“No,” Zarrek said. “You gave false hope.”
Kail’s breath caught. The wind howled between them. Zarrek’s tone changed—no longer a soldier’s fury, but a man’s final vow.
“I will not stand by while you destroy her from a distance. You think she’ll be safe in some cushy house in the capital? Wake up, Resh. What doyou think will happen when someone sees her bring a tree to life? Or save a field of dying crops?”
Kailorien didn’t speak.
Zarrek cursed, voice low and furious. “You heard the Riftwardens. They’re not the only ones with opinions. They’ll call her a heretic. The kindling of old magic. And you won’t be there when the torches come.”
Kailorien’s hands fisted. “She’ll have new papers. A quiet identity. The people there—”
“The people,” Zarrek said, “are afraid of what they don’t understand. The first time she heals a sick child with a touch, the first time she casts without thinking—” He stopped. “She’ll be alone. And it’ll break her.”
Kailorien closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
Just to breathe.
“I’d rather she hate me,” he said, “than bury her.”
The grizzled old warrior stared at him, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice had cooled. Hardened.
“Varn’ekir,” he hissed. “Youcoward. You don’t get to decide her fate just because you’re afraid of what you’d lose.”
Kailorien almost snapped back, almost lunged for words that would wound in return. But the silence between them was crushing.
The doors burst open. A Reskala warrior from the Vanguard made his way toward them in hurried steps, his breath fogging in the air. “Your Quintessence,” he said, saluting. “A Mandate arrived. Sealed by the Sovereign Flame. The War Hall awaits your decree.”
Kailorien nodded without a word and made his way toward the halls. Zarrek fell into step beside him before he reached the upper corridor. Neither spoke. A chill had fallen over them both that had nothing to dowith their argument. Shu'Khan—his brother—had sent a Mandate? This late into the Campaign?
He only bothers when word has reached him of a significant find. A relic or artifact that would benefit him.
His hand clenched into a fist. Had word of Auryn reached him, then? Was he already laying claim to her? Void damn it all. This wasexactlywhat he'd tried to avoid. Exactly why Zarrek waswrong.Krystopolis would devour her, and his brother…
Kailorien's second hand clenched.
He and Zarrek walked on. Tense, the unspoken words between them growing into a soundless scream.
The War Hall of Stonewake was a narrow, spined chamber—its ceiling high, its banners stripped, its windows narrow slits that let in only silence and cold. Once, this room had held strategy councils, rune briefings, and oaths sworn in blood. Now, it held only memory.
And one seal.
An ornate scroll sat upon the stone dais beside the massive fluxhearth, its wax unbroken. Violet and sun-stamped. It pulsed with runic heat. Kailorien approached. Zarrek's eyes burned into his back. He broke the seal, and the parchment unfurled with the whisper of silk.
He read it silently once.
Iridias Savarax — Our brother,
We look forward to your return. Long have you been away to war for the sake of the Crystal City. The Council grows restless as the Shields show signs of decay. Inch by inch, they creep inward, and Draevan Sol continues to stir unrest among the Council. We trust you still remember what happened the last time the Shields decayed too far. Thousands lost, turned to ash in moments as the magic failed.
Much has changed since you have been away, Iridias. The Flaeme grants the Lifegivers less usable Breeding stock each Cycle. The Council fears it is the lack of Estâr that is to blame. Without the Resh’Agar, the Companions grow restless.
But We suspect the truth of things. For this Campaign, you have taken too many souls with you to the Surface. The resource must now be returned to the city, where it belongs. The Shields, strained as they are, consume more essence with each passing Season, and without fresh returns to the Flaeme, the balance of the city falters. Even a minor deficit could hasten collapse. Should the stock return with you, they will likely live another decade before their souls return to the Flaeme to form new life. Therefore, We must—with a heavy heart—pass down a Mandate.
Kailorien read the final sentence and stopped.
Read it once more in silence.
