The bell of dawn tolled, and the streets of the royal capital seemed to return to peace.
Yet, in the shadows unnoticed by common folk, a certain power was quietly sprouting.
In the prayer hall from last night, the gray flames had not been fully extinguished.
They seeped into the shadow of the sacred statue, then followed people's prayers and piety, sneaking into their dreams.
In the marketplace, a young baker's apprentice suddenly stopped kneading dough.
His eyes were vacant, and a faint gray flame mark appeared in his palm.
When his companion called out to him, he slowly turned his head, smiling and murmuring: "Light... is but an illusion."
A chill ran through his companion's heart, but he dared not speak up.
Yet similar scenes were unfolding quietly in different corners of the royal capital.
Seeds of the gray shadow had been planted in countless hearts.
In the palace council chamber, Ilea and Lucian were gathering their generals.
"Last night's attack was only the beginning," Ilea's voice was cold, her fingers gripping the table edge. "They have no intention of confronting us head-on. Instead, they are sowing corruption."
An elderly general frowned: "Your Highness means... this is no ordinary rebellion?"
"Yes," Lucian took over, "they seek to tear us apart through faith, even manipulating the innocent through dreams. If we let it spread, the entire royal capital will fall."
A stir ran through the assembled generals.
Ilea's voice turned icy: "Immediately establish a Purifying Flame Patrol to guard day and night. Report any anomalies at once."
As the words left her lips, the oath mark on her chest suddenly throbbed with pain.
In her ear, the gray shadow's whisper echoed again:
"They are not your enemies, but your most devout subjects. Dare you cut them down with your own hands?"
Ilea's fists clenched tightly, her knuckles whitening.
Lucian reached out to take her hand, murmuring: "Don't let her shake you."
She took a deep breath and nodded.
Night fell once more.
In the slums of the royal capital, a group of people huddled around a shabby brazier, their eyes empty.
What burned in the brazier was not firewood, but ashes.
An old woman among them intoned softly: "The Shadow Lord shall bring true liberation."
As the firelight flickered, a faint female silhouette appeared on the wall behind her.
The shadow smiled, her fingers brushing their brows.
The gray flame seeds sprouted instantly, transforming into delicate patterns that coiled through their veins.
They groaned in pain, yet in the next moment, their faces lit up with fanaticism.
"Hail the Shadow Lord."
At the same time, Ilea suddenly woke in her chamber.
Her body trembled with,as if the flame of her oath mark would tear her apart.
Lucian immediately pulled her into his arms, anxiously pressing a hand to her forehead: "Ilea!"
Her breath was ragged, tears slipping from the corner of her eyes: "I saw it... the entire royal capital is being eroded by her. The gray flames... they're taking root in their hearts."
Lucian held her tightly, his forehead resting against her hair: "Then we'll pull out these poisoned roots, even if it costs blood."
Their bodies drew closer, tangled by fear and blazing emotion.
In the darkness, their lips met, and the flame of their oath marks burned brighter than ever, as if desire and vow might dispel the endless shadows.
Yet, as they clung to each other, the bells of the royal capital tolled suddenly.
An urgent horn split the night sky.
The gray shadow's laughter came again: "The seeds... have already sprouted."