The vellum was a hot coal in Kael's hand.
He didn't think. He didn't breathe. He shoved the scrap into his waistband and bolted.
The servant's passageway felt narrower now. The stone walls seemed to lean in, eager to crush the life out of him. His mind was a frantic blur of images. Julian's smug face, Lord Veridan's cold eyes, and the hooded man's dry, parchment voice.
The spark… They didn't just want a scapegoat. They wanted a narrative. The Null who hated the fire. The servant who bit the hand that fed him. It was a perfect story for the High Citadels. It was a story that ended with a hanging.
Kael reached the end of the corridor. He peeked through a brass spy-hole into the North Courtyard.
The sun was dipping low. The sky was a bruised orange, reflected in the polished obsidian floors of the manor. The courtyard was a masterpiece of House Veridan's vanity. Fire-lilies, engineered to glow with a soft, internal heat, lined the walkways. A central fountain tossed sprays of mana-infused water into the air, creating tiny, dancing rainbows.
Then he saw him.
Julian.
The heir was standing by the fountain. He looked agitated. He was tossing a small, glowing ember from hand to hand. Snap. Catch. Snap. Catch. He was waiting for someone.
Kael looked up at the balconies.
Lord Veridan's study was directly above. The heavy oak shutters were cracked open just an inch. A sliver of darkness peered out.
Kael's gut twisted. Get out. Run for the Lowlands. Don't look back. But the gates were barred. The guards were shifting. He could hear the clank of their armor echoing off the stone. They were sealing the perimeter. The trap wasn't just set; it was closing.
"Julian!"
Kael didn't recognize his own voice. It was a hoarse, desperate rasp.
He stepped out of the shadows. He didn't use the hidden door. He burst through the main archway, his bare feet slapping against the expensive obsidian.
Julian spun around. The ember in his hand flared bright white before being snuffed out. "You? Ghost? What the hell are you doing out here?"
"You have to move," Kael said. He was running now. His lungs burned. "Get away from the fountain. Now!"
Julian's confusion turned to a sneer. "Have you lost your mind? I told you to fix the draft, you useless…"
Whirrrrr.
The sound came from above. It wasn't human. It wasn't natural. It was the sound of a mana-vein being tapped too hard. A high-frequency vibration that made Kael's teeth ache.
The fountain didn't just stop. It imploded.
The mana-water turned into a jagged spray of ice and steam. The pressure wave knocked Kael off his feet. He skidded across the stone, his skin tearing.
Julian didn't move fast enough. He was a noble. He had lived his whole life believing the world would bend for him.
The heavy stone gargoyle perched on the edge of the Lord's balcony, a massive, snarling lion carved from igneous rock, didn't just fall. It was launched.
The impact was a dull, splashing thud.
The obsidian floor cracked. A spiderweb of fractures raced across the courtyard.
Kael scrambled up. The world was ringing. A high-pitched whistle dominated his hearing. Smoke… thick, acrid, and smelling of burnt ozone, filled the air.
"Julian?"
Kael stumbled toward the fountain. His vision was a smear of red and grey.
The lion gargoyle lay in a heap of rubble. Beneath it, a flash of Veridan silk stained red. Too much red.
Kael reached the pile. He grabbed a chunk of stone and heaved. His muscles screamed. He was a Null, but fear gave him the strength of a Spark-stage warrior. He tossed the stone aside.
Julian was there.
His legs were pinned. His chest was heaving in ragged, shallow jerks. His face, once so pretty and arrogant, was a mask of dust and blood. One eye was swollen shut. The other was wide, glassy, and filled with a terror so pure it made Kael's heart stop.
"Help..." Julian wheezed. A bubble of bright, arterial blood popped on his lips.
Kael reached down. He didn't think about the vellum. He didn't think about the trap. He saw a boy dying.
He grabbed Julian's arm and tried to pull.
The blood was hot. It was slick. It soaked into Kael's rough linen sleeve instantly, turning the beige fabric into a heavy, sodden weight.
"Stay with me," Kael grunted. "Julian, look at me!"
Julian's hand clutched Kael's forearm. His grip was surprisingly strong. A final, desperate spark of life. His amber eyes locked onto Kael's.
"Why..." Julian gasped.
Then, his hand went limp. The light in his eye didn't just fade; it vanished. The heir of House Veridan was gone.
Kael froze. He was kneeling in a pool of noble blood. His hands were stained to the wrists. His sleeve was a gory mess.
Silence descended on the courtyard. The ringing in his ears began to fade.
Then, the doors exploded outward.
"Julian!"
Lord Veridan's voice was a roar of grief and fury. He charged into the courtyard, followed by a dozen guards in full plate. The hooded man was there too, drifting like a shadow behind the Lord.
Kael tried to stand. His legs felt like water.
The guards surrounded him in a heartbeat. A forest of spear-points leveled at his chest.
"Get away from him!" one of the guards screamed. He kicked Kael in the ribs, sending him sprawling back into the rubble.
Lord Veridan fell to his knees beside his son. He didn't touch the body. He looked at the blood. He looked at the shattered gargoyle.
Then, he looked at Kael.
His eyes weren't filled with grief. They were filled with a terrifying, cold clarity.
"You," Veridan whispered. The word carried more weight than the stones that had killed Julian.
"It was an accident," Kael said. He held up his hands. The blood dripped from his fingers onto the obsidian. "The balcony... it just broke. I tried to pull him out."
"You tried to pull him out?" The hooded man stepped forward. He pointed a long, skeletal finger at Kael's sleeve. "With the blood of the heir on your skin? With the scent of sabotage in the air?"
"I am a Null!" Kael shouted. "I couldn't do this! I don't have the power!"
"Exactly," the hooded man said, his voice smooth as cream. "A Null's resentment is a poisonous thing. We found the unstable mana-crystals in the servant's quarters earlier today. We were too late to stop the tragedy."
Kael's stomach dropped. Planted. They had planted the evidence before the accident even happened.
Lord Veridan stood up. He didn't look like a grieving father. He looked like a judge.
"My son is dead," Veridan said. His voice was projected, carrying to the servants watching from the windows, to the guards, to the very walls of the estate. "Slaughtered by a rat we took into our home. A ghost who thought he could strike at the sun."
"I didn't do it!" Kael screamed.
A guard stepped forward and slammed the butt of his spear into Kael's temple.
The world turned into a kaleidoscope of pain and sparks.
Kael hit the ground. He felt the cold iron of shackles snapping around his wrists. He felt his face being pressed into the slick, bloody stone.
He looked up, one last time, through the haze of agony.
The nobles were closing ranks. Lord Veridan, the hooded man, and the senior guards stood in a tight circle around the body. They weren't looking at the loss. They were looking at each other, nodding in a silent, grim agreement.
The narrative was set.
The Null had killed the Heir.
"Take him to the Pits," Veridan commanded. His voice was devoid of emotion. "Let the Abyss have what's left of him."
As they dragged Kael across the courtyard, his blood-soaked sleeve left a dark, jagged trail on the obsidian.
He didn't look at the sky. He didn't look at the citadels.
He looked at his hands.
The blood was drying. It was turning into a crusty, dark shell.
And underneath that shell, for the briefest of seconds, Kael felt a strange, cold pulse.
A heartbeat that didn't belong to him.