The imperial standard arrived at Fort Thorne two days after the Bonepath collapse.
A golden eagle clutching a flamebound scroll—embroidered in silk, flawless in detail—led a small convoy of twelve riders through the ash-choked wilds. They wore no armor. No banners. Only long crimson cloaks trimmed with silver, their hoods drawn low.
But everyone on the ramparts knew who they were.
The Silent Envoys.
Whispers spread quickly through the fort.
"Imperial inquisitors."
"Royal auditors."
"Executioners in disguise."
Duncan waited at the gate in his scorched armor, Kael and Brannoc flanking him. His jaw was set, expression unreadable. The Emberblade remained sheathed—but his hand hovered close.
The first of the riders dismounted.
A woman stepped forward, removing her hood. Her skin was pale, her features refined, but there was something disquieting in her eyes—like she had seen a hundred lifetimes and remembered each one with exact clarity.
"Field Lieutenant Duncan Blackvale?" she said.
"I am."
"I bring orders from the High Senate. You are to surrender all relics, records, and artifacts obtained since the Ashgate ignition. Effective immediately."
Kael stiffened. "On whose authority?"
The woman turned, slowly.
"Mine."
Lady Varene of the Inner Circle
They called her Varene of the Silver Flame—a member of the Empire's Inner Circle. An envoy, yes, but also a judge, a chronicler, and when necessary, an executioner.
Duncan led her and her retinue to the central command chamber. The Emberblade remained with him, despite her sideways glances.
Varene studied the room like a scholar in a library, noting every map, every marked route, every beast sigil pinned on the wall. When Kael offered a summary of the Bonepath events, Varene listened in silence.
She didn't write anything down.
When Brannoc described the twisted Hollowed that emerged from the tunnels, she nodded once.
Then she turned to Duncan.
"You stood before the Flamehold. You survived the Eye. And now you collapse a Dominion relic without Senate consultation?"
"I made a decision," Duncan replied calmly. "We were outnumbered, surrounded, and facing threats your maps don't show."
"The Senate does not like improvisation," she said coldly.
"The wilds don't like waiting."
A Deal in Ash
That night, Varene requested a private meeting with Duncan in the war room.
Candlelight flickered between them. She leaned forward, fingers laced.
"You understand, Blackvale, what you've done here is… unprecedented."
"Survived?"
She didn't smile.
"You lit an ancient beacon. You disturbed a beast gate. You wield a relic sword unregistered in the Dominion Archives. And now, half the High Circle believes you're part of some rebellion or prophecy cult."
"And what do you believe?"
She paused.
"I believe you're dangerous. But not stupid."
Duncan met her gaze. "You're not here to punish me. You're here to assess if I'm worth using."
Her silence was answer enough.
The Real Mission
Varene slid a small black envelope across the table.
Duncan opened it.
Inside was a list of names—military, noble, and civilian. Some were crossed out. Others marked with golden ink.
"These are operatives seeded across the Dominion," Varene said. "Some loyal to the Emperor. Others to the Senate. Some… to darker things."
She tapped the bottom of the parchment.
"Three of them are stationed in the east. Near Hollowfang territory."
Duncan's brow furrowed. "You want me to investigate them?"
"I want you to find them before the Hollowed do."
She stood.
"Whether you serve the Empire or not, Duncan Blackvale, you are now one of its most dangerous assets. So long as you burn, eyes will follow."
Ghosts and Preparations
In the days that followed, Fort Thorne shifted.
More supply wagons arrived. Engineers began reinforcing the outer walls. A new watchtower was erected near the Bonepath's collapsed entrance. Soldiers drilled harder, faster—no longer because of orders, but because fear was a constant companion.
Duncan reviewed the map of the eastern provinces.
Kael leaned over his shoulder. "You really going to go after these names?"
"Someone has to," he replied.
Brannoc entered with a bag slung over his back. "If we're heading east, we need to move fast. Storm season's coming."
"Not all of us are going," Duncan said. "You and Kael stay here. Fort Thorne needs leaders."
Kael frowned. "And you'll go alone?"
Duncan looked at the Emberblade, then out at the rising moon.
"I won't be alone."
A Messenger in the Dark
That night, just before dawn, a figure emerged from the forest—barefoot, bloodied, and wearing remnants of a Dominion scout cloak.
He collapsed at the gates, whispering one word before losing consciousness:
"Sanctum…"
The healers brought him to Duncan immediately.
Varene was already waiting.
"He came from the eastern frontier," she said. "The last expeditionary base near the Hollowfang line."
Duncan leaned in as the man stirred.
With cracked lips and shattered breath, the scout gasped:
"The Sanctum's fallen. Something came from the sky. Not beast, not Hollowed—worse."
Then he died.
And in his clenched fist, they found a scrap of cloth.
Black.
Marked with a spiral flame, coiled around a broken eye.