The gates of Alsira rose in the distance—tall as mountains, adorned with banners and the seal of the Four Realms. The sun glinted off the obsidian-black towers that ringed the capital, where soulwardens patrolled the skies on wyverns clad in armor etched with runes. From a distance, the city looked safe. Eternal.
But Asher knew better.
"Stay close," he muttered to Emilia and Liaen. "This city bites."
Emilia gazed at the city in awe. "It's beautiful."
Elira, floating faintly at Asher's shoulder, whispered, "And full of ghosts."
At the gates, they were stopped by guards clad in soul-tempered plate.
"Papers," the lead guard said, tone clipped.
Asher handed over a seal marked with an old insignia—one most guards today didn't recognize. But this one did. His eyes widened.
"You're Asher Reed. The Wraithbane."
Emilia blinked. "Wraithbane?"
Asher sighed. "Long story."
The guard stepped back, suddenly respectful. "You're clear. And... thank you. My uncle was on the southern wall when you held it alone for three nights."
Asher didn't answer. He walked on.
Alsira was a city of contradictions—towers scraping the sky, slums huddled in shadow. Magic lights floated along the wealthier streets, while soul smoke clung to alleys where the broken whispered to themselves.
Elira drifted above it all, quiet and uneasy. "The city's soul is sick."
Emilia noticed too. "People are afraid. Not just of monsters."
Liaen nodded. "The Cult's in here. Somewhere. Watching."
They reached a safehouse in the outer ring, owned by a retired soulweaver who owed Asher a favor. There, they regrouped.
Elira hovered before a cracked mirror. "I'm fading faster here."
Asher stood beside her. "Too many wards. Too many ghosts crowding the veil."
Emilia reached out. "We'll fix it. Somehow."
The next day, they sought out a contact—Kale Veyron, a former scout turned informant. He met them in a tavern beneath the city's old aqueducts, where torchlight flickered and the air reeked of mildew and secrecy.
"You're looking for threads on the Cult?" Kale asked. "They've woven themselves deep. Politicians. Soul guilds. Even some wardens."
"What do they want here?" Asher asked.
"They're gathering fragments," Kale said. "Old soulcores, cursed artifacts. Stuff from the Age of Binding. Someone's building something."
Emilia leaned forward. "A weapon?"
Kale nodded grimly. "Or a god."
That night, Emilia couldn't sleep. She wandered the balcony, staring at the lights of Alsira. Below, a group of soulwardens passed, weapons glowing faintly.
Elira appeared beside her.
"You're scared," Elira said gently.
"Yes," Emilia whispered. "I feel like I don't belong here. Like I'm pretending to be strong."
"You're not pretending," Elira said. "You're becoming."
Emilia looked up. "Did you feel that too? When you were alive?"
Elira smiled. "Every day. But I had someone who believed in me. Now, you have two."
The next morning, they awoke to screaming.
A section of the capital had collapsed overnight. Dozens were dead. A creature—black as pitch and crowned with bone—had tunneled through the city's underbelly.
A soulspawn.
Asher's eyes darkened. "They're testing their reach."
Liaen cursed. "And they're getting bold."
Elira appeared faintly. "This wasn't just an attack. It was a message."
Emilia clenched her fists. "Then let's send one back."