Knees soft.
Breath low.
She lifts her hands.
And rips open a Gateway to the roaring, endless dark of The Perils.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Power always finds a way
To call its hungers duty’s name
The sunfinally slips beneath the horizon. Not all at once, and definitely not mercifully. But enough. Enough that the air loosens its grip on Elyssara’s lungs. Enough that the sand stops burning through leather and bone. Enough that shadows stretch long and forgiving across the outskirts of Azhareth.
Relief comes in pieces here. Never whole.
They crest a low rise and the city reveals itself—not just the pale stone walls that shroud Azhareth, but the sprawl beneath them.
Low homes pressed tight together. Canvas and clay and half-built stone. Cooking fires already lit. Children moving barefoot through dust that never quite settles.
This is not the advanced, wealthy continent Caeloria is sold as—this is the overspill of those who didn’t make it inside the walls.
“The Outside,” Kael murmurs, the words spilling from his lips in a low, solemn admission.
The Outside.
Elyssara’s eyes drag across the structures intended to be homes, but snag on a long line of people holding empty buckets.
A breath catches in her throat.
But before she can ask?—
“Water rations,” Kael explains. “A bucket for each family.”
But that’s not what Elyssara wants to know. That much she’d already gathered.
“And inside?” she presses, already knowing the answer.
“No limits,” Kael mutters.
Elyssara’s eyes drift closed in resignation—because leaders may be different, but their power always looks the same.
“And what determines if someone lives inside or outside the walls?” Elyssara snaps.
Kael doesn’t hesitate. “Usefulness to the crown,” he spits, disgust coating his words. “If you’re useful to the Crown, you live inside. If you’re necessary but invisible, you may work inside, but you will always live outside.”
Power always looks the same.
“So this wall is celebrated as safety, but it’s really just another way of having people crawl for the Crown?” Elyssara shakes her head in disgust.
“The walls have nothing to do with safety, El—they’re aboutselection,” Kael growls, and even in the fading light, Elyssara can see the veins that blacken at his neck.
Those who didn’t make the cut.
Those who are forced into a life beyond the boundary.
Elyssara feels it immediately—the difference between poverty born of scarcity, and povertyengineeredby power.
