"Kill him."
The words did not echo through the air.
They echoed through me.
My grip tightened around the hilt of my sword until the leather groaned beneath my fingers. Heat flooded my veins, rising from somewhere far deeper than flesh. The cracks in my porcelain mask glowed brighter, molten gold spreading like rivers beneath frozen stone.
Kaelen did not move.
He stood atop the shattered balcony of the Citadel, framed by flames that bent around him as though they feared to touch him. His black cloak drifted lazily in the hot wind, and the obsidian shard resting in his hand pulsed with a faint violet light. It was small—no larger than a man's palm—but something about it made the fire itself seem restless.
Veyra shifted her stance beside me.
"Don't."
Her voice was barely louder than the crackle of burning timber.
She wasn't speaking to Kaelen.
She was speaking to me.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my heartbeat to steady. The mask wanted blood. It wanted me to charge up the broken stairs and drive my blade through the man who had once called me brother.
But I had learned long ago that the mask was never hungrier than when revenge stood within reach.
"You've become stronger," Kaelen said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the ruined square. "The fire answers you more easily now."
"It obeys no one," I replied.
A faint smile touched his face.
"That's what they told you."
His words lingered in the air.
Before I could answer, he closed his fingers around the obsidian shard.
The stone flashed.
Dark light spread across its surface like ink poured into water.
For a single heartbeat, the flames around the Citadel dimmed.
Then the ground trembled.
A deep rumble rolled beneath our feet. Broken columns cracked apart, and loose stones tumbled from the fortress walls. Ash poured from the rooftops in gray waves.
"What did he do?" Veyra whispered.
"I don't know."
But the mask did.
Its whispers returned—not frantic this time, but afraid.
Not the shard...
Not yet...
Fear.
It was the first emotion I had ever felt from the curse.
Kaelen lowered his hand, and the trembling ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
"I didn't come here to fight you," he said.
I laughed bitterly.
"The city behind you says otherwise."
His eyes drifted across the burning streets.
For the first time since I had seen him, something resembling regret crossed his face.
"I tried to save it."
"You murdered the council."
"I ended what they had already doomed."
"The innocent?"
"They were sacrificed long before tonight."
The certainty in his voice unsettled me more than anger ever could.
He believed every word.
Veyra stepped forward, sword raised.
"Enough."
Her eyes never left Kaelen.
"You don't deserve to speak their names."
Kaelen looked at her, and for a brief moment the hardness in his expression softened.
"You were always the bravest of us."
"I stopped being one of us the day you betrayed him."
Silence followed.
The wind carried burning ash between them.
Then Kaelen nodded once, as though accepting a truth he had expected.
"So be it."
He looked back at me.
"When you enter the Citadel, you'll find what remains of the council."
His gaze darkened.
"They'll tell you I destroyed this kingdom."
A pause.
"They're lying."
Without another word, he stepped backward into the smoke.
The flames swallowed him.
He was gone.
The square fell silent once more.
I stared at the empty balcony.
Something about his final words refused to leave me.
"They're lying."
Veyra lowered her sword.
"Don't listen to him."
"I'm trying not to."
"You know what he's doing."
"I know."
She turned toward the great staircase leading into the Citadel.
"He wants you to doubt yourself."
I looked at the massive bronze doors. One had been torn from its hinges and lay half-buried beneath shattered marble. Beyond the entrance stretched only darkness, broken occasionally by the orange glow of distant fire.
The heart of the kingdom waited inside.
"So," Veyra said quietly.
"We finish this."
We climbed the steps together.
The closer we came, the colder the air became.
That should have been impossible.
The city still burned behind us, yet frost crept along the edges of the broken doorway. Thin crystals spread across cracked stone before dissolving into steam.
The mask grew heavier.
Each step felt as though invisible hands were pressing against my shoulders.
At the threshold, I stopped.
The darkness beyond wasn't empty.
It was watching.
Veyra noticed my hesitation.
"What is it?"
I looked into the ruined hall.
Rows of fallen pillars disappeared into shadow. Torn banners hung from the ceiling, their royal crest blackened by smoke. Somewhere deep within the Citadel, water dripped steadily onto stone.
Then another sound followed.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Not hiding.
Waiting.
Veyra tightened her grip on her sword.
"We're not alone."
"No."
I drew my blade.
"We never were."
The footsteps stopped.
A figure emerged from the darkness at the far end of the hall.
Not Kaelen.
An old man dressed in white ceremonial robes, stained with soot and blood.
His long silver hair fell over his shoulders, and around his neck hung the broken seal of the High Council.
He leaned heavily on an iron staff, breathing with visible effort.
When his eyes met mine, they widened.
"You..."
His voice cracked.
"The Keeper..."
He took another unsteady step forward.
"I prayed I would live long enough to find you."
Before I could answer, a sharp whistle sliced through the air.
The old councillor's body jerked violently.
A black arrow burst through his chest.
Blood splashed across the polished floor.
His staff slipped from trembling fingers and clattered against the stone.
As he fell, his eyes never left mine.
With his final breath, he whispered a single sentence.
"They opened..."
He coughed, blood spilling across his lips.
"...the first gate."
His body struck the floor.
Behind him, somewhere deep inside the darkness of the Citadel—
Someone laughed.
A low, hollow laugh that did not sound entirely human.