Back in the chamber beneath the ruined watermill, the air had grown thick—charged, as though lightning waited just out of sight, humming beneath stone and shadow.
Corwin's hand still throbbed where the mark had burned into his skin. The sigil—coiled serpent, jaws devouring tail—glowed faintly beneath the surface like ink sunk into flesh.
The cloaked figure stepped forward, slow and unhurried. Their presence was not aggressive. It was patient. Calculated. The way a fire watches a house it already knows how to consume.
Ashra whispered under her breath, "That's no scout. That's a Relic-Keeper."
Liran's grip on his blade tightened. "We can't fight that."
Corwin stared, frozen. He hadn't expected the Carrion Order to move this soon—if they'd even known what he was doing. And yet, here they were. As if summoned by the act of touching the fragment.
"Corwin Vale," the Relic-Keeper said, voice muffled by the veil. It was neither deep nor high—timeless, as if borrowed from something older than breath. "You have done what no heir has dared in a century."
Corwin said nothing. He didn't need to ask how they knew his name.
"We felt the seal stir," the figure continued, stepping to the edge of the altar. "The fracture you touched is no mere relic. It is the first anchor. And it should have remained buried."
Liran hissed through his teeth. "You mean stolen."
But the Relic-Keeper ignored him. Their gaze never left Corwin.
"The Circuit was broken for a reason. The path it leads to is not ascension—it is collapse. The First Alchemist died with a curse on his lips, not a gift. You seek to rethread a machine that was never meant to run."
Corwin felt heat rising beneath his skin. The map in his coat pocket pulsed softly, as though responding to the words.
"I didn't come here to start anything," he said carefully. "Only to understand."
"Understanding was the First Alchemist's folly," the figure replied. "And it cost the world an entire age."
Suddenly, the figure raised a hand—not in threat, but in offering.
"There is still time. Hand over the seal. The Circuit will die with you, and the world will be spared the flame it births."
Ashra stepped in front of Corwin before he could speak. "You want the boy to die quietly. That's not happening."
The Relic-Keeper tilted their head. "You mistake mercy for violence withheld."
Behind them, the wall pulsed—and two more figures stepped through the open gate. Not Relic-Keepers. Hunters. Bone-masked. Blade-bearers. Fast.
Liran's sword cleared its sheath in a single breath.
Corwin didn't think—he turned and grabbed the shattered sphere from the altar. His fingers brushed the cage again.
The mark on his hand flared.
And from the runes circling the chamber, light erupted.
The Carrion agents flinched, just for a moment—but it was enough. Liran lunged forward, sword flashing across one of their masks. Ashra threw down a pinch of iron dust and whispered something sharp and bitter—fire exploded from the floor, briefly parting the dark.
Corwin stumbled toward the stairs.
"Go!" Liran shouted, parrying a blow. "Run!"
Ashra hurled another vial, this one bursting in blinding silver light. "We'll follow—just move!"
Corwin didn't hesitate. He ran.
The stone steps blurred beneath his feet. Cold air rushed around him, the world narrowing to the sound of blood and breath and the distant clash of steel behind him.
He burst out into the night.
Fog hung low across the field. The windmill loomed, empty and broken. And above, the moon had vanished—swallowed by a cloud so thick it felt intentional.
Behind him, he heard footsteps.
Not running. Stalking.
He turned back just in time to see Ashra stumble from the mill, coughing, cloak scorched at the edges.
Liran followed seconds later, bleeding from a gash above his eye.
"They let us go," he said, panting. "Why the hell would they—"
Corwin didn't have time to answer.
From the hill beyond, a crow landed on a dead tree.
It stared at Corwin.
And the mark on his hand burned again.
Ashra followed his gaze. "Corwin…?"
The crow tilted its head once.
And then it spoke.
Not in sound, but in thought. A voice that slipped straight past ears and into the marrow.
> "You are being watched. The next seal is waking. My mistress sends warning—do not walk blind into the Breach."
Corwin staggered.
The crow blinked.
And then it vanished into shadow, feathers breaking like smoke in the wind.