The council chamber of the Solar Guard was a place of order—or so it pretended to be.
Kaelen stood at attention beneath the high vaulted ceiling, the stained glass overhead filtering dawn's first light into bands of crimson and gold. The beams cut across the polished marble floor, igniting the gleam of polished armor and the glint of sharpened halberds displayed along the walls.
The chamber smelled of incense and oil, an odd blend of sanctity and war-readiness. Long tables were laden with maps and scrolls, markers scattered across them to signify patrols, checkpoints, and sectors of the city deemed "unstable." Yet beneath all the meticulous lines of ink and sigils of authority, Kaelen smelled something else: unease.
It clung to the air like damp smoke.
"Captain Kaelen Veynar," Commander Tharic barked, his voice echoing across the chamber. "You will account for your patrol's failure at the Athenaeum."
Kaelen stiffened. "Sir, the attack was—"
"Unexpected?" Tharic cut in, voice sharp. He was a broad man, shoulders straining against his gilded cuirass, the deep lines of his face carved by years of war and politics alike. His gaze was cold steel. "Nothing in Solara is unexpected. Not unless we allow it to be."
Around them, other officers shifted, eyes sliding toward Kaelen. Some with disapproval, others with the faintest trace of sympathy. He ignored them all.
"We had secured the plaza," Kaelen said evenly. "The heretic should have been contained. But when the star fell—"
"The Umbra," one of the officers muttered.
A ripple of discomfort traveled around the chamber. Even speaking the name felt dangerous.
Tharic silenced them with a raised hand. "Do not give shape to shadows with your tongue. It was a star, nothing more." His gaze bore into Kaelen. "And yet from this nothing more, half a district burns, gangs are in uproar, and the Solar Guard appears incompetent."
The words stung. Kaelen's hand curled into a fist against his thigh. Duty demanded he remain impassive, but the memory of that night still flared behind his eyes—the light fracturing, the sky screaming, and then… him.
The boy.
A scholar, if reports were true. Barely older than a novice. And yet when the star shattered, something had awakened inside him. Something Kaelen's blade should have ended in that moment.
Instead, the boy had slipped through his grasp.
"I take responsibility," Kaelen said, his voice steady though his throat burned. "Give me the chance, and I will find him. I will bring him back to the Guard—or end him if I must."
The chamber hushed. Tharic studied him for a long moment, then leaned forward across the table. "And why should I trust you with this task again, Captain? Your record is flawless, your sword unmatched, but even the finest steel can bend."
Kaelen lifted his chin. "Because no one knows his face as I do. I have seen the darkness in him. It is not a weapon for gangs to brandish. It is not a relic to be hidden away in the Athenaeum. If it spreads, Solara itself will fall. I will not allow that."
Murmurs spread across the chamber.
"Bold words," sneered Officer Renn, a man whose armor was polished brighter than his blade was sharp. "But perhaps your sympathy stayed your hand. He was a boy, wasn't he? You hesitated."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. He met Renn's gaze with cold fire. "I did not hesitate. I pursued. And I will pursue again until it ends."
Tharic's fist struck the table, silencing them. "Enough."
He gestured to the map spread wide before them. "Our intelligence places the fugitive in the undercity. The Black Fangs and Red Teeth report corpses twisted in ways no blade could manage. Already the gangs are restless, whispering of omens and curses. If they unite under fear, we lose control of the city from beneath."
A stick of charcoal marked the tunnels. Routes snaked downward like veins, all converging toward a darkened zone inked heavily at the map's edge. "This is where he moves. Too deep for regular patrols. Too lawless for order. Captain Kaelen, you will lead a unit into the undercity. You will sever the threat at its root."
Kaelen bowed his head. "Yes, Commander."
"Do not return without proof of his death," Tharic said. His voice softened into something almost reverent. "The stars demand our vigilance. If he is what some whisper… then he is not a boy. He is a wound. And wounds must be cauterized."
The session adjourned soon after, officers sweeping up maps and murmuring about supplies and patrol shifts. Yet Kaelen lingered.
He stared at the red marks on the map, the paths winding deeper into the undercity. He could almost smell the damp, hear the echoing drip of water, see the corpses the reports had described.
Reports were clinical. Words like "mutilated" and "burned from within." But Kaelen had seen battlefields, and he knew the difference between a body left by steel and one ravaged by something else.
The boy wasn't simply dangerous. He was unnatural.
And yet…
Kaelen closed his eyes, remembering the look on the scholar's face as he'd fled the Athenaeum. Fear. Not malice, not bloodlust. Just raw terror, the same kind that lived in any man who realized the ground beneath him had given way.
For the briefest instant, Kaelen felt doubt gnaw at him. Was this "heretic" truly an enemy of Solara? Or a victim of something far larger?
The doubt was dangerous. He forced it down, straightened, and turned on his heel.
Later, in the armory, Kaelen checked the edge of his sword. The blade gleamed beneath the lamplight, every notch sharpened out, every inch honed to perfection. It was not just steel—it was duty, faith, identity. The Solar Guard's creed was etched into the hilt: By light, all shadows fall.
He repeated the words under his breath as he strapped the weapon to his hip.
But the phrase felt heavier now, more like a question than a vow.
As night settled, Kaelen descended with his chosen unit into the undercity. The tunnels swallowed sound, the air thick with mildew and rot. Torchlight threw long, restless shadows across the damp stone.
The men marched behind him in silence, but Kaelen could feel their unease. The gangs were one thing—they bled like anyone else. But the boy? No one wanted to say it, but the whispers had already spread. The heretic carried a star's corpse inside him.
Kaelen did not correct them. He only gripped the hilt of his sword tighter.
Somewhere in these depths, Elian was moving. Somewhere in these depths, corpses lay broken in ways no blade could explain.
Kaelen's steps echoed like a promise.
He would find the boy.
He would end this.
Or the void would swallow them all.