"Everyone saw her," Kael added, his suspicion replaced by a desperate kind of hope. "Kaelus paraded her through the Main Street. They took her to the Obsidian Spire. They say she holds the key to the Silent God's ascension."
Elara straightened up. She picked up her weapon, but this time she didn't aim it at Zoran. She looked at him, the hard shell of the survivor cracking just enough to let the light in.
"If you really are who you say you are," Elara said, her voice steadying, "then maybe... maybe our parents didn't die for nothing." She gestured to the door. "We know the paths the guards don't watch. We'll get you to the Spire."
Meanwhile, within the Obsidian Spire.
Queen Eliana knelt on the cold floor of a circular chamber. The room was devoid of furniture, save for a single, high throne carved from black meteor rock.
Before her stood a figure that made the air taste of ash.
Malakor.
He was not merely a man; he was a void in the shape of one. He wore robes that seemed to be woven from shadows, and his face was a mask of pale, flawless porcelain that revealed no emotion. In his hand, he held the Edict of Solmir. The iron pendant looked small and dull against his pale skin, yet he looked at it with terrifying reverence.
"A simple thing," Malakor said. His voice did not echo; it seemed to originate from inside Eliana's own mind. "A piece of iron to lock away a world. Your husband was a fool to think this could keep us out forever."
Eliana raised her head. She was pale, her energy drained by the journey and the oppressiveness of the city, but her royal gaze remained unbroken.
"Avelon was a King," she said, her voice steady. "He fought for life. You fight only to consume it."
Malakor turned his porcelain face toward her. "I do not consume, Queen Eliana. I refine. The Goddess left this realm a wasteland. I brought order. And now, with this Edict, I will bring that order to Terra."
He stepped closer, the shadows of his robe uncoiling like snakes.
"Your son comes," Malakor observed, as if commenting on the weather. "I can feel his little light scratching at the darkness of my city. It is... irritating."
"He is not just a light," Eliana whispered, a small smile touching her lips. "He is the fire that will burn this shadow to the ground."
Malakor laughed—a sound like cracking bone. "Let him come. A moth always flies to the flame, believing it can conquer the heat. He will find only his ashes here."
Back in the slums.
The city was a maze, but Kael, Rian, and Elara moved through it like ghosts. They led Zoran and Vorn away from the wide, patrolled avenues and into the narrow, suffocating alleyways where the buildings leaned together like conspiring giants.
"Watch the puddles," Rian warned quietly. "Some are acid runoff from the forges."
They moved swiftly, avoiding two patrols of the Hidden Society. The orphans knew exactly when the guard shifts changed and which shadows were deep enough to hide a man of Vorn's size.
After an hour of navigating the filth and darkness, the alley abruptly ended at a rusted grate.
Elara pointed upward.
"There," she whispered.
Zoran looked up. Looming over the slums, separated by a wall of black iron, was the city center. And rising from the middle of it was the Obsidian Spire. It was a twisted tower of black crystal that spiraled into the sky, pulsing with a rhythmic, violet light.
It was beautiful, and it was terrifying.
"That is where they keep the 'special' prisoners," Kael said, spitting on the ground. "Top floor. The Chamber of Silence."
Zoran stared at the tower. He could feel his mother's presence there, faint but alive. He felt the weight of Vorn's hand on his shoulder and the expectant gazes of the three orphans who had risked their lives to bring him here.
He tightened his grip on his sword. The time for hiding was over.
"Thank you," Zoran said to the children. "Get to safety. The sky is about to break."
As the children melted back into the shadows, Zoran looked at Vorn, his eyes hardening into cold gold.
"She is there, Vorn," Zoran said, his voice low and dangerous. "And Malakor is waiting."
Vorn drew his great sword, the steel humming in the dark. "Then let us not keep a god waiting."