The Shape of a Threat
The new threat did not hide.
It walked openly through the city at dusk, shadows bending around it with reverent ease.
Lumi felt it before she saw it—truth tightening, not in warning, but in recognition. Whatever approached was not wrapped in lies. It did not need to be.
"That's worse," she murmured.
Blake followed her gaze as the figure crossed into the lantern-lit square below the watchhouse. Tall. Unarmed. Cloaked in ash-gray, face uncovered and calm.
No fear. No reverence.
Only certainty.
"At twenty-nine," the figure called up easily, voice carrying without effort, "you learn that truth and lies are both tools."
Lumi stiffened. "You know my age."
"I know many things," the stranger replied. "Including how exhausted you are."
Blake's shadows flared instinctively. "You're standing very close to dying."
The stranger smiled faintly. "If that were true, prince, your sword would already be singing."
The Dreadsword was silent.
That silence rang louder than any threat.
The figure inclined their head. "I am Serath Vale. And I am not your enemy."
The truth stirred.
He believes this.
Lumi's stomach dropped.
Serath continued, pacing slowly, hands visible. "The Remnant fears you. The blade covets you. The realm reshapes itself around you both." His gaze sharpened. "I am here because none of that ends well."
"What do you want?" Lumi asked.
"To offer structure," Serath said. "Meaning. An ending that doesn't rely on faith."
The truth did not flare.
It did not contradict him.
Blake stepped forward, tension coiled tight beneath his skin. "You don't fear truth."
"No," Serath agreed. "Because truth alone does not save worlds."
Lumi felt the weight of that settle uncomfortably close to home.
Serath looked at her—not with awe, not with hunger, but with assessment. "You expose lies. You do not replace them. People need something to stand on once the ground is gone."
The truth whispered, uneasy.
He is not wrong.
Silence stretched thin.
"And what would you have us stand on?" Lumi asked.
Serath's smile deepened—not cruel, but deliberate. "Choice. Without illusion. Including the choice to let some truths die."
The night seemed to lean closer.
Blake's hand tightened on the Dreadsword. "That sounds like tyranny wearing softer clothes."
"Or mercy," Serath countered. "Depending on who survives it."
He stepped back, shadows parting easily for him. "Think on it. I'll return when the city stops bleeding from honesty."
With that, he turned and walked away—untouched, unchallenged.
The truth did not chase him.
Lumi exhaled shakily. "He scares me more than the Remnant."
Blake nodded slowly. "Because he isn't lying."
Above them, the stars dimmed—uncertain, watching.
For the first time since the war began, Lumi understood the shape of what truly threatened them.
Not deception.
But certainty that no longer needed it.