The Obsidian Dominion

Bloodlines and Broken Blades

"I would rather watch the capital burn to ash than spend one more second sharing your blood."

Jesse’s voice didn't shake. It rose through the choking gray fog like a prayer, cold and razor-sharp, cutting straight through the rhythmic clinking of the Sovereign Guard’s armor. They stood perfectly still, their knuckles white where they gripped the strap of their pack, staring at the golden-clad inquisitor who had just destroyed their entire life with a single, elegant smile.

"Don't be dramatic, little sibling," Lysander Grey said, his tone entirely too smooth, too casual for a man standing on the lip of the world's grave. He took a slow step forward, his polished boots crunching on the dead grass. "The family didn't sell out. We negotiated. There is a vast difference between cowardice and survival, Jesse. The lower realms are already rotting. Why should the capital drown with the gutter?"

"You sacrificed them," Jesse whispered, their chest heaving as the horrific truth finally settled into their bones. "The archives, the rifts... you didn't send me to fix anything. You used me to herd the vessel right to your doorstep."

"And you did it beautifully," Lysander smiled, extending a gloved hand toward the cracked brass sphere lying in the dirt between them. "Now, pick up the relic and step over to my side of the line. The Court has reserved a villa for us in the inner sanctum. You can forget all about this mud. You can be a Grey again."

"He's going to kill us, Jesse," Jack rasped from Draven’s shoulder. His face was a terrifying shade of gray, the black glass from his waist now crawling aggressively up his ribs, locking his spine into a stiff, unnatural curve. He spat a mouthful of dark, metallic blood onto the grass, his eyes burning with a desperate, frantic intensity. "Draven... use the voice. Tear this whole battalion apart. Do it now."

"I can't, Jack," Draven muttered, his teeth grinding together so hard his jaw ached. He held Jack tightly with his good arm, his left hand radiating a fierce, uncontrollable violet fire that hissed against the damp air. "A command this size... against a full battalion... the feedback loop will kill you before the words even leave my mouth. The connection is too tight."

"I don't care!" Jack screamed, his fingers clawing into the fabric of Draven's shirt, his voice breaking with pure panic as he felt the cold glass creeping toward his lungs. "I’m already turning into a statue! I am not going to sit here and let some noble prick execute us like cattle! Wipe them out!"

"Jesse," Lysander ignored the shouting entirely, his focus locked exclusively on his sibling. His face softened into an expression that looked disgustingly like genuine affection. "Think about what you're doing. You're standing with a monster who doesn't even remember his own name and a peasant who is five minutes away from becoming gravel. Come home."

Jesse looked down at the cracked brass sphere, then back up at the brother who had raised them, the brother who had taught them how to hold a blade and how to read the stars. A deep, devastating fracture opened up in their eyes, a lifetime of loyalty dissolving into pure, unadulterated disgust.

"You really think I want to live in a gilded cage built on the corpses of a million people?" Jesse asked, their voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating whisper.

"I think you want to live," Lysander said softly, taking another step closer, his hand drifting open in an invitation. "That’s all that matters. Hand over the artifact, Jesse. Let the vessel do what he was manufactured to do."

Jesse slowly bent down. Their fingers closed around the cold, cracked casing of the brass sphere. They stood up, their head bowed, their silver hair falling over their face as they took a slow, deliberate step toward the silver wall of the Sovereign Guard.

"Jesse, don't," Draven warned, his glass arm groaning as he prepared to lung forward, regardless of the cost to his own soul.

"Stay back, Draven," Jesse whispered, not looking back. They kept walking until they were standing less than a foot from Lysander, their eyes finally lifting to meet their brother’s triumphant smile. "You always told me that a true Grey never leaves a debt unpaid."

"Exactly," Lysander beamed, reaching for the sphere. "I knew you would see reason—"

Jesse didn't hand over the relic. Instead, their left hand shot out from beneath their cloak, the silver blade of a concealed hunting dagger catching the dim violet light of the sky.

With a raw, guttural scream of pure rage, Jesse drove the blade straight through the seam of Lysander’s golden armor, burying the steel deep into his left side.

"The Grey name dies with honor!" Jesse shrieked, twisting the hilt with everything they had left.

The silver wall of guards erupted into a chaotic frenzy of shouting and drawing steel. Lysander gasped, his eyes widening in absolute shock as he stumbled backward, his hands instantly flying to his bleeding flank. He looked down at the blood coating his fingers, then up at Jesse, his face twisting into something monstrous and feral.

"You little idiot," Lysander choked out, a dark, thick stream of crimson spilling past his lips. He let out a sharp, hysterical laugh that turned into a wet cough. He raised his right hand, his fingers curling into a brutal, decisive gesture as he looked past Jesse’s shoulder toward the rows of archers lining the ridge behind him. "Fire."

The command echoed through the fog like a death sentence.

Draven watched the archers draw back their bows, the tips of the heavy iron arrows glowing with the cold, lethal light of high-realm enchantments. There was no cover. There was no retreat. He looked at Jesse, who was standing frozen in the middle of the field, and then down at Jack, whose breathing was becoming shallower by the second as the black glass pressed against his chest.

Draven closed his eyes, took a deep, agonizing breath of the ash-filled wind, and forced his consciousness fully into the bleeding heart of the Dominion. He knew what this would do. He knew the world would never be the same after he spoke, but as the first volley of arrows left the bows, he opened his mouth to let the god speak.