They ran through the corpse of the lower city.
Eldren's Reach had always been a maze of rot and desperation, but tonight it was a charnel labyrinth. Bodies hung from shattered windows like soaked laundry. Black veins pulsed across the walls where the Rift-mist had brushed stone. The air tasted of iron, ozone, and dying prayers.
Kael led them downward toward the ancient aqueducts. Every step drained him. The Hunger throbbed now—a second heartbeat pounding behind his ribs. Shadows slipped from him instinctively, trying to peel off and feast on anything warm (rats, corpses, Veyra's bleeding arms).
He held them down.
Barely.
Veyra jogged at his left, chains dragging sparks off the cobblestones—SKRRRNNNK—SKRRRNNK—like the city was flint and she was fire. Her breath came ragged, but her eyes burned with manic brilliance.
"Faster, pretty boy," she gasped. "I can smell the dogs. Silver collars. Blessed steel. They brought the Saint Hounds."
Kael didn't reply.
He was listening to something else.
A voice in the dark.
Not the Hunger.
Something older.
Something familiar.
…Kael…
He stumbled.
The shadows around his feet surged upward, forming a silhouette—a woman with long hair—before he crushed it flat.
Veyra shot him a look. "You good?"
"Fine," he lied.
Seraphine walked a dozen paces ahead, untouched by filth. Street fires dimmed and died in her wake, as if bowing.
She hadn't spoken since promising not to kill them until dawn.
They reached the gaping maw of the aqueduct—a stone arch strangled by centuries of moss, bone, and time. The reek of stagnant water punched them in the face.
Kael halted. Raised a hand.
Footsteps behind them—dozens—armor clattering, voices chanting scripture.
A low, wet growl echoed from the tunnels ahead.
Saint Hounds.
Massive beasts stepped into the torchlight—half wolf, half cathedral gargoyle. Silver fur shimmered like blades; molten-gold eyes tracked every heartbeat. Collars of glowing scripture carved light through the dark.
Between them walked a man in immaculate white armor. No helmet. Young. Beautiful in a sculpted, inhuman way. A golden circlet glinted against ash-blond hair.
Sir Alcris Valemont.
The Church's prodigy.
The Saint of Dawn.
And kael's former best friend.
Alcris smiled as if greeting an old friend for tea.
"Hello, brother," he said quietly. "You've been naughty."
Veyra spat blood. "Friend of yours?"
"Used to be," kael muttered.
Alcris's gaze drifted to Veyra—then to Seraphine. His smile faltered when he saw the witch.
"Seraphine Nocturne," he breathed, tracing the sign of the Eternal Light. "Then the seals truly are broken. Father was right."
Seraphine tilted her head. "Do you know my name, little saint?"
"I know what you did to the Third Kingdom."
"I did nothing," she replied. "I simply stopped pretending the world deserved saving."
Alcris rested his hand on the hilt of a sword made of solid dawnlight. "Step away from them, my lady. They've corrupted you. Let me free you."
Seraphine laughed—HAAAA…—like wind whispering through graveyard bones.
"Freedom," she murmured, "is the last thing I want."
Kael stepped forward. Shadows pooled around him, rising like a tide ready to drown the world.
"Alcris," he said. "Walk away."
"I can't. You know why."
"Because of House Voss? Or because you stabbed me first?"
Alcris's expression didn't change, but the Saint Hounds growled, scriptural collars blazing.
"I did what was necessary. Your father was opening Rifts. You were about to help him. I stopped a war."
"You framed me for murdering the Empress's daughter."
"She was already dead, Shade. The Abyss took her. I just… let you take the blame."
Silence—thick, suffocating—fell.
Even the rain seemed to pause mid-air.
Kael smiled. Small. Sharp.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For telling me."
Then the shadows erupted.
SHRAAAAAAAK—!!
Hundreds of tendrils burst outward, striking faster than human sight. The Saint Hounds lunged—golden jaws crushing through darkness that vanished before contact. Alcris's sword flared, carving a perfect ring of dawnlight that severed a dozen tendrils in a single sweep.
Veyra roared—GRAAAAH!!—charging forward, Wrathbinder igniting in a cyclone of pink fire.
Seraphine exhaled softly.
Raised a hand.
Erased the concept of distance between herself and three hounds.
POP.
They were gone. Not slain—unmade.
The aqueduct descended into a storm of light, fire, and hunger.
Kael fought like a man trying to kill a memory.
Every strike aimed at Alcris met that blinding sword. Every shadow that slipped past was burned away by scripture or dawnfire. Holy wards flared, searing black veins across the ground.
Alcris fought like an angel.
Calm.
Perfect.
Untouchable.
"You're holding back," Alcris murmured, slicing a tendril clean in two. "You still think there's something left of me to save."
Kael did not answer.
Instead, he loosened the leash.
The Hunger screamed in delight.
Shadows flooded from him in a tidal wave—thick, tar-dark, roaring voices layered over voices. The temperature plummeted. The ground split as titanic black hands erupted, slamming toward Alcris like falling mountains.
Alcris's eyes widened.
He raised his sword high. Dawnlight exploded into a miniature sun—
—and Seraphine stepped between them.
She touched one finger to Alcris's chest.
"Sleep," she whispered.
The sun died.
Alcris collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been severed. The Saint Hounds froze, collars flickering out.
Seraphine turned, black tears streaking her cheeks.
"You were going to lose," she said simply. "I don't enjoy losing."
Kael stared at her. The Hunger howled—frustrated, denied its prey.
Veyra limped over, one arm hanging crooked, thorns blooming across her face like crimson flowers.
"Touching reunion," she rasped. "Can we leave before saint-boy wakes up and starts crying again?"
Kael knelt beside Alcris. Removed the golden circlet from his brow. Crushed it with one hand—CRNK.
"Next time," he said softly, "I won't hold back."
He rose and walked into the aqueduct without looking back.
Veyra followed, dragging chains—CLINK… CLINK… CLINK.
Seraphine lingered, gazing down at Alcris.
"You still smell like hope," she murmured. "It's disgusting."
She snapped her fingers.
TCHK.
Alcris's dawnlight sword dissolved into rust and memory.
Then she vanished into the dark.
Behind them, the burning city roared louder.
And deep beneath the aqueducts, something with too many eyes and no mouth smiled at the taste of three names spoken aloud for the first time in centuries.
It knew where they were going.
It had been waiting a very, very long time.