Page 280 of Sokâr

The Godblind, by Void’s mercy, endured, returned now to its rightful place within the sanctum of the Jade Lattices.

The Sokâr lives.

Though marked, though scarred, her light remains. She rests beneath the Shields and recovers, her voice a prayer against the silence left in the wake of the Dissolution.

And the Resh’Agar — our Aegis, our Sovereign Arm — has spoken. When the Dark has nearly run its course, when the stars bend low and the Void’s gaze looks kindly upon Krystopolis once more, he will depart. With the breaking of Dark, he will march forth upon Campaign, to strengthen our bonds with the Gliders and to scour the dissenters who would gnaw at the roots of our great city.

It is no delay, no hesitation, but prophecy. The Arm of the Void waits not on mortal schedules, but on the rhythm of the Cycles themselves. As the Dark wanes, so shall his justice rise.

May the Void bless his Arm with Strength and Might.

May the Shields endure until his return.

60

Unraveled

The Commons were unusually silent for the late hour as Auryn crept through their streets with Lu’ma at her side. Though Curfew was still hours away, few Crafters had set up their stalls to trade. House doors and windows were barred. Temple stairs lay empty, their shining black marble mirroring the fading morning light.

No matter. Auryn had not come to these streets to spend Gleams on silks and ores. She'd snuck out of the Lattice with a specific purpose this day, pushing through her aching body and depleted reserves to carry out a vital task. She touched the necklace at her throat, the Roanwood's magic tingling at her fingertips. Though she'd set certain secret plans into motion months ago, she'd put off this project for too long, choosing her role as Sokâr over her place as Kailorien's Bonded. But with the Resh'Agar set to depart for his Campaign in less than three months, she could not delay her research any longer.

In the wake of the Dissolution, the city had adopted an unnatural hush. The Council hid in their Lattices, making excuses, unwilling to hold any sessions in the Axis Hall. Perhaps afraid to show their faces. To be associated with Sevrion and his corruption. Or because they knew that if the Sokâr spoke once more at the Circle of Rule, she would formalize the Mandate of the Unbroken Shields and shake the foundations of the Doctrine forevermore.

Not that they were whole. Not anymore.

The Law of Eight had broken with Zeera's death, and the Companions had gone back to their homes in their respective districts. Hiding. Or biding their time, perhaps, until they could start over and conspire again. With the highest-ranking Companion deceased and no available vessel to take her place, Thalune had been named Chosen. Though, rumor in the Lattice spoke of Liora gaining favor and moving up in rank to take her place. For better or worse, the gap in power would be filled. Whether it was one Companion or another, it wouldn't make a difference. Once Estâr was abolished, they could rot in their perfumed halls, drinking tea and basking in the sun for the rest of their days.

Quite cold of you, emberling. Did you not pity them once?

Vargrún's voice surprised her. He'd been eerily silent the last few days—spent from fighting against Kailorien, or also biding his time for the perfect opportunity to uncover a new weakness in them both.

‘Your Radiance,’Lu’ma signed when they paused at a crossroads.‘Your hood is loose. Allow This Nameless to help’.

“Lu’ma, remember what we spoke about? Please do not refer to yourself like that anymore,” Auryn frowned, taking Lu'ma's hands in hers. "You are yourself, and you are far too dear to me."

The Attendant nodded, her dark eyes focused as she adjusted her Host’s hood and cloak, ensuring no silver hair spilled from beneath. Beneath her neutrality, however, Auryn sensed her discomfort. Approaching Lu'ma about this shift was too soon. She wasn't ready yet. But Auryn couldn't stand to watch her erase herself anymore.

“I feel naked without Veilpiercer,” Auryn said, rolling her shoulders to change the topic. “But I could not risk being seen today. Not after…everything.”

Lu’ma nodded, satisfied.

‘Your Radiance, This—’she stopped, started the signs again. ‘I still do not believe this is wise. The city is full of unrest. What could be so important that Your Radiance would risk your safety? And without telling His Quintessence?’

“Much like so many of my other endeavors, this one is more theory than substance. What I am crafting may end in failure,” Auryn said. “I do not want to give him hope where there is none.”

They pressed on, moving towards the more shadowed areas of the district. Here, even in the deepest hours of night, the streets hummed with life—the clatter of carts, the low murmur of trade that never truly ceased. In recent months, those same streets carried a different rhythm.

The alley widened as they turned the final corner, and the Veiled Bazaar came into view. More than a year ago, the Han had burned in the wake of the Blightsphere's explosion. Countless had taken shelter in the Cataclyss. But those who clung to their Batchers and the Doctrine stayed. Left without a place to toil their craft, many had turned to the Bazaar.

Once, this place had been little more than a winding corridor of hidden stalls—merchants trading in rare artifacts, unsanctioned runestones, networks dealing in illegal Light, and fragments of ancient craft that the Council would confiscate without hesitation. But with the tragedy of the Han, this shadow of Krystopolis had spread like moss over wet stone.

Rows upon rows of stalls stretched through the darkness.

Rare ores.

Runic fragments.

Bannersrepresenting various Crafter Houses hanging over stalls and dilapidated buildings.