THE EXILED KING

IRON STREET'S CORE

A sharp clank echoed through the silence as Jethro’s knock landed with deliberate weight.

For a few seconds, nothing happened—only the cold air brushing their skin and the flickering of the stairwell lights high above.

Then, a faint mechanical whirring stirred from within the iron door.

At eye level, a small rectangular panel slid open with a hiss, revealing a dark hollow. From within it, a circular lens flicked to life—red, then blue, then clear.

A voice crackled through a hidden speaker: it was metallic, low, and sterile.

“Identify.”

Jethro took a single step forward, his posture was tall and sure. His voice, when it came, was firm but rhythmic, as though reciting a verse memorized long ago.

“Ink upon silence, kept where fire fears to feed. We come with minds unbound, our truths beneath.”

There was a pause.

The eye behind the lens shifted, examining Jethro, then darting briefly to Nolan.

Another second passed before the mechanical voice responded. “Your key is remembered.”

A series