Greyspire should have been empty.
A dead tower.
A sealed Wound.
A place the empire feared too much to touch.
But the moment the trio stepped onto the last ridge overlooking the fortress, the air changed.
SFX: …whunnnng…
A deep pulse rolled across the earth, too even—too measured—to be the Wound.
Veyra stopped mid-stride. Chains lifted from her shoulders like snakes tasting the air.
"…That wasn't it," she muttered. "That wasn't the Rift."
Seraphine narrowed her eyes.
"It's timed," she said. "Artificial. Someone built this sound."
Kael's stomach tightened.
Greyspire was awake—
but not for them.
For someone else.
A Path That Should Not Exist
A path now wound from the base of the ridge to the tower's single door.
It had not been there yesterday.
Fresh black gravel, newly poured, still steaming.
Veyra snorted.
"How generous. They rolled out a carpet for us."
Seraphine's hair floated upward, static snapping between strands.
"No. They're herding us."
Kael's ribs burned—his ancestral tattoos rearranging again, but wrong this time.
Jerky. Interrupted. Like something else was forcing them to move.
The letters clawed across his skin:
STOP.
STOP.
STOP STOP STOP.
His breath hitched.
"It's not greeting us," Kael said quietly.
"It's warning us."
Too late.
The Doors Open Themselves
SFX: KRK-KRRRRRRRNNN—
The fortress door split down the middle and peeled back like rotting bark.
A violet glow spilled out.
But it wasn't Wound-light.
It was torchlight—
hundreds of them, burning blue.
Veyra frowned.
"Since when does your family use torches?"
Kael shook his head.
"They don't."
Seraphine drifted forward.
"No. But the empire does."
And then the chains sprang.
The Ambush
The ground exploded in a perfect circle.
SFX: WHAMMM-BOOOM!
Runes lit beneath their feet—an Imperial net-array, old war magic used to capture titans.
Invisible chains of force whipped upward, slamming around Veyra's limbs, her throat, her waist.
She roared and thorns burst from her skin in a crimson bloom—
—but the chains did not break.
They tightened.
Every time she struggled, the runes sang louder.
Seraphine flickered, trying to dissolve into light—
—but sigils carved into the air grabbed the unraveling strands of her body and forced her back into shape.
She gasped, clutching at her chest.
"They're using anti-Seraphic containment magic—my magic—how—"
Kael was already half-shadow, trying to slip under the net, but the array pulsed and ripped him back into solidity with a sound like tearing wet paper.
He hit the ground hard.
SFX: THUD—
Dozens of armored figures stepped out from behind the rocks and pillars.
Not soldiers.
Paladins.
Gold fused to bone.
Helms melted into their faces.
Eyes replaced with rotating scripture wheels.
Three of the new Saints stood at their front—silhouetted against the tower like idols carved from living dawnlight.
Veyra bared her teeth.
"YOU."
The Saints spoke in one voice—time-stretched, hollow, choir-layered.
"THE EMPEROR SENDS HIS WARM REGARDS."
The net pulsed.
All three were yanked to their knees.
Kael Realizes the Truth
Kael tasted blood.
Not from the fight.
From the Hunger.
It knew something he didn't.
It whispered it into his ear like a secret from a childhood dream:
He knew you would come.
He planned for you.
He has the other half of your shadow.
Kael froze.
"…No."
Seraphine turned toward him, eyes wide.
"What do you mean—?"
But the paladins were already moving.
Dragged Into the Tower
They approached Kael first.
Six of them.
Each grabbed a different piece of him—arms, hair, throat, shadow, ribs, the tattooed script crawling under his skin.
He struggled—
SFX: GRRRN-NNNGH—
—but the net's magic crushed the shadow inside him flat, pinning it like an insect.
"LET GO!" Veyra screamed, straining hard enough to rip her own muscles. "GET YOUR HOLY HANDS OFF HIM!"
A Saint backhanded her.
She hit the ground so hard the Glass Plains cracked.
Seraphine thrashed against her bindings, fingers sparking black-white.
"Touch him again," she hissed, "and I will erase your entire bloodline—"
Another Saint tightened the containment sigils.
Her scream tore the air.
Kael fought until the paladins forced his face into the gravel.
The door yawned wider.
A cold voice drifted out, perfectly calm.
"Bring my prodigal son inside."
Kael froze.
It wasn't the Wound.
It wasn't any god.
It was human.
The Emperor.
Inside Greyspire
The paladins dragged Kael across the threshold—
boots thudding, armor grinding, his shadow leaving black smears on the stone.
SFX: SCRRRAAAP-thud-SCRRAAAP—
The interior of the tower was wrong.
Hallways bent in directions that broke depth perception.
Staircases folded into themselves.
Doors opened into screaming mouths.
They dragged him downward.
Far downward.
Each step pulsed with runic chains that wrapped tighter around his tattoos, forcing them still.
He heard Seraphine and Veyra behind him—
fighting, cursing, breaking things—
but farther and farther away.
Until their voices vanished.
Only then did a new sound rise from below:
SFX: clink… clink… clink…
Chains.
Old ones.
The dungeon.
The Cell
The paladins threw him inside like trash.
SFX: THUD-SKID—
Cold stone.
Iron spikes.
Air smelling like old blood and broken promises.
The door slammed.
Heavy bolts locked.
And in the darkness, a man's silhouette stepped forward.
Tall.
Imperial armor.
Crown of molten scripture.
Eyes of gold.
Not a Saint.
Not fully human either.
The Emperor smiled.
"Hello, Kael.
My most disappointing weapon."
Kael hissed through his teeth.
"You planned this."
The Emperor nodded.
"I planned you."
He leaned forward.
"And now, my boy… the Wound won't be the only thing that eats tonight."