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He died on the operating table. Not his patient. Him. Kael Vorryn was a trauma surgeon. He knew how to keep people alive. He was good at it. Then the ceiling of OR-4 came down and he woke up face-down in ash-grey soil with a creature three metres away finishing a meal that used to be a person. The world he has landed in is dying. A fracture in the energy lattice that powers every class, every skill, every ranked soul on the continent has been spreading for forty years. The Bleed, a corruption zone that mutates terrain and monsters and kills the unprotected, is consuming what remains. The government has been lying about how fast. Kael has been assigned a class: Gravewarden. Deprecated. Sealed. Only assigned eight times in two centuries. The previous seven are listed in the System's records as resolved. Not dead. Resolved. A Gravewarden's purpose is to walk into the fracture's origin point and seal it permanently. With their body. With their life. The System did not ask his permission. It simply sent him here. He has eighty-four percent of a resource he does not know how to conserve, a journal belonging to a dead man pointing him toward a woman named Threnody, a Pathfinder who is managing information he has not yet been told, and thirty-seven days before the corruption consumes the last Stable Zone. He does not know what he is walking into. He knows what it will cost. He walks anyway.

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