The royal riders cut through the smoke like a blade, their steel-plated destriers crushing broken glass and bone beneath iron hooves. At their head rode a man in gilded armor, a crimson sash draped across his chest—the insignia of the Crown's Inquisitors. His eyes swept the battlefield, sharp and cold, a man who had judged a hundred traitors and never once hesitated to draw the executioner's line.
"Drop your steel," he commanded. His voice rang with authority, unshaken even by the ruins around him.
Kairen didn't move. His hand hovered near his sword hilt, not in defiance, but in warning. The inquisitor's gaze fell on him instantly, narrowing. "You. Boy. Name."
"Kairen," he replied, his tone clipped.
The inquisitor's lip twitched. "The survivor of Blackveil Outpost. The heretic hunter. And yet—" his eyes flicked to Serenya, barely standing beside him, "—you keep the company of cultists."
"She's no ally," Kairen said quickly, though his voice was edged with steel. "She's information. If you want the tower to keep standing, you'll hear her out."
The inquisitor dismounted, his gilded boots striking the stone with deliberate weight. He walked closer, unafraid, and gestured to the soldiers behind him. "Bind them both. We'll see who speaks truth once they kneel before the Crown."
Chains clinked as two guards approached. Serenya stiffened, reaching for her lance before coughing up more blood. Kairen, however, stood still, calculating. His mind raced: fight now and be branded traitor—or submit and lose the clocktower's trail.
The choice was poisoned either way.
As the first guard grabbed his arm, Kairen finally spoke, his voice low but sharp enough to cut:
"If you put chains on me, Inquisitor, you chain your king to his own death. The Fifth Toll is coming. The cults failed to stop it. Safaa Vale—the Watchmaker's heir—is already inside the gears. If you silence me now, there won't be a throne left for you to guard."
The words silenced the square. Even Serenya turned her head sharply toward him. He had revealed more than he meant to, but it was the only card left to play.
The Inquisitor studied him for a long, tense moment. Then, without warning, he struck Kairen across the jaw with the back of his gauntlet, sending him staggering.
"You think to lecture me on prophecy?" the man growled. "Do not speak the Watchmaker's name again. You may be useful, but you are not untouchable."
He signaled his men. "Bind them. But treat them as prisoners of interest, not heretics. The Crown will decide their worth."
Cold iron shackles locked around Kairen's wrists. Serenya, too weak to resist, was bound beside him. As the riders turned toward the city gates, Kairen glanced one last time at the tower's silhouette in the distance, its ticking louder than the march of soldiers.
Every second in chains was another second closer to the Fifth Toll.