The sewers of Blackwall were a humid, stinking labyrinth that echoed with the frantic ringing of the city's alarm bells. Above, the High District was in a state of absolute terror; the pillar of fire that had erupted from the Willer Guild Tower had been seen for miles, a golden-violet scar against the industrial clouds. Below, Kael Light moved like a dying ember through the knee-deep sludge of the 'Gut's' drainage tunnels.
His body was a map of ruin. The "Supernova" spell had been a desperate gamble, a release of raw, uncontained "White Sun" energy that had scorched his lungs and left his skin covered in weeping, silver-white burns. Every step sent a jolt of electricity through his shattered nervous system. The Stasis Ring, now nothing more than a few jagged shards of white metal fused to his finger, was no longer doing anything to hide his presence. He was leaking mana like a ruptured boiler—a cold, heavy pressure that made the sewer rats shrivel and die as he passed.
THEY ARE CLOSE, KAEL, the God whispered, its voice sounding strangely muffled, as if the Star-Core's proximity was choking it. THE HOUNDS OF THE ACADEMY... THEY HAVE THE SCENT OF OUR AGONY. WHY DO WE HIDE? TURN AROUND. FEED THEM THEIR OWN HEARTS.
"Shut... up," Kael gasped, his hand clutching the Star-Core against his chest. The crystal was warm, pulsing with a steady, rhythmic starlight that seemed to be the only thing keeping his internal mana core from collapsing into a singularity.
He reached the rusted gear-sign of Silas the Cracked just as the first search party of 'Blood-Contracted' mercenaries entered the sub-levels. He didn't knock; he collapsed against the door, his weight forcing it open.
Silas was already waiting, his brass telescope eye spinning frantically as he took in the state of his visitor. The workshop was filled with the smell of ozone and a new, acrid chemical Kael didn't recognize.
"You're late, lad," Silas said, his mechanical arm clicking as he cleared a space on his central lead-lined table. "And you've brought half the Royal Guard with you. I can hear their boots in the tunnels."
"The... Star-Core," Kael wheezed, thrusting the pulsing crystal toward the Artificer.
Silas took it with a reverence that bordered on religious. His mechanical hand trembled as he held the artifact up to the dim lantern light. "Beautiful. Pure, concentrated stellar mana. It's enough to power a city... or to hold back a god." He looked back at Kael, his expression turning grim. "Get on the table. Now. If I don't start the grafting before the 'Mana-Burst' hits, we'll both be nothing but shadows on the wall."
Kael hauled himself onto the cold metal table. He felt the "Stable Agony" in his bones beginning to shift, the rhythmic cracking of his ribs signaling that the three-day countdown to the full moon had reached its final phase. He was at his most vulnerable.
"I have to open the housing, Kael," Silas said, reaching for a set of surgical tools etched with dampening runes. "The white metal is fused to your nerves. I'll have to cut into the mana-vessel itself. There's no anesthesia for this—if I dull your senses, your mana will lose its anchor and explode."
"Do it," Kael said, his voice a jagged rasp.
The procedure began as the sounds of the search party grew louder in the tunnels outside. Silas used a high-frequency vibro-blade to cut through the remaining shards of the Stasis Ring. As the metal was pried away, a gout of violet-marbled blood sprayed across Silas's apron. Kael's scream was a silent, bone-shaking vibration that made the clocks on the shelves stop mid-tick.
He felt Silas's mechanical fingers working inside the wound, scraping away the "Void-Iron" residue and prepping the bone for the new housing. It was a pain that transcended the physical; it was the pain of a soul being reshaped. Every touch felt like a white-hot needle being driven into his brain.
"The Star-Core," Silas muttered, his brass eye clicking as he focused on the delicate work. "I'm placing it in a 'Void-Iron' cage... it will act as a secondary lung for your mana. When the shadow surges, the starlight will filter it. It won't stop the pain, lad, but it will stop the leaking."
A heavy thud echoed against the workshop door.
"Open up in the name of the Willer Guild!" a voice roared from outside. "We know the wraith is in here!"
Silas froze, his hand hovering over Kael's open mana-vein. "Blast. They're here. I need five more minutes, Kael. If I stop now, the feedback will kill us both."
Kael tried to sit up, but his muscles were unresponsive, locked in the throes of the surgery.
Suddenly, a different set of voices rose outside.
"He isn't in there!" It was Martha. Her voice was thin but steady. "We saw the beggar move toward the South Tunnels. Why are you harassing a poor clockmaker?"
Kael heard the sound of a scuffle, then the heavy thud of a guard's boot hitting the ground.
"Move aside, old woman," the guard snarled.
"No," a younger voice added. It was the boy Kael had healed in the cellar. "The Saint of the Gut saved my life. You want him? You go through us."
Kael's eyes blurred with tears of blood. He could hear it through the thin walls—the sound of dozens, maybe hundreds of footsteps. The people of the slums, the laborers, the beggars, and the sick, were forming a human wall in front of Silas's door. They had nothing but their bodies and their rusted tools, but they stood against the 'Gold-Plated' mercenaries of the Willer Guild.
THEY ARE DYING FOR YOU, LITTLE SUN, the God mocked. THE SHEEP ARE STANDING BEFORE THE WOLVES. SHALL WE LET THEM BLEED?
"No," Kael whispered, his hand clenching the edge of the table so hard the metal groaned.
"Stay still!" Silas hissed, slamming a final rune-plate into the housing. "Almost... done!"
Silas grabbed a vial of liquid 'Stasis-Silver' and poured it directly into the open wound on Kael's finger. The metal solidified instantly, fusing the Star-Core to Kael's skeleton.
A pulse of pure, blinding white light erupted from Kael's hand, followed by a shockwave of deep, stabilizing violet shadow. The discordant whine of his mana core smoothed into a low, powerful hum. The "weeping" stopped. The violet lightning scars on his skin faded, replaced by a dull, metallic grey sheen.
The new ring was no longer a simple band of white metal. It was a complex, multi-layered apparatus of black 'Void-Iron' and pulsing starlight. It looked like a miniature galaxy trapped in a cage of shadows.
Kael sat up, the pain suddenly receding into a manageable thrum. He felt... balanced. For the first time since the ruins, he was in control of his own gravity.
He stood up, his grey cloak now a scorched rag. He walked to the door, Silas watching him with a mixture of fear and pride.
"I won't let them die for me," Kael said.
He pulled the door open.
The scene outside was a massacre in the making. A dozen mercenaries were shoving Martha and the others aside, their halberds raised to strike. The young boy was on the ground, a guard's boot on his chest.
Kael stepped into the dim light of the sewer tunnel. He didn't use a spell. He didn't even flare his mana. He simply stood there, his hood pulled back, revealing his new, reinforced ring.
"Let them go," Kael said.
His voice didn't just carry through the air; it vibrated through the water, the stones, and the very armor of the mercenaries. The guards froze. They looked at Kael—at the glowing black ring, at the calm, cold intensity of his violet-gold eyes. He no longer looked like a wounded beast or a weeping ghost.
He looked like an inevitability.
"It's him!" one of the mercenaries shouted, his voice cracking. "The Blood Weeper! Kill him!"
The guards charged. Kael didn't move until they were inches away.
With a flick of his wrist, the new Stasis Ring pulsed. Instead of a messy explosion, a single, razor-sharp ring of white-violet energy expanded outward. It didn't kill the guards; it struck their weapons and their armor, shattering the mana-receptive metal into dust. The mercenaries were thrown backward by the sheer kinetic force, their expensive gear reduced to scrap.
Kael walked through the crowd of stunned beggars. He reached down and picked up the boy, setting him back on his feet. He looked at Martha, who was staring at him with a look of pure, unadulterated devotion.
"Go home," Kael said softly. "The night is long, and I have work to do."
He turned back to the mercenaries, who were scrambling to find their feet. He didn't hunt them. He didn't need to. He knew they would run back to the tower. They would tell Sam what they had seen.
He walked back into Silas's shop, closing the door behind him. Silas was leaning against his workbench, wiping sweat from his brass eye.
"It's stable," Silas said. "The Star-Core is holding. But Kael... that surgery... it changed the way your mana flows. You aren't just an 'Age of Ash' mage anymore. You're something new. Something the world hasn't seen in a thousand years."
Kael looked at his new ring. The starlight inside was steady, but the shadow of the 'Void-Iron' was deep. He felt the full moon pulling at him, but for the first time, he didn't feel like he was going to break. He felt like he was being forged.
"What am I?" Kael asked.
Silas looked at the clocks on the wall, all of them now ticking in perfect, terrifying unison.
"A predator," Silas whispered. "A predator for a God."
Kael walked to the back of the shop, where a tall, narrow mirror stood. He looked at his reflection. He saw the scars. He saw the dark lines. He saw the boy he used to be, buried deep beneath the ice of his own vengeance.
He pulled his hood back up.
"Three days until the full moon," Kael said. "Three days until I show Sam the real meaning of wealth."
Volume 1 was reaching its crescendo. The "Saint" had been reforged, and the "Wraith" was no longer hiding in the shadows. He was the shadow.