The coup did not begin with banners.
It began with absence.
Seris felt it before anyone spoke. The street they were about to cross—an artery between two Watch districts—should have been noisy even at this hour. There should have been a patrol with bored faces and too-tight uniforms, a vendor pretending not to notice the patrol, a pair of children darting through a gap they didn't belong in.
Instead: nothing.
A clean, hollow stretch of stone with shuttered windows and doors that looked closed on purpose, not out of habit. Even the wind seemed to avoid it.
Seris raised a hand, palm out.
"Stop."
Aiden halted behind her, breath catching. Liora shifted to his side, eyes scanning rooftops. Inkaris lingered half a step back, gaze unfocused in the way it got when he was reading patterns no one else could see.
"This is wrong," Seris said softly.
Aiden swallowed. "How wrong?"
Seris didn't take her eyes off the street. "Choke point wrong."
Liora nodded once. "They cut flow. No witnesses. No interruptions."
Inkaris' voice was quiet and flat. "Varros."
Aiden's shoulders tensed. "Now?"
"He's moving before the city fully settles into Aureline's protections," Inkaris replied. "Before the new enforcement layer finishes locking down informal authority."
Seris' fingers twitched near her spell focus. "So we turn around."
Inkaris shook his head. "Not cleanly. Not with all three of you visible."
Aiden's throat tightened. "Then what do we do?"
Seris took a slow breath, the kind she had learned to take when fear wanted to turn her into a statue. She looked over her shoulder at Aiden—really looked.
He wasn't human. He looked like something the heavens would have regretted making and the world would have regretted letting live: too beautiful, too unnatural, with blank eyes that carried power like a loaded weapon. And still—still—he had Aiden's expression in the moment, the same anxious sincerity, the same stubborn refusal to be a monster.
Seris stepped forward.
"Stay behind me," she said.
Aiden flinched. "Seris—"
"Behind," she repeated, sharper.
She turned back to the empty street.
And in the next heartbeat, the city proved her right.
The first spell did not arrive as light. It arrived as pressure—compressed force wrapped in suppression sigils—slicing down from above like a thrown verdict.
Seris moved without thinking.
She stepped into it.
The bolt hit her chest.
There was no dramatic blast. No heroic glow. Just impact so clean it felt obscene, and Seris' body snapped backward into stone with a sound that punched a hole through Aiden's mind.
"SERIS!"
Aiden's scream tore out of him as she crumpled to the ground.
Unmoving.
The street—empty a moment ago—filled with movement. Masked figures spilled from alleys and rooftops as if they'd been poured out of the city itself. Not Watch. Not guards. Professionals. Their formation was too smooth, their timing too perfect.
Mage-blades hummed with a low, restrained hunger. Crossbows rose in unison, tracking targets with the discipline of people who practiced this in mirrors.
"Take the boy!" someone shouted. "Alive if possible!"
Aiden didn't hear the rest.
He was staring at Seris.
Her chest wasn't rising.
His mouth went dry. His hands went numb. His thoughts became simple, brutal things.
No.
Something inside him cracked.
Not snapped.
Shattered.
The careful restraint Ardent had tried to burn into him—the insistence that a wish granter should never escalate in anger—washed away like ash in rain. All the lessons about being boring, about denying spectacle, about refusing to become a story…
…evaporated.
Aiden stood up.
And the street felt it.
Not a flash of magic. Not a visible aura. Just the way attention turned—how even trained killers hesitated when something in the air stopped being prey.
His divine clothing tightened around him, shifting as if it understood what he needed before he did. The fabric sealed to his skin like armor without becoming armor. His eyes—those blank, unsettling windows—seemed to deepen, as if whatever had been behind them stepped closer to the surface.
An attacker lunged.
Aiden looked at him.
The man's desire flared bright and ugly in Aiden's senses: not noble, not complex, just a raw wound disguised as ambition.
I want to be strong enough to matter.
Aiden granted it.
The man's face lit with triumph for half a second as power poured into him. Muscle hardened. Bones reinforced. The blade in his hand steadied like his body had finally become what he'd always imagined.
Then the strength kept coming.
His frame could not contain it.
He collapsed with a wet, horrible sound, reinforced bones crushing what they were meant to protect. He screamed until his breath ran out.
The other attackers froze.
Aiden took one step forward.
"You don't get to touch her," he said, voice flat and unfamiliar even to himself.
A crossbow snapped.
Seris' limp body lay behind him.
Aiden didn't dodge.
He didn't need to.
He looked at the shooter, and the shooter's desire spilled out—fast, instinctive.
I want him to stop moving.
Aiden obliged.
The man's wish wrapped around his own body instead. His joints locked. His fingers stiffened around the crossbow string. He became a statue made of regret, eyes wide and wet, trapped in the exact moment he realized he'd aimed at the wrong thing.
Liora's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with panic. "Aiden! Stop—!"
Aiden didn't turn.
A mage shifted position, trying to flank him, fear and calculation tangling in her mind.
I want to disappear.
Aiden twisted the desire sideways.
She vanished—not from the world, but from notice. Her footsteps still sounded. Her breath still fogged in the air. She stumbled backward, hand outstretched, mouth open in a silent scream as every gaze slid off her like she didn't exist.
She clawed at another attacker's sleeve.
He flinched—then forgot why.
She would starve unseen unless someone looked for her on purpose.
Aiden walked forward.
Every step was deliberate.
Cold.
Rage sharpened into precision.
It wasn't combat the way Seris understood it.
It was ruin, performed through the smallest cracks of desire.
Inkaris had told them: wish granters cannot grant their own wishes. They fight by taking the enemy's wants and turning them into weapons. Aiden had practiced that in theory, hesitant and clumsy.
Now he did it like it was natural.
Like it had been waiting in him.
Another attacker raised a blade, jaw clenched, a desperate thought pulsing beneath the professionalism.
I want to finish this.
Aiden granted it—literally.
The man's body lurched forward and then stopped, as if the concept of "finish" had been applied to the wrong thing. His movements ended. His heartbeat ended. He collapsed mid-stride, expression still focused, still committed, never realizing his own desire had been interpreted with cruel purity.
Liora's stomach turned.
This was not "kill."
It was worse.
It was the universe being asked to act like a pedantic clerk.
Aiden's voice remained calm, which terrified her more than the screams.
"You came for me," he said, almost conversational. "Because you think you can use what you don't understand."
He looked toward the leader—she could feel it, the way Aiden's attention narrowed like a blade.
The leader's desire was more careful, wrapped in self-justification and control.
I want to be recognized. I want to be the one who ends this.
Aiden granted recognition.
Instantly.
The man's mask dissolved, not physically but socially. The illusion of anonymity ripped away. His name—real name, full name—burned itself into the minds of every witness in the street. Every face that turned toward him knew him, as if they'd always known him.
He stumbled, choking. "No—"
Aiden stepped closer. "There," he said softly. "Now you matter."
The man ran.
He couldn't outrun recognition.
Above them, unseen by most, Caelum paused in the sky of the city's attention. The Fallen Angel's amusement dimmed into something intent, like a predator noticing a younger predator learn its first taste of blood.
"…Oh," Caelum murmured, delighted and disturbed in equal measure. "There you are."
---
Liora snapped back into herself when she heard Seris make a small sound.
A choke.
Faint. Ragged.
But real.
Liora dropped to her knees beside Seris, fingers shaking as she pressed them to Seris' neck.
A pulse.
Weak. Irregular.
But there.
"She's alive!" Liora shouted, voice cracking. "Aiden—she's alive!"
Aiden didn't hear her.
Or maybe he did and couldn't afford to believe it.
Liora made a choice before fear could stop her.
She hooked her arms under Seris' shoulders and dragged her backward, boots scraping stone. Seris' head lolled, dark hair sticking to her cheek. Liora's breath came in harsh gasps as she hauled Seris into the nearest alley.
Spells cracked behind her like breaking glass. Someone screamed. Someone begged.
Liora didn't look.
If she looked, she might stop.
If she stopped, Seris might die.
She burst into the alley where Inkaris waited, already tense, already listening. He had not rushed into the street. He had positioned himself where he could catch fallout—where he could save what mattered.
"Inkaris!" Liora shouted. "She's—she's—"
Inkaris was already moving.
He took Seris from Liora with careful precision, lowering her to the stone. His hands glowed with infernal sigils—not a spell, not a wish, but knowledge written into motion. Demon law, demon medicine, demon competence.
"Suppression bolt," he said, voice clipped. "Center mass."
Liora nodded frantically. "It hit her core. It felt like it tried to— to turn her off."
"It did," Inkaris replied.
"Can you—"
"Potion," he snapped.
Liora fumbled for the vial. Her fingers were slippery with sweat. She thrust it into his hand.
Inkaris tipped Seris' head gently and pressed the potion to her lips. "Swallow," he ordered, as if command could replace consciousness.
Seris convulsed. A thin line of potion spilled down her chin.
Inkaris cursed under his breath, wiped it away with the back of his hand, and tried again—more careful, more patient. The second time, Seris' throat moved.
"Another," Inkaris said.
Liora handed him the next vial with shaking hands. "Please."
Inkaris didn't look at her. He didn't need to. The plea was already carved into the moment.
He forced the potion past Seris' lips.
Seris shuddered.
Her breathing stuttered, stopped, then restarted—shallow but steadier than before.
Liora collapsed beside her, a sob ripping out like it had been trapped in her ribs.
"She's—" Liora choked. "She's—"
"Not safe," Inkaris said, grim. "But alive."
Liora wiped her face with a trembling hand. "Aiden thinks—"
"I know," Inkaris cut in.
Then he felt it.
Not through magic.
Through the same instinct that had kept him alive for centuries: the sense of a ledger opening, of consequence shifting position, of the universe leaning forward like an auditor finally called to the table.
Inkaris turned his head toward the street.
"…No," he whispered.
Liora looked up, confused and frightened. "What? What's wrong?"
Inkaris didn't answer yet.
Because the answer was unbearable.
---
Aiden stood amid the wreckage of Varros' attempt.
Some attackers fled. Some lay broken. Some were alive in ways that were arguably worse than death.
Aiden's hands shook now, not from fear but from the echo of what he'd done. Rage drained fast, leaving behind a hollow clarity.
He blinked.
The street swayed.
"Seris," he whispered.
No answer.
The silence hit harder than any spell.
His knees buckled.
For a heartbeat he was a boy again—human, stupid, fragile—crushed under the weight of a mistake he couldn't undo.
Then Inkaris was there.
Inkaris' grip closed around Aiden's shoulders, hard enough to hurt, anchoring him like iron.
"Enough," Inkaris said sharply.
Aiden's eyes were wild. "They killed her."
Inkaris shook him once. "They failed."
Aiden's breath hitched. "She's dead."
"She's alive," Inkaris snapped. "Barely. But alive."
The words cut through Aiden like cold water.
Aiden froze. "What?"
Inkaris didn't soften. "She's breathing."
Aiden's face collapsed—rage, horror, relief, guilt, all colliding at once. "I— I thought—"
"I know," Inkaris said, and for once his voice carried something almost gentle.
Aiden looked around at what he'd done.
At the frozen man. At the unseen woman stumbling silently. At the crushed bones. At the sobbing attacker who now understood every sin like it was stitched under his skin.
"What did I do?" Aiden whispered.
Inkaris' expression tightened. "You fought like a wish granter without restraint."
Aiden flinched as if struck. "Like—"
"Like Ardent," Inkaris said flatly. "At his worst."
Aiden's throat tightened. "I didn't want to—"
"No," Inkaris interrupted. "You wanted to stop them. And you reached for the quickest truth."
Aiden swallowed, voice small. "Can I fix it?"
Inkaris shook his head. "Not cleanly."
Aiden's eyes burned. "Then punish me."
Inkaris' gaze flicked toward the alley where Seris lay.
"It doesn't work that way," he said quietly. "The universe doesn't accept guilt as payment."
Aiden went still.
Inkaris' voice dropped. "The price is taken from what you love."
Aiden's face drained of color.
"No," he whispered.
Inkaris' hand tightened on his shoulder, as if holding him upright was a physical act of mercy. "I can feel it," he said. "The balance shifting. The ledger opening."
Aiden shook his head desperately. "Take me instead."
Inkaris' expression hardened. "It might."
Aiden's breath broke. "I'd do it again."
Inkaris closed his eyes for a heartbeat. "I know."
He opened them again, gaze sharp and ancient. "That's why I'm afraid."
---
They returned to the alley together.
Liora looked up as Inkaris dragged Aiden back, and her expression tightened when she saw Aiden's face—bloodless, wrecked, haunted.
"She's here," Liora said quickly, voice shaking. "She's alive."
Aiden dropped to his knees beside Seris so fast it looked like his legs had been cut out from under him. He took Seris' hand, holding it like it was the only real thing left.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm here."
Seris' lashes fluttered faintly but didn't fully open. Her breathing remained shallow, each inhale a fragile promise.
Aiden pressed his forehead to her knuckles, trembling.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry—"
Liora wiped her face. "Save it for when she can yell at you."
Aiden let out something that might have been a laugh if it hadn't cracked in the middle.
Inkaris stood over them, posture rigid.
Liora looked up at him. "You said there'd be a price."
Inkaris didn't deny it.
"Yes," he said.
"Soon?"
Inkaris' gaze lifted toward the city above, toward a palace bound by protections and a ruler bound by a wish, toward a nobleman who had flipped the board because he couldn't stand losing a game.
"Soon," he repeated.
Aiden's voice was raw. "How soon?"
Inkaris' expression did not change.
"As soon as the universe decides the lesson has been observed," he said. "And it has a cruel sense of timing."
Aiden tightened his grip on Seris' hand, as if holding her harder could keep the cosmos from noticing she existed.
It wouldn't.
They all felt that.
Above them, the city groaned—contained by ancient protections, strained by new violence, pressured by a coup that had failed to take Aiden but succeeded in something worse:
It had shown Aiden what he could become.
And somewhere unseen, Caelum watched with rapt attention, the faint curve of his mouth suggesting either approval or hunger.
"So," the Angel of Ruin murmured to the night, "this is what breaks him."
The words weren't a threat.
They were a delighted observation.
And that—more than the blood, more than the screams, more than the ruined street—was what made Inkaris' chest feel tight with certainty.
The price wasn't coming because Aiden had fought.
The price was coming because, for one awful moment, Aiden had enjoyed the efficiency of cruelty.
Even if he hated himself for it now.
Even if he'd only wanted Seris alive.
The universe did not care why you lit the fire.
Only that you did.
And it always collected from someone standing too close.