

Zarek’s fists tightened. "Someone who owes him a debt."

That earned a bitter laugh, low and cutting. "We all owe him something. Gold, blood… or freedom."

There was silence between them for a moment, thick as smoke. Then Zarek stepped closer, studying the man with a soldier’s eye — no wasted muscle, no slack posture despite the manacles. Scars ran up his forearms, pale white against olive skin, some clearly magical in origin. But his face was calm, too calm for someone trapped in Malrik’s prison. His wrists were raw and bleeding, but his eyes were the eyes of a man who waited, not a man who had surrendered.

Zarek’s voice was softer now, tinged with suspicion. "You’re not just another guest."

The man tilted his head slightly. "Korrin Vale."

The name hit like a slap. Zarek blinked. "Captain Vale? You— You vanished. Two years ago."

"Technically, I was captured," Korrin said, shrugging with a faint clink of chains. "But yes. That was the last time the surface saw me." He lifted a cuffed hand, letting the rune-etched metal catch the light. "Since then, I’ve been Malrik’s favorite failure. And he doesn't know whether to keep me alive or kill me."

Zarek stared, the old stories flashing through his mind. Korrin Vale — decorated commander of the Royal Sword Guard, wielder of twin blades forged from dawnstone and abyssal steel, said to have once slain a basilisk with a broken spear and a stare. To find him here, in the bowels of Thalassa’s most feared laboratory prison, was like finding a god exiled to a gutter.

"You saw it, didn’t you?" Korrin asked, his voice dropping. "The chambers."

Zarek’s stomach turned. "The frozen villagers."

Korrin nodded grimly. "That’s the Frostseed Project. Malrik’s pet apocalypse. He wants to freeze Thalassa — the land, the people, the very flow of time. Then he’ll sell the antidote to the highest bidder. Become a god among the broken."

Zarek’s breath came faster, flame curling tighter around his wrists. "Then why are you still sitting here?"

Korrin’s smile returned — thin, sharp, dangerous. "Because breaking out alone is suicide." He paused, nodding toward the glow pulsing under Zarek’s skin. "But… with someone who can burn and shatter walls?"

He let the suggestion hang in the air, heavy with promise and peril.

"…It’s not."

Zarek hesitated. He could feel it — the prison walls, lined with nullstone and layered wards, vibrating slightly with contained power. Cryo Wing Three lay ahead, a name he now understood far too well. Every time they took him there, they tested him. Drained him. Forced him to watch. But until now, he had seen no allies. Only victims and guards and monsters.

And now… this man, Korrin Vale. Shackled, bleeding, yet unbroken. Before he could speak, the overhead intercom crackled to life, the voice of Selene Kael — Chief Cryomancer, Head of Extraction, Malrik’s right hand and ice queen.

"Subject Z-13. Report to Cryo Wing Three, now."

The guards appeared like clockwork — black armor, visored helmets, stunlances ready, runebrands flaring across their gloves. They moved in a practiced formation, flanking Zarek as though he might erupt at any moment — and he might. As they seized his arms, he glanced back once.

Korrin met his gaze, unblinking. "You’ve got two choices," he said, voice low but clear. “Play their game until you’re ready… or die before you can strike back."

Zarek’s jaw clenched. "What makes you think I’m not ready?"

Korrin’s smirk widened. "Because you haven’t stopped shaking since you saw that frozen kid."

Zarek didn’t say a word. His silence was like a wall—solid and unbreakable. The guards didn’t wait. They grabbed him by the arms, their gloves cold and uncaring, like they were touching something already half-dead. His boots scraped along the floor, leaving smears of dirt and ash as they dragged him deeper into the facility. The hallway ahead looked like a throat, damp with moisture and strangely cold, as if the walls themselves were breathing. Somewhere far away, a scream echoed—sharp and human—but so warped by the twisting halls that Zarek couldn’t tell if it was real or just something in his head. Maybe both. The sound faded into the background noise—the low hum of machines and the soft hiss of vents that smelled like cleaning chemicals and fear.

When they reached the door, it was huge and smooth, glowing faintly with strange patterns of magic. It slid open with a sound like skin being torn off. Harsh blue-white light from Cryo Wing Three poured out, bright and cold, stretching shadows along the walls like ghosts frozen in place. Thin frost spread across the floor, moving slowly like it was alive. Zarek didn’t blink or turn away. He stared straight ahead, as if the light itself was judging him. But in his mind, he was still back in the dark room they had taken him from.

Something had been in that darkness. Watching him. He hadn’t seen it—but he knew it was there. The feeling was heavy, like blood, quiet like someone holding their breath too long. It waited in the shadows like a hunter. It didn’t move or speak—but it knew him. He could feel its stare, deep and strange, like fingers pressing inside his skull. It didn’t just look at him—it looked through him. And even now, as the freezing air of Cryo Wing Three bit into his skin and the door closed behind him with a hiss, Zarek could still feel it watching.

And Korrin’s final words echoed in his skull, a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled:

"Plant the seed, boy. And when it blooms, the whole underworld will burn."