The chamber beneath the citadel was not meant for living men.Its ceiling arched too low, its walls too close, as though the stone itself had been carved to remind anyone who entered that power was never freely given—it was contained, constrained, watched. Ancient lanterns burned with a dull amber glow, casting long, distorted shadows that clung to the corners like things afraid to be seen.Michael stood at the center of it all, feeling the weight of the place press against his ribs.He had been in battlefields that roared with chaos and blood. He had faced enemies whose hatred was clear and honest. Yet this—this quiet, suffocating stillness—unnerved him more than any blade.Behind him, the stone door sealed shut with a heavy, final thud.Clara flinched.The sound echoed far longer than it should have.Jonathan was the first to speak. “That wasn’t necessary.”Alistair, standing near the far wall, didn’t turn. “It was inevitable.”Michael clenched his jaw. “You said this was a council

The stairway into the city spiraled downward like a throat swallowing light.Torches burned along the walls, but their flames leaned inward as Michael, Clara, Jonathan, and Alistair descended, as though drawn by the gravity of what was about to unfold. Each step carried them farther from the shelter of the citadel and closer to the living pulse of the capital.The hum Michael had felt on the terrace grew louder.Not sound—intent.By the time they reached the lower gates, the night air was thick with bodies and breath. The eastern square had swollen into a restless mass of people: merchants clutching ledgers, guards gripping spears too tightly, women whispering prayers, men arguing in sharp, fractured tones. Torches flared like anxious stars.And when Michael stepped into view—The noise faltered.It didn’t stop. It bent.Clara felt it instantly. Conversations thinned into murmurs. Faces turned. Recognition rippled outward—not everyone knew his name, but they knew who he was supposed t

Night did not fall so much as settle—layer by layer, like ash drifting down after a distant, unseen fire.The square unraveled slowly, unevenly. People left in fragments rather than crowds, as though something intangible had fractured the sense of collective safety. Some walked briskly, eyes fixed ahead, clinging to denial like a lifeline. Others lingered in tight, murmuring clusters, replaying the stranger’s words with hushed urgency, hoping repetition might dull their edge.Michael stood motionless at the center of it all, the hum inside him no longer subtle. It pressed against his ribs, steady and immense, like the low vibration of a vast engine that had finally been awakened after centuries of silence.“This city won’t sleep tonight,” Jonathan muttered, rubbing his palms together as though trying to warm them. “You can feel it, can’t you?”Michael nodded slowly. “It’s not restless,” he said. “It’s… attentive.”Alistair’s head snapped toward him. “Careful.”Michael met his gaze wit

The city did not sleep.Even as the bells fell silent, the glow beneath the streets continued to pulse—slow, deliberate, as though the city were testing its own breath after a long silence. The light did not spread further. It stabilized. Held. As if waiting.Michael stood at the edge of the platform, the wind tugging at his coat, carrying the scent of stone, smoke, and something older—something awakened but not yet unleashed.Behind him, Clara felt the shift before she fully understood it. The air had changed. Not colder. Not warmer.Heavier.“Something crossed a line,” she said quietly.Jonathan glanced over the edge, then toward the horizon where the city’s glow dissolved into darkness. “Yeah,” he muttered. “And whatever it is, it didn’t come alone.”Alistair had not moved since the bells stopped. His posture was rigid, his gaze fixed beyond the city limits, where the darkness seemed unnaturally dense—too uniform, too intentional.“The city has spoken,” he said at last. “Which mean

The threshold did not open.It listened.Clara felt it the moment she stepped forward—an almost imperceptible resistance, like a held breath pressed against her sternum. The fractured sky above the sanctuary slowed its churn, light and shadow hesitating in a delicate suspension. Even the wind seemed to pause, as though waiting to see whether she truly meant what she had said.We go forward.Alistair moved to her side, his presence steady but taut. “Once we commit,” he said quietly, “there is no guarantee the path will remain singular. Thresholds multiply under pressure.”Clara didn’t look away from the widening seam in the air ahead of them. It hovered several feet above the altar’s ruins, a vertical wound stitched with pale fire. Beyond it lay depth without distance—an inward fall that made her stomach twist.“I’m not asking for guarantees,” she replied. “I’m asking for direction.”Alistair’s lips pressed into a thin line. He raised his hand, palm open, fingers trembling faintly. Sym