The hero killed me once. Now he calls me brother and trusts me with his life. Death hurts more the second time. The first time, it was fire and steel and a blade driven straight through my chest by a man who believed he was saving the world. I remember the cheers afterward, the sky split with divine light, the gods watching from above as if they’d just enjoyed a performance written for them. The second time, there was no blade. There was only breath rushing back into my lungs like an insult. I gasped. My eyes flew open, sucking in air so sharply my ribs burned. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar—polished stone carved with noble sigils, not the scorched obsidian throne room where I’d last stood. Sunlight spilled through tall windows, soft and warm, mocking the memory of my execution. I wasn’t dead, that was my first thought. My second was worse when I remembered everything. The battlefield. The hero’s face twisted with determination, The way my warning died in my throat was

I couldn't sleep after what happened. I sat on the floor until dawn, back against the wall, one hand pressed to my chest as I could physically hold the seal in place. It burned so much. Not like fire—fire was honest. This was pressure, slow and deliberate, as if something inside me was stretching after a long confinement, testing the limits of its cage. King....The whisper came again, clearer this time. I ground my teeth. “Shut up.” The ember responded with a pulse that sent pain down my spine. My vision blurred for a second. I tasted iron. This was the danger the gods feared. Not my strength but my control. Or rather, the moment I lost it. In my past life, power had been instinct. Breathing, commanding armies, bending the land, silencing gods who thought themselves untouchable. I hadn’t needed to think about restraint because I’d already accepted the role they’d forced onto me. Now? Now I had something to lose. A knock sounded softly at my door. I stiffened. The ember fla

The first thing I learned about divine surveillance was this: It hated silence. Not quite—silence. The kind that existed beneath thought, beneath intention. The space where even fear held its breath. That was where I hid. I sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of my room long after midnight, candle unlit, curtains drawn tight. Eron slept in the adjoining chamber—at least, I hoped he did. I’d dosed his tea lightly, just enough to keep his dreams shallow and unmarked. If the Watch saw him dreaming again, they might reach deeper. And I wouldn’t allow that. I slowed my breathing until my heartbeat faded into the background. Then I went inward. Carefully. The seal was there—an enormous construct buried beneath layers of flesh and borrowed humanity. It wasn’t divine in design. That much was obvious now. The gods hadn’t created it. They had reused it in the old, crude, and violent. A prison built by enemies who didn’t understand what they were locking away—only that they were

The morning air was thick with anticipation, as if the world itself had held its breath. I could feel the Watch everywhere—threads of divine light coiling invisibly through the stone walls, through the air, even through Eron himself. Every pulse of his heartbeat, every subtle motion, was being recorded, measured, and judged. Eron stood beside me, wooden sword in hand, jaw tight with determination. His divine mark pulsed faintly on his chest, an innocuous glow to any normal observer—but not to me. I had felt it awaken overnight, subtle at first, then unmistakably alive. And now… it wanted more. “Kael…” His voice trembled, barely audible. “I can feel it… something inside me, stronger than before. It wants to move.” I froze, watching the faint glow spread across his chest. My ember stirred violently in response—not fully unleashed, just enough to coil beneath my skin like a caged serpent testing its limits. He’s awakening faster than I thought. The courtyard, lined with other cho

The heavens did not strike. They waited, that was worse. The rift above the courtyard trembled, light folding in on itself like a wound refusing to close. Divine pressure pressed down on stone and bone alike, heavy enough to make the priests weep and the trainees tremble. I felt its fingers at my throat. Then boots Steel on stone. Orderly, Measured, and Human. The sound cut through the divine hush like a blade. Eron’s grip tightened on my sleeve. “Kael…?” I didn’t answer, I didn’t have to because I already knew. The gates of the courtyard burst open. Not with chaos but with discipline. Rows of armored figures marched in formation, tabards snapping white and gold, sigils of the High Church emblazoned across polished breastplates. Lances of sanctified steel caught the fractured light overhead. It was the Church knights, not inquisitors and not priests but Executioners. At their head rode a woman astride a pale warhorse, helm tucked beneath her arm. Her hair was braided tig