I don’t wait.I bolt for the doorway, stepping nimbly over debris.The guards’ armour will only slow them down; I make use of my own weightlessness, sprinting until the gap between us widens into a chasm.
The half-lit corridors feel eerie, the usually brilliant hallways obscured by smoke that drifts like graveyard fog.My scar burns hotter the closer I get to the trail she left behind—as if it knows where I’m going before I do.
I can almost feel her—a pull beneath my ribs, like gravity finally choosing a side.My spectacles slip down my nose as my speed increases, my hair whipping in the tailwind of my own momentum.
The passage splits ahead: one stairway rising toward the sunlit courts, the other descends into the belly of the city.A streak of darkness seeps down the lower path, pulsing faintly as if it were a living vein.
Behind me, the Luminaries’ voices echo.Guards shout orders, their armour chiming in a discordant rhythm.Calis’s shrill prayers compete with Solmir’s wet, rattling groans.The hymn of a dying order.
I look once at the light
Then turn, and follow the dark.
28
URI
The light tastes of ash.
The chamber still smoulders, the scent of molten gold clogging the air.I stand where the dais once gleamed, looking down at what remains of Solmir.His blood has cooled to a dull silver, its brightness diminished.In death, he is finally pure—no pride, no noise, only reflection.That, at least, is useful.
Calis kneels a few steps away, her hands shaking over the shards of her broken mask.She tries to piece it together, each movement a prayer, as if faith can be mended by holding the fragments.
“He was always so fiery,” I murmur.“No wonder he burned out.”
She ignores the jab.“This is sacrilege made flesh,” she whispers, her voice raw.“A creature like that should not be able to kill one of us.How did this happen so easily?”
“I don’t know.But the Light will pass judgement, and when we find her, so will we.”I keep my tone soft.Consoling.Always mercy before the blade.“Panic serves no one, Calis.The city needs calm.The people must believe the Triarch remains unbroken.”
“I am calm!”she screams, clutching the remains of her mask.
She rises.Her white robes are smeared with the remnants of Solmir’s life.Behind her shadowed gaze, I see a new and terrifying desperation.“The Sun is dead, Uri.You speak of calm while his blood stains our marble?”
“The Light has many suns,” I reply, fighting to contain my smile.She always forgets that.“Some are simply brighter than others.”
Her breath hitches—half anger, half grief.“You mean to conceal this?”
“We mean to preserve faith—to do Solan’s bidding.Would you have the masses see chaos when they look upon the Guild?”I edge closer, hands outstretched as if in a prayer.“Tell them what they must hear: that Solmir ascended in radiance.That his death was renewal, not defeat.A new Luminary will be born from his embers, and the sun will rise stronger for the sacrifice.”If a replacement is even required.
I take her hands; they are warm and smooth.“We shall give him the procession the city needs to see; and then we will offer his body back to the Lumen Well.”
Truth is only dangerous when people expect it.
Calis hesitates, biting the inside of her cheek.She has always been more of a zealot than a strategist.She looks to Solmir’s body sprawled on the dais steps, the molten silver drying to a dull, grey powder.At last, she nods.“Then we will call the priests.The purification rites must begin at once.”
“Of course,” I say, bowing my head.“You read the rites.I will prepare the decree.”
She sweeps from the room, mask in hand and dust lining her cheeks.She pauses at the door, her golden gaze drifting to Solmir in a silent, furrowed farewell.
When she is gone, I let my own mask fall into my hands; the gold is still warm from my skin.In the warped reflection of Solmir’s blood, I see the faint outline of a girl—dark hair, eyes burning with violet intensity, shadows curling at her feet.
“You can run, but the shadows won’t hide you for long,” I whisper to her ghost.
My fingers trace the remaining quicksilver.It clings to my skin, warm and almost alive.It hums faintly, answering something deep within me.I remember the way Seren looked when she drew for me—so trusting, so easy to manipulate.I remember how the air shifted when she spoke of her visions.I can feelitin her: something vast and patient that once spoke the language of the gods.
Even light casts a shadow.Such simple blasphemy, and yet it rang like a prophecy.
“You belong to me,” I murmur, staring at the remains of Solmir’s blood on my finger.“All miracles do.”
