The gates of the Citadel loomed behind them, silent and unguarded, as if the fortress itself were content to let them leave.
Kaelen stumbled down the jagged obsidian steps, his lungs burning, every breath tasting of ash and iron. Seralyn kept close behind him, her blade still drawn, though her hand trembled against the hilt.
Neither spoke until the oppressive weight of the Citadel's aura — that suffocating, unseen pressure — began to ease. The moment it did, Kaelen collapsed to his knees, clutching the earth as if to remind himself it was still solid beneath him.
Seralyn glanced back at the towering spires. They pulsed faintly with blue fire, like a slumbering beast breathing in the dark.
"…He let us live," she said at last, her voice hoarse, almost disbelieving.
Kaelen didn't look up. His hands still dug into the soil, his entire body tense.
"No," he rasped. "He spared us. That's not the same thing."
Seralyn's grip on her sword tightened, the leather of the hilt creaking beneath her fingers. "Why? He could've killed us without a thought. He wanted to."
Kaelen finally lifted his head, his pale face stark against the dark horizon. His eyes still carried the faint reflection of the Citadel's ghostly flames, as if they had burned themselves into his vision.
"…Because of that voice," he muttered. "The one we heard in the hall. The one that wasn't his."
Seralyn's brows furrowed. "Lyssara. That's what he called it… or her."
Kaelen gave a short, humorless laugh — the sound of a man who had run out of explanations.
"I don't know what it was. But it wasn't meant for us. That… thing speaks to him. Stays his hand. The strongest monster the world has ever seen, and something still whispers to him like he's a pawn."
He sat back, staring up at the storm-choked sky. "Gods help us… I don't think even he understands what's happening anymore."
For a while, they sat in silence, listening to the distant rumble of the Citadel. The air here was heavy, tainted, every gust of wind carrying a faint sound — like whispers, just quiet enough to make them question if they were truly there.
Seralyn finally broke the quiet. "The order needs to know what we saw. What he is now. And…" She hesitated. "…what's coming."
Kaelen's eyes shifted to her. He looked exhausted, but there was still fire there — a stubborn resolve that refused to die, even after facing the King of Shadows himself.
"We tell them everything," he said. "About the Citadel. The throne. The whispers. That… sword of his. And Lyssara, whoever — whatever — she is. Because if we don't understand this, we're already dead."
He rose to his feet, staggering slightly but steadying himself. The scars on his gauntlet glinted faintly, souvenirs from where Nox Obscura's aura had seared through steel and flesh alike.
"Move," he said, voice flat. "Before he changes his mind."
Seralyn cast one last glance at the Citadel. The spires loomed in the distance, their faint glow painting the sky in sickly hues. The whispers on the wind seemed to grow louder for a moment, hissing indistinct words before fading back into the dark.
She turned and followed Kaelen into the shadows of the wasteland, each step carrying the same question neither dared to voice aloud:
Why did he let us go?