The golden afterglow of stolen emotions still hummed beneath Kael's skin as Lilith led him through winding catacombs beneath the amphitheater. The stone walls wept condensation, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and something metallic. His fingers trailed along the rough-hewn stone, leaving faintly glowing fingerprints that faded slowly in the gloom.
"Where are we going?" Kael's voice echoed strangely, as if the tunnel absorbed some frequencies while amplifying others.
Lilith's shadow stretched long behind her, horns nearly brushing the ceiling. "To meet your inheritance, little god."
They emerged into a circular chamber dominated by a massive obsidian throne. Its surface shimmered with trapped starlight, the back carved into the likeness of a thousand screaming faces. Before it floated seven figures wreathed in mist—their features indistinct but their presence pressing against Kael's skin like a physical weight.
The central figure spoke first, its voice the crackle of burning parchment: **"The Prodigal returns."**
Kael's knees buckled. Not from fear—from something deeper, some cellular memory that recognized these entities. The golden energy in his chest surged in response, forming a protective cocoon around his ribs.
Lilith shoved him forward. "Kneel properly before the Hollow Court."
The leftmost specter drifted closer. Where its face should have been swirled a miniature galaxy. **"You reek of mortal indecision. Why has the vessel not been prepared?"**
"Because your precious vessel has a conscience," Kael spat. The words left his mouth before he could stop them, laced with golden light that made the nearest specter recoil.
A collective hiss filled the chamber. The throne pulsed with dark energy.
Lilith's claws dug into Kael's shoulder. "What he lacks in reverence, he makes up for in raw power. Watch."
She snapped her fingers. A section of the wall slid away, revealing a cell where three figures huddled—two Inquisitors in tattered silver and a village girl no older than fourteen. All bore the glassy-eyed look of the emotionally drained.
"Choose one," Lilith whispered in Kael's ear.
The specters leaned forward as one. **"We would see the claiming."**
Kael's hands trembled. The girl reminded him of Lira—same slight build, same defiant set to the jaw despite her terror. The golden energy inside him writhed, not in hunger but in revulsion.
"I won't—"
Lilith's tail lashed out, striking the back of his knees. As Kael fell toward the stone, something extraordinary happened.
The throne *called* to him.
Not in words—in *pulses*, deep vibrational tones that resonated with the stolen energy in his veins. The screaming faces carved into its back began weeping liquid gold. The nearest specter let out a sound like shattering crystal.
**"It recognizes its master!"**
Kael's palms hit the dais. Power erupted.
Golden filaments exploded from his fingertips, lancing through the chamber like spider silk. They pierced the three prisoners—not draining them, but *connecting*. The girl gasped as her emotions flooded into Kael in vivid detail:
- The ache of her empty stomach last winter
- The secret kisses stolen with the miller's son
- The crushing guilt when her baby sister took the blame for her stolen sweets
But unlike before, the energy didn't stop with Kael. It *cycled*—flowing through him into the throne, which amplified it tenfold before sending it arcing toward the specters.
The entities convulsed as living emotion—something they hadn't felt in millennia—flooded their incorporeal forms. The central figure's misty outline solidified momentarily into the shape of a weeping man.
**"More!"** it begged in a suddenly human voice.
Kael couldn't stop if he wanted to. The throne had seized control, using him as a conduit. The Inquisitors collapsed first, reduced to shuddering husks. The girl lasted longer—her childhood memories pouring out in a glittering stream—until finally she too slumped forward.
When the last golden thread snapped, the chamber fell silent save for Kael's ragged breathing. The throne's glow faded. The specters had regained their misty forms, but something about them had changed—a subtle *weight* to their presence.
Lilith's claws traced the nape of Kael's neck. "Meet your predecessors. The gods who ruled before the Celestial Church cast them down."
The central specter drifted closer. **"We were incomplete. You, child, are the missing chord."**
Kael stared at his hands—no longer glowing, but thrumming with potential. He'd just destroyed three lives. Why did he feel... *whole* for the first time?
The throne whispered promises in a language older than words.
Lilith pressed something cold into his palm—a dagger forged from the same black glass as her own. "The girl still breathes. Finish the lesson."
Kael's fingers closed around the hilt. The blade pulsed in time with his heartbeat. The girl's chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, her eyes tracking him with animal terror.
Somewhere beneath the golden haze, the old Kael screamed.
The new Kael raised the dagger.