THE LAST GODSLAYER

Chapter 5 - THE WEIGHT OF NAMES

The crimson eyes vanished.

Not by blinking.

They simply... ceased to exist.

Hans rushed outside.

The night air struck his face as he scanned every rooftop surrounding the bakery.

Nothing.

Only rows of dark chimneys.

Rain dripping from worn roof tiles.

A lone cat darting between narrow alleys.

No footsteps.

No cloaked figures.

No glowing eyes.

Behind him, the Commander stepped into the street.

"You saw something."

Hans nodded.

"Someone was watching us."

"Where?"

Hans pointed toward the roof opposite the bakery.

"There."

Several White Inquisitors climbed onto the surrounding buildings with astonishing speed.

They searched every corner.

Every shadow.

Every possible hiding place.

After several minutes, the youngest returned.

"Nothing."

The Commander wasn't surprised.

"There never is."

---

Back inside the bakery, the recovered journal lay upon the table.

No one touched it.

Not even Aurelius.

The High Priest studied the ancient cover for a long time.

Then he quietly asked,

"Has it written anything else?"

The Commander shook his head.

"No."

"It stopped after the second message."

Cassian looked toward Hans.

"What about you?"

Hans understood.

He meant the vision.

For a moment, he considered remaining silent.

Then he remembered Aurelius' words.

**Careful truths are still truths.**

"I saw someone."

The room immediately became still.

The Commander folded his arms.

"Describe him."

"I couldn't see his face."

"What could you see?"

"A battlefield."

"A black sword."

"A man."

He hesitated.

"He said..."

Hans swallowed.

"...that he was what I become."

Silence.

The youngest Inquisitor looked visibly unsettled.

Another quietly made the sign of the Twelve Gods over his chest.

Only the Commander remained calm.

"What else?"

"Nothing."

"Did you recognise him?"

Hans answered honestly.

"No."

"But..."

"It felt..."

He struggled to find the words.

"...lonely."

That answer surprised everyone.

Cassian had expected fear.

The Commander had expected power.

Instead...

Hans had noticed loneliness.

Once again.

---

Far beneath the Temple...

In a chamber forgotten by history...

Another crack appeared across one of the enormous chains.

This time...

It did not stop.

The fracture slowly crawled along the entire length of the black metal.

Ancient runes dimmed.

One by one.

Until...

With a deafening sound that no living person heard...

The fourth chain broke.

The sword resting upon the stone altar remained motionless.

Yet...

A single thread of crimson light escaped from its blade.

It drifted upward.

Passing effortlessly through stone.

Through earth.

Through the foundations of the Temple.

Until...

It vanished into the night sky.

---

Miles away...

In the deepest part of the Blackwood Forest...

A young woman stopped walking.

She wore a travelling cloak faded by years of wandering.

A longbow rested across her back.

At her waist hung two curved knives.

She couldn't have been older than twenty.

The crimson thread of light appeared before her.

Floating silently.

She stared at it.

For several moments...

Neither moved.

Finally...

She smiled.

"So..."

"...you've finally awakened."

She reached toward the crimson light.

It circled her hand once.

Then shot north like a falling star.

Without hesitation...

The woman followed.

---

Back in Asterion...

The Temple's investigation continued throughout the night.

Every gate remained closed.

Every servant questioned.

Every record searched.

Temple Knight Garrick stood alone in the Hall of Records.

Thousands of scrolls lined the walls.

He searched one section repeatedly.

Birth records.

Sixteen years ago.

The page he wanted...

Didn't exist.

Someone had removed it.

Not recently.

Years ago.

He quietly closed the register.

"They erased you."

A voice answered from the darkness.

"They erased more than that."

Garrick spun around.

The elderly caretaker stood at the end of the aisle, leaning on his old broom.

The knight frowned.

"I've never seen you before."

The old man chuckled.

"You've seen me."

"You've simply never looked."

Garrick studied him carefully.

His face...

His voice...

Nothing seemed familiar.

Yet...

Something felt strangely out of place.

"Who are you?"

The caretaker smiled.

"A librarian."

"This isn't the library."

"I know."

"Then why are you here?"

The old man looked toward the missing record.

"Because someone finally noticed the empty page."

Before Garrick could stop him...

The caretaker turned the corner.

Only...

When Garrick followed a heartbeat later...

The corridor was empty.

No doors.

No windows.

Nowhere to hide.

The old man had vanished.

---

Dawn broke over the capital.

Hans hadn't slept.

Every time he closed his eyes...

He saw the battlefield.

The man with the black sword.

The endless silence.

Old Bram's empty bakery suddenly felt much larger than it had before.

Much lonelier.

A knock came at the door.

Hans opened it.

Father Cassian stood outside.

Beside him...

Was the Commander.

Neither looked pleased.

"The council has reached a decision."

Cassian said.

Hans folded his arms.

"What decision?"

The Commander answered.

"You can't remain here."

Hans looked around the bakery.

"This is my home."

"It was."

The Commander's voice remained calm.

"It isn't safe anymore."

"I can defend myself."

"Against trained assassins?"

Hans said nothing.

Cassian stepped forward.

"This isn't punishment."

"It's protection."

Hans looked from one man to the other.

"Where would I go?"

The Commander exchanged a brief glance with Cassian.

Then he spoke two words.

"Blackwood Forest."

Hans frowned.

"I've never been there."

"No."

The Commander replied.

"But someone there..."

"...has been waiting for you."

Hans's eyes narrowed.

"Who?"

The Commander looked toward the distant tree line beyond the city walls.

For the first time...

A faint smile appeared beneath his porcelain mask.

"That..."

"...is the one question I can answer."

He looked back at Hans.

"Your first teacher."

Hans's heartbeat quickened.

Teacher?

He had never trained.

Never studied.

Never held a sword.

So how could he already have one waiting?

Before he could ask another question...

The Temple bells rang once.

Not in warning.

Not in celebration.

In mourning.

The sound echoed across the kingdom.

Every citizen paused.

Every priest lowered their head.

Every White Inquisitor turned toward the heavens.

And somewhere...

Far above the clouds...

A fifth throne became empty.

The mourning bell rang twelve times.

Each toll rolled across the Kingdom of Asterion like distant thunder.

Shops closed without being ordered.

Farmers removed their hats.

Even children who didn't understand its meaning instinctively fell silent.

Hans watched the people through the bakery window.

"They don't know."

Father Cassian stood beside him.

"No."

"They think the Temple is mourning a great priest."

"They aren't?"

Cassian slowly shook his head.

"They're mourning something far older."

Hans looked at him.

"You knew another god would die."

"I feared it."

"What's the difference?"

Cassian answered quietly,

"When you know a storm is coming..."

"...you still hope the wind changes."

---

The Commander stepped outside the bakery.

Two White Inquisitors were already waiting.

"The horses are prepared."

"Good."

"The eastern road?"

"Cleared."

"The western road?"

"Watched."

The Commander frowned.

"Watched?"

The younger Inquisitor nodded.

"We found signs."

"What signs?"

"Three different camps."

"No fires."

"No tracks leading away."

"They're observing the city."

The Commander remained silent.

Three different groups.

Three different directions.

They weren't working together.

Which meant one thing.

The hunt had begun.

And every faction wanted Hans.

---

Inside the Hall of Twelve Flames...

High Priest Aurelius stood before the eight remaining elders.

A massive map of the known world covered the stone table.

Several small markers had been moved overnight.

The Kingdom of Asterion.

The Blackwood Forest.

The Ashen Mountains.

The Frozen Sea.

A red stone rested upon each location.

One elderly priest looked exhausted.

"Another death..."

"We cannot survive this."

Aurelius answered calmly.

"We've survived worse."

"No."

The old priest whispered.

"We survived because they stopped."

He looked toward the empty ceiling.

"What if they never stop this time?"

No one answered.

---

Hans packed quietly.

There wasn't much to take.

Two spare shirts.

His grandmother's old cloak.

A whetstone.

A small sewing kit.

The note Bram had left behind.

Finally...

He reached into his pocket and removed the strange coin he had found beneath the library floor.

The silver tree shimmered faintly in the morning light.

He turned it over several times.

Still no writing.

Still no value.

Yet...

Something about it felt alive.

He slipped it back into his pocket.

Without knowing why...

He felt as though losing it would be a terrible mistake.

---

Before leaving...

Hans walked upstairs one final time.

Old Bram's room remained untouched.

He sat on the edge of the bed.

For years...

This little bakery had been his entire world.

The smell of fresh bread before sunrise.

The sound of Bram complaining about flour prices.

The laughter of children waiting for warm rolls.

Simple things.

Ordinary things.

Things he had never imagined missing.

His eyes settled on a framed piece of parchment hanging beside the bed.

It wasn't expensive.

Just a faded recipe written in Old Bram's untidy handwriting.

At the bottom...

One sentence had been added later.

> **"A loaf is only worth baking if someone smiles when they eat it."**

Hans smiled despite everything.

"You old fool."

He carefully removed the parchment from the wall.

Folded it.

Placed it inside his bag.

---

Outside...

The Temple carriage waited.

It wasn't ornate.

Plain wooden panels.

No royal crest.

No Temple insignia.

Designed not to attract attention.

The Commander looked at Hans.

"We leave now."

Hans climbed inside without complaint.

Cassian followed.

Four White Inquisitors mounted horses around the carriage.

The gates slowly opened.

The journey began.

---

High above the city...

Someone watched them leave.

The cloaked rider from the northern plains stood atop the highest abandoned watchtower.

The chained wooden case remained strapped across his back.

Beside him...

His living shadow rippled across the stone.

"They're moving."

The shadow's voice sounded almost amused.

"Earlier than expected."

"They're frightened."

"They should be."

The rider looked toward the Blackwood Forest on the distant horizon.

"The old wolf won't surrender the boy."

"No."

The shadow agreed.

"But he might fail."

For the first time...

The rider smiled.

"I hope he doesn't."

---

Hours passed.

The capital slowly disappeared behind rolling hills.

The road narrowed.

Forests grew thicker.

Hans remained quiet throughout the journey.

Watching.

Listening.

Learning.

His grandmother had once told him,

*"You learn more by listening than speaking."*

So he listened.

The White Inquisitors barely spoke.

When they did...

It was with strange phrases.

"Second watch."

"North clear."

"Trail untouched."

Short.

Precise.

Professional.

The Commander eventually noticed Hans observing them.

"You've been counting."

Hans looked at him.

"Their footsteps."

"They all walk differently."

The Commander raised an eyebrow.

"And?"

"The youngest favours his left leg."

"The woman keeps checking the trees."

"The man at the rear never looks forward."

"He watches behind us."

Silence followed.

Finally...

The Commander asked,

"How long have you been watching people like that?"

Hans shrugged.

"Since I was little."

"Why?"

"So I knew who was dangerous."

The Commander slowly nodded.

"How often were you wrong?"

Hans thought carefully.

"Sometimes."

"But never twice."

The Commander looked away.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

---

Near sunset...

The convoy reached an ancient stone bridge crossing a fast-moving river.

The Commander suddenly raised his hand.

Every horse stopped instantly.

No commands.

No confusion.

Only perfect discipline.

Cassian frowned.

"What is it?"

The Commander climbed down from his horse.

He knelt near the centre of the bridge.

There...

Barely visible against the weathered stone...

Lay a single white feather.

Hans looked around.

"There aren't any birds."

"There don't need to be."

The Commander's voice became colder.

He picked up the feather carefully.

The moment it left the bridge...

It dissolved into silver ash.

The wind carried it away.

The Commander closed his fist.

"They know our route."

Cassian's expression hardened.

"How close?"

The answer came from above.

"Closer than you think."

Every head snapped upward.

A lone figure stood atop the bridge's highest arch.

A young man.

Perhaps nineteen.

Dressed entirely in black.

No armour.

No mask.

Only a long coat fluttering in the evening wind.

He smiled as though greeting old friends.

Then his gaze settled on Hans.

"So..."

He laughed softly.

"...you're smaller than I expected."

The White Inquisitors drew their weapons in one fluid motion.

The stranger didn't even flinch.

Instead...

He slowly raised one hand.

Balanced between his fingers...

Was a fresh loaf of bread.

Old Bram's mark was burned into its crust.

Hans's heart stopped.

The young man's smile widened.

"I believe..."

"...this belongs to someone you know."

The loaf of bread spun once between the stranger's fingers.

He caught it effortlessly.

The familiar mark burned into its crust left no room for doubt.

Old Bram had baked it.

Hans took one step forward.

"Where is he?"

The stranger sighed dramatically.

"No greeting?"

"No introduction?"

"I was beginning to think your reputation had been exaggerated."

Hans's voice hardened.

"Where..."

"...is Bram?"

The young man tilted his head.

"I like that."

"No fear."

"Just priorities."

He tossed the loaf gently into the air.

It landed perfectly in his palm again.

"I'll answer your question."

A brief pause.

"When you've answered one of mine."

The White Inquisitors tightened their formation around Hans.

The Commander spoke first.

"State your name."

The stranger looked genuinely surprised.

"Really?"

"That's your first question?"

He laughed.

"I thought the White Inquisitors would have better manners after all these centuries."

His smile faded.

"But..."

"If you insist."

He placed a hand over his chest and bowed with exaggerated politeness.

"My name..."

"...is Kael."

No family name.

No title.

Just Kael.

Hans watched him carefully.

There was something strange about the young man.

He stood alone against six trained fighters.

Yet he wasn't tense.

He wasn't arrogant either.

He looked...

Comfortable.

As though this meeting had unfolded exactly as he expected.

---

The Commander took a single step forward.

"You crossed Temple jurisdiction."

Kael shrugged.

"I crossed a bridge."

"You abducted a civilian."

"I rescued an old baker."

Hans's eyes narrowed.

"What?"

Kael looked directly at him.

"You don't actually believe I kidnapped him..."

"...do you?"

The certainty in his voice gave Hans pause.

Not because he trusted Kael.

Because he was trying to remember something.

The bakery.

No blood.

No signs of struggle.

Only interrupted work.

And Bram's note.

**Don't follow. Stay alive. Trust no one.**

If Bram had written it under duress...

Why had his handwriting remained so steady?

Kael noticed the doubt flicker across Hans's face.

"There it is."

"The first crack."

Cassian stepped forward.

"Enough games."

Kael sighed.

"I agree."

His smile vanished completely.

"So let's stop pretending."

He looked at the Commander.

"You know exactly who I work for."

Silence.

The Commander didn't deny it.

Kael nodded.

"I thought so."

---

The evening wind swept across the bridge.

The river below crashed against ancient stone.

For several long moments...

No one moved.

Then Kael casually tossed the loaf toward Hans.

Instinctively, Hans caught it.

Still warm.

Freshly baked.

Impossible.

It had left the bakery only hours ago.

Tucked beneath the loaf was a folded piece of parchment.

Hans unfolded it.

Only one sentence had been written.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

Old Bram's.

> **I'm alive. Don't waste your life looking for me. Walk your own path.**

Hans read it twice.

Then a third time.

Cassian quietly asked,

"Is it genuine?"

Hans nodded.

"I think so."

Kael smiled.

"It is."

---

The Commander lowered his white staff slightly.

"If he's alive..."

"...where is he?"

Kael looked toward the distant forest.

"Safe."

"With whom?"

"I can't tell you."

"Won't..."

Kael corrected.

"...not can't."

The Commander studied him.

"Why contact us at all?"

Kael's expression became serious.

"Because we're running out of time."

He looked directly at Hans.

"You think everyone is searching for you."

"They're not."

"They're searching for what wakes up..."

"...when they find you."

Those words settled heavily over the bridge.

Hans felt the strange coin in his pocket grow warm.

Not hot.

Warm.

As if responding to Kael's voice.

Without thinking...

He slipped a hand into his pocket.

His fingers touched cold metal.

The instant they did—

The coin vibrated.

Once.

A soft silver light escaped between Hans's fingers.

Kael saw it.

His eyes widened for the first time.

"No..."

He whispered.

"You already have it."

The Commander turned sharply.

"Have what?"

Kael ignored him.

Instead, he stared at Hans.

"Where did you find the Seed Coin?"

Hans slowly withdrew it.

The silver tree shimmered beneath the fading sunlight.

Every expression on the bridge changed.

Cassian's face lost its colour.

The White Inquisitors instinctively stepped backwards.

Even the Commander looked genuinely shocked.

Only Kael laughed.

A quiet...

Disbelieving laugh.

"Of course."

"It chose you."

Hans looked from one face to another.

"What is this?"

No one answered immediately.

Finally, the Commander spoke.

"Put it away."

"Why?"

"Because if anyone else sees it..."

He looked toward the forest.

"...they'll stop trying to capture you."

Hans frowned.

"What do you mean?"

The Commander's voice was grim.

"They'll decide it's safer to kill you."

---

Before Hans could respond—

The air changed.

Every horse became restless.

Birds burst from the trees lining the river.

The water below began to swirl unnaturally.

Kael's smile disappeared.

"They're here."

The Commander immediately raised his staff.

"Defensive formation!"

The White Inquisitors moved without hesitation.

Cassian pulled Hans behind the stone railing.

"What is it?"

Hans asked.

No one answered.

Across the river...

The forest fell silent.

Not a natural silence.

An empty one.

Then...

A single figure stepped from between the trees.

An old man.

Barefoot.

Wearing simple grey robes.

He carried no weapon.

No armour.

Only a walking stick.

He looked harmless.

Almost frail.

The moment Kael saw him...

His face turned pale.

"No..."

"Not him."

The Commander whispered something Hans couldn't hear.

Cassian's grip tightened on Hans's shoulder.

"You know him?"

Hans asked.

Cassian's answer was barely audible.

"I hoped..."

"...he was only a legend."

The old man stopped at the edge of the river.

He looked across the bridge.

Not at the Inquisitors.

Not at Kael.

Directly at Hans.

Then...

He smiled.

Kindly.

Like a grandfather greeting a child.

His voice carried effortlessly across the roaring river.

"Hans."

It was the first time a complete stranger had spoken his name...

As though they had known each other for a lifetime.

The old man planted his walking stick into the earth.

The river instantly became still.

Every wave.

Every current.

Every ripple.

Stopped.

As though time itself had forgotten how to flow.

The old man spoke one final sentence.

"I've waited..."

"...far too long …”