The Sovereign Codex.

Right of Ruin

The golden words would not leave him.

Edrin stayed awake long after the quiet fell over the tent where others rested. A light hovered just above his chest, steady and cold, casting an unusual glow that flickered across the fabric of the tent, making the shadows in the corners clearer. When he turned his head, the words seemed to shift with him, behaving as if they had a life of their own. Closing his eyes, the words persisted behind his eyelids, intruding on the darkness of sleep he sought. The camp remained still, marked by a tranquility that felt heavy. Taren breathed steadily, a reminder of the normal world, while another man nearby murmured softly and rolled around in search of dreams. The light remained unseen by the others in the camp, a mystery known only to him.

He stared at the words until they burned into his mind, each letter pressing against his thoughts like it was freshly drawn on parchment.

Bearer: Edrin Rhal

Recognized Authority: 0

Recognized Followers: 0

Territory: None

Banner: None

Sovereign Fragments: 0

None of it made sense, the words laid out a riddle that taunted him with its glaring simplicity. He thought about how he could be called a Bearer when he felt completely insignificant. He reached out toward the light, hesitantly. His fingers passed through the gold as if it were smoke, cool and unyielding, and the words did not ripple at all. They remained solid against his touch as if they were carved from reality itself.

He spoke softly to them, desiring an answer.

No response.

He then focused on projecting his thoughts to the light as he had done before with a stubborn ox. Clear and firm. Focused. Every thought felt like a piece of himself pushed forward with all the strength he could muster.

In his mind, pages unfolded before him.

Most stayed locked. Thick bars of darker gold crossed them, impossible to break through and foreboding. There was no key. No explanation. Only one ability appeared open and visible.

[RIGHT OF RUIN]

The description that followed was sparse, almost bare, standing out against the bright illumination of the other phrases. It spoke of fallen Authority — a shadow of past power, of recognized command that had commanded respect at some point. Nothing more was mentioned. No assurance of strength. No promise of speed, which would have provided some comfort. No clear instruction on how to wield whatever power it claimed to have.

Edrin concentrated on the words until his eyes began to strain, feeling as if the implications pressed down on him like a mountain squeezing the breath from his lungs.

At first, he told himself that it was just a rare Mark that the stone had not shown. Some Marks appeared late; he had heard older men share tales of awakened Marks after battles or illnesses, stories passed around flickering campfires. That was the straightforward answer. The safe one.

But it did not feel right.

Normal Marks did not call their holders Bearers. Markholders—that was how his mentors categorized them, men with gifts that could alter reality. When he casually asked three different men the next morning between drills while metal clanged and laughter filled the air—none had ever heard of the words Sovereign Codex. Blank faces. Shrugs. One man laughed and told him to stop making up names for things that did not exist, dismissing his curiosity as mere folly.

He thought about telling Taren, a flicker of hope igniting at the idea, to share his burden with another soldier. But that thought rose and snuffed out in the same breath. If the officers learned he carried something none of them recognized, they would not see him as a soldier. They would see him as a specimen. Locked rooms. Questions that felt sharp. Knives if answers did not come easily. He kept his secret behind his teeth and said nothing, the words swirling in his mind like a storm.

Training marched onward, relentless in its discipline.

He ran the same circuits until his lungs felt ready to burst, each breath a reminder of his limitations, of a body that felt sluggish and heavy.

Lifted the same battered shields until his shoulders protested, muscles screaming at the unending repetition.

Took wooden blades against his ribs and arms, the stings a cruel reminder of his failures, his inadequacies. His body felt unchanged, no new strength in his legs to urge him forward. No sharper sense to catch the movements of other recruits. The Codex offered him nothing he could perceive when instructors shouted commands or when Cassian’s gaze lingered too long, a mix of admiration and judgment making him uncomfortable.

Day after day, the numbers stayed the same, stark and void of promise.

Zero Authority.

Zero followers.

Empty territory.

Empty banner.

By the fifth night, realization settled in like cold water, heavy and unrelenting. The device was useless, a hollow promise; a private glow only he could see, a list of emptiness that belonged to someone who had never wanted power and still received nothing.

He nearly accepted that as the truth.

Then Vaeron appeared in the training area without warning, cutting through the despair like a blade.

The commander’s boots kicked up dust that glimmered in the dim light. His expression held the same flat heaviness it always did, filled with authority and severity. He did not raise his voice, not needing theatrics; the entire formation froze the moment he halted before them, an unspoken reverence enveloping the squadron.

“Deployment schedules have changed,” he stated, the words hitting hard like a heavy weight.

“You were expected to remain here for several more weeks. That time has passed.”

Silence descended.

Edrin felt the tension shift through the ranks like a held breath, a collective pause conveying volumes. The northern border. A place veterans discussed only in whispers, their eyes clouded with memories of loss and fear. The area where the Dravaran lines awaited, smoke veils moving through the battlefield, and men returned thinner or not at all, each return a story marked with scars and silence.

Vaeron’s gaze took in every face, slowly and methodically, as if committing the moment to memory.

“Pack everything you own. You leave for the northern border tomorrow.”