From Cursed Scum to Supreme Sovereign

The High Priest’s Decree

The shackles cut deep, each jolt of the chain sparking fire in Kael’s wrists as the guards dragged him up the temple steps. The stones beneath his feet had been worn smooth by centuries of pilgrims— people who had come here seeking blessing, forgiveness, or the spectacle of punishment.

The Temple Square yawned open before him, a hollow carved into the bones of the mountain. And it was full— so full Kael couldn’t make sense of it at first. Thousands of faces, pressed tight against one another, filling tiers carved from rock, spilling into balconies and rooftops. They leaned against iron rails meant to keep them off the sacred floor. He had never seen so many eyes, and every single one of them seemed to want him dead.

High above the crowd, the stone gods stared without blinking. The Radiant Father with his hand forever raised in blessing. The Merciful Mother with arms spread wide. The Stern Judge, sword and scales frozen mid-balance. They had been carved long before Kael’s curse, before the Eclipse Mark ever scarred flesh. Yet somehow, their blank stone gazes felt sharpened just for him.

“Move,” one of the guards snarled, shoving him forward. The chains rattled, loud as bells in the sudden hush.

At the center waited the altar— a block of white marble stained by centuries of sacrifice. Beyond it rose the Sanctum of Luminar itself. Its spires climbed so high, Kael thought the sky must ache from the weight. Sunlight caught the glass windows, breaking them into rainbows that scattered across the square as if the gods themselves had come to watch.

The doors of the Sanctum opened. High Hierophant Malrick appeared, white robes trailing like snow. His staff, tipped with a crystal swollen with light, seemed almost alive— pulsing, humming, making the air itself quiver.

The crowd stilled as one. Not even a cough broke the silence.

“People of Eryndor.” Malrick’s voice boomed, carried by stone and design until it seemed the mountain itself spoke. “Bear witness to the will of the divine. Behold how the heavens test those who dare to draw breath in cursed flesh.”

His gaze slid across the square and found Kael. The boy felt pinned to the stone, the burn beneath his collar sharpening into pain. The Eclipse Mark throbbed, eager, as if it recognized its enemy.

“Look,” Malrick thundered, staff pointing straight at him, “and see ruin given form. Marked at birth with shadow’s sigil, tainted with corruption, bound to hunger that would devour all light.”

The words rolled out heavy, carried across every tier. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, a field bending under sudden wind.

“The very day he drew his first breath,” Malrick declared, “the Veil itself trembled. Crops failed. Infants were still in their mothers’ wombs. The sacred bloodline of Draven was fouled.”

Kael’s lips moved before he could stop them. “That’s not true.” The words barely made a sound, swallowed by the roil of voices.

A woman in the front row spat at his feet. “Cursed spawn!”

“Drive him out!” a man bellowed from the upper seats. “Let the Blightlands claim their own!”

Malrick lifted his staff, and the noise cut off as if a blade had sliced it. “Peace. The divine wisdom surpasses mortal fear. If shadow clings to this child, then by sacred trial shall it be tested. Light itself will judge whether he stands or falls.”

He descended the temple steps with the deliberate grace of a hawk circling prey. With each step, the crystal burned brighter until Kael had to squint against it.

“Trial by combat,” the High Priest pronounced. “Beast against beast. Corruption against corruption. Let the righteous see the verdict of heaven.”

From the noble tier, laughter spilled down. Not cruel, not even harsh… just bright, careless laughter, the kind reserved for games.

Aelric Draven lounged on an ivory chair, hair catching the sunlight like a crown he hadn’t yet earned. Nobles crowded around him, silks and velvet glowing, gems glittering at every hand.

“My lords,” Aelric called, his voice carrying with the ease of someone who had never been ignored, “shall we wager? I’ll place fifty crowns that he doesn’t survive the first charge.”

Laughter. Rings flashing as Lord Garrett leaned forward. “Too generous, Your Grace. Twenty breaths, no more.”

“Ten,” sang Lady Morwyn, her laugh like chimes. “Look at him shake already.”

“Five,” Lord Thorne tossed in, his boyish voice still cracking. “Five breaths, then silence.”

“Three,” Aelric said, his grin sharp as a blade. “Three breaths and the curse ends. Who matches me?”

Gold purses opened. Servants scribbled bets. Divine justice was reduced to numbers and laughter.

“Four!” someone shouted.

“Two and a half!”

“Do screams count as breaths?”

Their laughter fell like arrows.

In the common tiers, the talk was different.

A merchant’s wife clutched her shawl. “What if it spreads? What if watching damns us?”

“The priests know their work,” her husband answered, though the words carried more hope than faith.

“My grandmother said cursed blood draws demons,” a young mother whispered, clutching her infant tight. “What if they come here?”

“Hush,” scolded an elder. “The High Priest speaks for the Light.”

But doubt had already sunk its teeth in.

A sound pierced it all. A whimper.

Fang.

The pup had wriggled past guards, pressing against the iron barrier, claws scraping uselessly for purchase. His eyes locked on Kael, desperate, loyal. Guards lunged, but Fang darted between boots, stubborn as only the starving could be.

“No,” Kael whispered, chains biting as he strained forward. “Go home. Please.”

The pup whined again, trembling, unwilling to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Kael breathed, his words meant for Fang alone, for the loyalty that should never have been wasted on him. “I’m sorry for everything.”

At the altar, Malrick planted his staff. The crystal flared, searing white. He began to chant in the tongue older than kingdoms, words that made the stone underfoot hum.

Umbras revelat, shadows unveiled…

Lumine judicium, by light be judged…

Sanguis maledictus, cursed blood…

Morte aut vita, death or life…

Each syllable threaded into Kael’s bones, vibrating in marrow and blood. The Eclipse Mark flared back, burning, whispering in a voice like grinding stone. Promises curled at the edges of thought… power, vengeance, freedom.

All he had to do was reach.

The chant ended.

Malrick’s eyes fixed on him, pale and cold, but there was something else beneath the calm surface… something hungry. Plans within plans.

“Let the trial begin,” the High Priest declared.

He lifted his staff. The crystal blazed like a caged star.

Beneath the temple, iron groaned. Ancient gears shrieked as doors unlocked. The sound of chains rattled from the dark below, thick as tree trunks. Claws scraped stone, deliberate, patient.

The crowd held its breath.

From the depths came a snarl that belonged to nightmares.

The beast was coming.

Kael’s chest tightened, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, he understood what had always been true: his death had been chosen long before this square, long before his first scream as an infant.

This wasn’t judgment.

It was an execution dressed in light.