The city of Kyraleth never slept. Even when its streets grew quiet and the echoes of voices faded, its shadows moved as though alive. Rhok walked them without hurry, without fear, though his body still ached from the forbidden chamber. His limbs carried a heaviness, not from wounds, but from something deeper, an exhaustion in the marrow, as though the gods themselves had drained him.He didn’t know why he lingered here. He should have left already, vanished into the wastes where the Church’s eyes could not follow. But curiosity clung to him. Kyraleth was a city of forgotten gods, and he wanted to see how deep that rot went.It didn’t take long before he found them, the worshippers.In a half collapsed square, lit only by cracked braziers filled with tar, men and women stood bare to the waist. Their skin was scored with burns, fresh and raw, bandaged poorly. One by one, they pressed heated irons to their flesh, then smeared the seared skin into the flames. Their voices rose in low chan

The queen’s summons came without ceremony this time. No guards lined the path, no banners hung, no courtly procession preceded it. A single messenger entered the chamber where Rhok was quartered and delivered the command with a bow so shallow it was nearly insulting.“Her Majesty requests your presence... alone.”The word alone lingered like ash in the air.Rhok rose without hesitation, brushing the dust of sleep from his shoulders. His eyes burned faintly in the candlelight, not with exhaustion, but with a quiet fire that had been smoldering ever since the Singers had marched through the streets, crying for his death. The people saw him as a harbinger now of ruin, of death, of the breaking of their fragile peace. And he… well, he hadn’t exactly denied it.The palace corridors stretched long and empty as he walked. His bare footsteps echoed against marble, the sound sharp in the silence. No courtiers whispered, no servants dared to glance at him. It was as if the entire city held its

The morning after the storm of blood and whispers, the city felt like it was holding its breath. The broken walls were patched with boards and prayers, and the sky above Namarast still carried the shadow of the Drowned Star. People whispered of it like a curse, like a thing that would not leave them alone as long as he was here.And that “he” was Rhok.The boy sat alone on the steps of a ruined shrine, staring at his hands as if answers might crawl out of his skin. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. His thoughts were only an echo, circling the same question again and again: Was he meant to live? Or was his life just a curse stretched thin across everyone who dared to care for him?He didn’t have time to decide.Because Veyra came.Her presence was not soft like a friend’s should be. She moved like a storm wrapped in human skin, her cloak snapping behind her as she crossed the empty square. Her boots cracked the stone with every step. The moment Rhok lifted his eyes to her, he knew this

Far from the fortress that Rhok rested within, in a fortress built upon pillars of bone and black stone, Emek stirred. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly in the darkness of her sanctum, a chamber without windows, where the ceiling was lost to shadows and the walls pulsed faintly like the inside of a living creature. She had been meditating in silence, listening to the countless whispers of the souls bound to her dominion. And then, suddenly, like a knife cutting through silk... something shifted.The brand she had placed upon Rhok vanished.Her eyes opened fully, the glow flaring into something violent. That mark had not been hers to forge, not entirely. Branding was no mortal trick, no curse woven by a mere sorcerer. It was divine, bestowed only upon those chosen by gods themselves. For centuries, she had believed it to be unbreakable. Eternal.And yet, Rhok had survived it.Emek rose slowly from her throne, the chains of her long robes scraping against the stone. Each sound was sharp i

The temple hall was lit by oil lamps, their flames quivering like nervous hearts. Stone pillars rose high into the darkness above, etched with prayers that had been whispered for centuries. Tonight, those prayers sounded hollow to Veyra. The voices of her sisters and brothers in faith echoed around her, sharp and accusing.“You walk too closely with him,” one priest hissed. His robes swayed as he pointed a trembling finger, as if Rhok’s shadow clung to Veyra like a stain.“You carry the stink of heresy,” another added. “Do you think the Nameless One will forgive you for aligning yourself with that… monster?”Veyra stood in the middle of them, her jaw tight, her hands pressed together to stop them from shaking. Her whole life had been here, the chants, the rituals, the endless search for purity. She had risen higher than most, chosen as a priestess when she was still young. And yet, standing here now, she felt nothing but suffocation.“You don’t understand him,” Veyra finally said, her