Story
The boy's name was Renn, a gutter-born orphan sold to the Empire for a handful of coins. He ran with five others that morning, sent into the Necropolis with empty sacks and wide eyes. The sun was high. The spires loomed like spears.
They found coins that never tarnished. A golden mask shaped like a weeping face. Renn grinned. This was more than he’d ever seen, more than he’d ever dared dream.
But Arkin twisted his ankle on a broken stair. The others ran, bags full, light fading. Renn hesitated, looked back at the boy who had once shared his crust of bread.
They were still in the ruins when the sun slipped behind the jagged skyline.
The torches died all at once.
At dawn, there was nothing. Only the mask, lying on the stones, and a single footprint pointing deeper into the city.

Description

In the heart of the Great Empire lies the Necropolis, a vast, crumbling city of impossible scale and unknowable origin. It sprawls for leagues, its boundaries always cloaked in mist or shimmering heat haze, as though reality itself frays at its edges. No empire, kingdom, or scholar claims to have built it. It is not found in any of the historical texts. Even the oldest myths begin with its discovery, not its creation.

The Curse of Necropolis

The Necropolis is lifeless by day, quiet and still, its ancient buildings untouched by wind or weather, as though frozen in a moment before time itself began. But as the sun sinks below the horizon, a silence deeper than death takes hold, and the true nature of the city reveals itself.

Anyone caught within its borders after nightfall vanishes. Fires go out. Lanterns fail. Magic sputters. No screams are heard. Only silence. When light returns, the city is always unchanged, but the people are gone without trace, not even ashes left behind. Some claim that even shadows move against you, tearing the soul from the body. Others speak of invisible watchers, and cities beneath the city, where things older than gods whisper in languages never spoken by man.

There is no shortage of theories, but no evidence for any of them.

The Treasures Within and the Runners

It was from this haunted ruin that the Great Empire drew its first blood-gold. The bones of the Empire’s greatness were built on the treasure hauled from the dead city. At first, the scavenging was safe, limited to the sunlit outer edges. Over time, desperate to grow richer, the Empire drove slaves deeper into the city. Few ever did come out, but the riches they carried were undeniable, jewels the size of fists, precious metals, abstract artifacts.

The city is a maze, always different, always similar, yet familiar in its monstrous scale. Some believe it watches those who enter. Experiments were conducted. Slaves were chained in place, surrounded by fire and torchlight. The lights died as the sun set. The next morning, nothing remained. No sign of struggle. No blood. Just absence.

Now, centuries later, the outer wards are empty and stripped. Only fools and glory-seekers venture inward. Still, the lure remains strong, for all believe the greatest treasures lie untouched near the heart, at the spire that looms like a black tooth over the ruined city. But no one has ever reached it and come back.

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