17. Kael
KAEL
The guild halls are quiet at this hour. The air hangs heavy with honeysuckle and oil—a scent of consolidation, contemplation, and cleansing. Order restored before rot can set in. It’s a ritual we have long adhered to.
Not a single scuff or speck of dust mars the expanse. Every surface in this light-blessed place gleams with perfect precision that is both cold and devoid of character.
It was once the epitome of society. But lately, it feels different. Impure. Perhaps I’ve seen too much; the beautiful illusion has been shattered by the harsh light of knowledge. Their magic is no longer a wonder, but a cheap trick—a hollow performance.
Whether I like it or not, this is home.
I adjust my gloves, hiding the faint mark creeping up my wrist. It is a reminder of what I’ve seen in the Hollow. A reminder of why they send me—and why I alone can see the cracks in their perfection.
When I reach the end of the corridor, the guards step aside without a word. I don’t need to announce myself; the colour I wear does that for me.
A gust of sharp, stale air greets me as the doors swing open. The chamber is smaller than the Grand Hall but no less ornate. Walls are lined with light, and crystals cast the air in a faint golden haze. Behind a desk of marble and glass sits the man I’m here to see.
High Commander Riven—Court Enforcer, and my superior. His chainmail polished to a mirror finish, his expression hard as the iron he wears.
“Kael,” he greets, voice smooth as glass. “You’ve delivered the Shadowborne girl, I hear?”
“Yes.”
“And she’s…comfortable?”
“For now.” I hesitate. “She’s…different from the reports. The shadows answer her willingly.”
Riven looks up, his amber eyes gleaming, “An obedience we haven’t yet seen in other subjects. Interesting. We will have to see how she fares during the testing.”
I meet his gaze. “Yes. We shall.”
A smile ghosts his lips as he reaches for a decanter on the desk. “The Triarch are pleased with your efficiency—as always. They’ve requested…observation. You will monitor her until the trials begin.”
“I’m not a warden.” I snap.
“You are now.” His eyes light with satisfaction, savouring the demotion he’s laid before me.
They think I’m their blade.
They forget a blade can turn.
My jaw clenches. “We’ll see how long she lasts. She likely won’t even survive the first night.”
“That isn’t your concern, boy.”
Disdain rises—a sour taste in my mouth. I let the corner of my lip curl, a slow, deliberate movement that mocks him. He knows I hate his condescension; yet he uses it like a whip.
“If she’s under my control,” I say evenly, “then I decide what she survives.”
Riven’s smile widens—all teeth, no warmth. “Then keep her in one piece, Kael. Until it’s time to take her apart.”
I nod, then turn to leave.
The absence of sound that follows settles deep into my bones.
* * *
I don’t head back to the chamber. Instead, I pause by one of the tall windows overlooking the city.
I reach into the reservoir of my power—the flames within flickering as the light of Solan descends over the hills.
Instinctively, my hand finds the miren crystal in my pocket.
It’s warm and sharp-edged. Obedient. I draw upon the Source, extracting a flurry of faith to replenish my own.
Sparks dance at my fingertips, a surge of heat spreading up my arm.
Auria stretches wide beneath me, a city of light succumbing to the dark. The windows begin to sparkle like false stars in a galaxy of glass—each one concealing the story of the occupants within.
I press my forehead against the cool pane, my glasses meeting with a soft clink.
A cloud of vapour forms as I exhale the tension.
The world holds a different shape down there; smoother, free from the sharp, dark edges of the Guild.
Bound by duty, we sand away the imperfections of a war centuries past, until all that remains is the polished version they see.
Like the marble that imprisons us all.
Sweet honeysuckle fills my nose, making me crave the sanctuary of my room. The solitude. The comfort. Home.
I move through the glassy corridors, my feet following twists and turns etched into memory over the years. My door comes into view—stained, familiar wood. I rest my hand on the surface; light flares, and a mechanism clicks within.
My thoughts turn to the Shadowborne, crumpled on the floor begging for a small mercy. I wonder what she will create with the stylus I gave her—and what it will reveal.
For reasons I don’t care to examine, I want to see what breaks first.