Litany of Silence – Fragment I
They feared no flame, no sword, no man — until he came.
He was not born in the divine light, nor shaped in shadows of the lower world.
He was born in the silence after ruin, where mercy does not tread, and judgment walks alone.
The earth split beneath his step, the sky turned its face, and the faithful burned just the same as the wicked.
He did not speak. He did not stop. He did not bleed.
He tore through the divine and the damned with hands unshaking.
With eyes unblinking, he watched kings kneel and beasts wail before him.
They brought chains. He broke them.
They brought blades. He shattered them.
They brought numbers. He ended them.
No banner flies in his name.
No prayer soothes his wrath.
He does not seek justice, for he is the end of all.
When the stars fall again, and the gates stand open, he will return.
No fortress will stand.
No name will shield.
No plea will matter.
He will end what he chooses and none shall stop him.
Late Afternoon – Halrec Headquarters
They didn't stay in the Department Headquarters long after that.
After Nyra ushered the four of them out to the main entrance to wait while she and Marseth spoke privately, she quickly returned to their side. Her boots clicked with sharp precision on the marble floor, her stride unbroken as she moved like the leader she was. The aide following close behind had an uncertain expression, as if he'd been given a task he didn't feel prepared for. Marseth was serious about his order and had sent another staff member with her as a liaison
Nyra made her intentions clear: this wasn't going to be left to backchannels and speculation. If someone had made a move against her, if there really was a mole high enough to track her steps and send masked agents after her, then the King needed to know.
She would tell him herself.
The Department Headquarters faded behind them as they crossed the plaza. Afternoon light pooled in golden streaks between the taller buildings, reflecting off glass-paneled skybridges that connected them like crystals.
Their destination was a personal escort train. In the capital, each major district had its own private railcar that could be used for high-security transport, away from the uncertain nature of civilians and travelers. The armored rail cars weren't built for comfort alone; they were designed to carry their passengers through the city faster and more securely than any other means.
Nyra's clearance made the process seamless. A few quick exchanges of stamped cards and handwritten codes, and they were ushered down a quiet side platform. At the end, waiting like some metallic predator sat a sleek, reinforced rail car. Its sides were black lacquered steel, broken only by large windows, each one with a thick metal trapdoor that could slam shut from the inside, sealing it in a solid plate of steel. Even uncovered, the glass itself bore a faint glimmer, indicating its heightened reinforcement. It was strong enough to turn aside an axe blow or survive an explosive from even some Harbinger-level Auspex.
Inside, the air was cool and faintly perfumed with cedar. The walls curved slightly inward toward the ceiling, giving a sense of enclosure without claustrophobia. Cushioned recliner seats sat in doubles, numbering five rows. Each row had four chairs facing each other, with a central aisle splitting them. Each chair also had holographic screens showing a slowly rotating emblem of the capital: nine interlocking rings surrounding a single crown.
Willow sank into her seat and blinked at the emblem hovering at the small, attached table. "Woah... what does this thing do?"
She pressed her hand into the hovering display and many things opened up in front of her. Nyra quickly came over and turned it back off, telling Willow it was for government employees only.
"Don't concern yourself with these, it's for government usage only." She said, blushing a little at her nosy guests.
The liaison sighed a little and looked a bit nervous for his young age, feeling a little out of place for this group he was now watching over.
Gus gave him a friendly nod.
The poor liaison nodded back, stiffly. This was not something he was accustomed to doing.
Bartholomew, meanwhile, had already pulled down the privacy screen on his seat and was muttering about how all this 'subway sorcery' was clearly just a front for mind control waves. Nyra wisely chose not to engage.
Joren sat quietly, arms resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the shifting lights in the ceiling panel above. The gentle hum of the train took over as they began to move towards the central district. They were on their way to the Crownspire District.
Early-Evening – Crownspire District
The train eased to a halt as they arrived at their destination. They stepped out into the palace platform without ceremony, but the reception was anything but casual.
Outside, thirty armored knights stood in formation, all armed with spears. That scared Joren a little bit, but he tried to make no scene as he left the car.
Nyra looked back at the group before they stepped out. "Don't speak unless addressed. If you're addressed, speak only what matters and nothing more."
Willow blinked. "What if I say something that—"
"Don't speak at all unless prompted. If you must, then I'll apologize for you before you finish." Nyra said flatly.
She was like a completely different person. They couldn't blame her, though. Their was no room for screwing around like they normally would, they were about to enter the home of one of the most powerful men in the world.
The group moved forward towards the entrance.
The knights did not salute, did not shift, did not blink. They were like statues of steel, expressions hidden behind polished helms. Every step of the group was mirrored by the angled gleam of spears.
No one dared speak for fear of pissing off one of the king's guard.
The grand hall beyond the entrance loomed with unnatural quiet. Its ceilings stretched high into vaulted shadows, supported by rows of towering columns made of marble. The polished floor was so shiny that Joren could see his reflection walking slightly ahead of him, as if some future version was dragging his current body forward whether he liked it or not.
Even Bartholomew was silent for once.
In one chamber, a suit of gold-plated armor stood propped on a mannequin, its chestplate caved in from some unknown blow. In another, a single red banner hung, depicting the insignia of some organization none of them had heard of before. Not even Bart had some sort of wisdom to impart upon the group.
The air grew heavier the farther they walked, not physically, but like the sensation of climbing too high into the mountains. The importance of this place took hold of them, smacking that realization into each of their heads. Only Nyra seemed unbothered, but the liaison felt quite differently based on the sweat stains forming.
Light filtered down from windows set high into the dome above, casting long lines across the tiled floor. They walked over mosaics so intricate that Joren almost tripped trying to make sense of them. Spirals within rings, hands reaching for stars, a mountain split clean in two. Some of the images flickered faintly in the light, and Joren could tell each image was older than all of them combined.
They passed under archways carved with ancient text, none of which any of them could read. The letters were curved and looping, more art than language, etched deep into the stone as if meant to last through the end of time. Gus slowed at one of them and ran his fingers along the grooves, but said nothing.
They passed a chamber that housed a crystal obelisk locked in a frame of glass. Another held a pedestal with a shattered crown resting on it, long rusted through.
Willow leaned toward Joren and whispered, "How old is this place?"
Before he could answer, the path opened into the final chamber. A circular room, broad and hushed, lay just ahead of them. Statues lined the walls, each one blindfolded, carved from bronze. Their hands were raised in different gestures—some in peace, some in judgment, one in mourning. They all depicted a certain emotion, making the four of them uncomfortable for some reason.
The air here felt colder.
At the far end of the room, two enormous doors towered before them. They were carved from a dark wood that shimmered faintly, as if it absorbed light rather than reflected it. Two guards in black armor stood at attention, awaiting them.
The guards did not move, but their presence was not decorative. There was a tension in the way they stood, like predators waiting for the signal to strike. They exuded a far more terrifying aura then any of the previous guards did.
Nyra took a steady breath, then turned to the group one final time.
"From here on, every word carries weight. Let me speak first. Let me bow first. Follow only when I move."
No one answered. They didn't need to.
Nyra stepped forward, her boots clicking softly against the tile as she approached the threshold. The guards turned in perfect sync, grasping the polished handles.
With a slow, resonant groan, the great slabs parted before them, spilling pale light into the circular chamber.
The light didn't feel warm.
It felt... absolute.