The cold was a thing that clung to Cael Ardent like a second skin—sharp and unyielding, biting through the thin fabric of his coat and sinking into his bones.
He crouched beneath the cracked stone arch of a ruined building, hidden from the dull glow of the street lamps and the wandering eyes of the city's restless night.
Around him, Vereos breathed slow and ragged, a beast that neither woke nor slept, its heart pounding faintly beneath layers of ash and shadow.
The wind carried the scent of smoke and rot—a bitter perfume from a world that had long since stopped caring.
A stray cat slipped past him, silent as a whisper, its eyes glinting like shards of broken glass.
Cael stayed perfectly still, the ache of hunger coiling low in his stomach, numbed beneath a harder, sharper pain.
He had no name here.
No past.
No place.
Just the emptiness of a city that had swallowed him whole.
His fingers trembled as they brushed against the rough stone beneath him—a grounding touch, a reminder that he was still real, still here.
The stone was cold and indifferent.
Like the world.
A bell tolled in the distance.
Slow. Distant.
Thirteen times.
A mourning song for the lost.
For the tithed.
Cael flinched as the sound echoed through the empty streets.
He had learned to fear the toll.
Because it meant another child was taken.
Another piece of the city's soul ripped away.
He closed his eyes, and the silence shattered.
Laughter, soft and bright, like sunlight caught in glass.
The touch of a hand slipping into his own—small, warm, unbreakable.
A name whispered on the wind: Seren.
The city said she never existed.
But Cael remembered.
And memories like his were dangerous.
He pressed his forehead to the cold stone, breathing shallow and steady.
He had nothing left but a shattered past and a blade that sang to him in the dark.
Tonight, the silence would end.
Tonight, the past would bleed through the cracks.
And Cael Ardent would step out of the shadows.Cael moved like a wraith through the winding streets of the Tallow Quarter, where the sun rarely touched and hope even less.
The narrow alleys twisted between leaning buildings, their timber frames bowed with age and neglect. Above, tangled cables hummed faintly, carrying whispers of Eidcraft—the ancient, forbidden magic that underpinned the city's fragile balance.
Most citizens avoided the quarter after dusk, but Cael knew its secrets better than anyone. Here, in the cracks of the city's decay, life stubbornly clung to broken things.
He paused at a doorway where faded signs hung crooked, promising cheap food and stronger drink. A faint murmur of voices drifted out—the muffled laughter of those who chose oblivion over memory.
Inside, a thin flame flickered over cracked wooden tables. Faces stared up briefly, eyes wary but not unkind.
Cael kept walking.
The Order's reach was long and merciless, but even they could not hold every shadow.
The Tithekeepers ruled the Sanctum and the Inner Ring with iron will, but out here, in the forgotten places, a different law applied.
Survival.
He remembered when the city had felt alive.
When the markets had overflowed with color and sound, when the bells had rung for celebration—not mourning.
But those days were buried beneath layers of ash and silence.
A sudden gust stirred the ragged banners hanging from rusted poles.
They bore the sigil of the Order—a single eye encircled by chains.
Watching. Binding.
The symbol had once meant protection.
Now it was a brand.
Cael's mind drifted to the Vault of Echoes, the heart of the Sanctum's power and terror.
Legends spoke of it as a prison for memories—places where the city hid the stolen pasts of its children, where truths were locked away beneath layers of Eidcraft and stone.
No one who entered the Vault ever returned unchanged.
And yet, it was the only place where Cael hoped to find answers.
Where he might reclaim what was stolen from him.
A ragged breath escaped him as he stepped deeper into the maze of streets.
Above, the sky was swallowed by dark clouds, and the first drops of rain began to fall—soft, cold, erasing footsteps and promises alike.
Tonight, the city was waiting.
And Cael was ready to face what waited in the shadows.The rain fell steadily now, washing the grime from the cracked stones but not from the city's soul.
Cael's boots splashed quietly in shallow puddles, his hood drawn low against the cold drizzle. The dampness seeped through his clothes, but he welcomed the numbness.
Pain, after all, was better than forgetting.
He slipped past shuttered windows and locked doors, where the faintest flicker of candlelight betrayed someone awake—someone watching.
The city's eyes never closed.
A faint clatter echoed behind him—a loose shutter banging in the wind—and Cael froze.
Silence returned like a breath held too long.
His pulse steadied. Nothing followed.
The Tallow Quarter was a maze, a place where shadows grew long and dangers hid in plain sight.
No one trusted anyone here—not anymore.
Ahead, a narrow bridge arched over a stagnant canal, its waters black and still beneath the rotten planks.
Cael hesitated, staring into the oily depths.
The canal was a graveyard of lost things—discarded memories, broken dreams, the bodies no one found.
He stepped forward anyway.
Across the bridge, the air grew heavier, thick with the scent of wet stone and ancient magic.
A faint hum pulsed beneath his feet—the unmistakable thrum of Eidcraft, barely contained beneath the city's bones.
Cael's fingers brushed the hilt of his short sword.
Not just a weapon, but a relic—an echo of a past long buried, and perhaps the only key to unlocking what the city sought to hide.
He remembered the stories told in whispers, long ago when he had dared to listen.
Of warriors who wielded Relicblades with fire in their veins—men and women who could bend Eidcraft to their will and reshape the world.
Those days were gone.
Now, such power was feared, hunted, and twisted by the Order to keep the city under its iron grip.
A sudden movement caught his eye—a figure slipping from shadow to shadow, cloaked in dark robes.
The Tithekeepers.
Cael's breath hitched, but he did not run.
They did not know him—not yet.
He melted deeper into the night, slipping through alleys and side streets, the weight of the city's silence pressing in.
Ahead, the Sanctum's spires rose like dark teeth against the sky, their windows glowing faintly with forbidden light.
The Vault of Echoes waited beneath them—a place where memory and magic intertwined, where the cost of the Tithe was paid in full.
Cael's jaw tightened.
He would enter that place.
He would find what was lost.
And he would remember.
The city held its breath.
And Cael Ardent stepped forward into the darkness.The Sanctum loomed ahead, its dark spires clawing at the storm-heavy sky like the fingers of some ancient, restless beast.
Its windows glowed with a pale, unnatural light—the only sign of life in a city that had long since forgotten how to hope.
Cael's steps slowed as he reached the edge of the street that opened to the massive gates of the Sanctum.
He felt the weight of the city's gaze settle on him—not with curiosity, but with cold suspicion, the way a predator watches something it has already marked for death.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his Relicblade.
The blade was more than a weapon—it was a fragment of history, a shard of defiance against the city's erasure.
And yet, it was also a reminder of everything Cael had lost.
He pulled his hood lower, hiding the tired fire in his violet eyes—eyes that had seen more pain than most would bear in a lifetime.
Inside, he wrestled with a storm far fiercer than the one overhead.
Memories clawed at him—sharp and raw—the laugh of a sister long gone, the weight of helplessness, the bitterness of a past that refused to stay buried.
"I'm nothing," he whispered to the rain.
A boy with no home, no family, no place in a city that devoured its own children.
Yet here he was—standing at the gates of the very place that had taken everything from him.
Fear flickered beneath the surface, cold and dark, but it did not stop him.
Because beneath the fear was something stronger—something that had taken root in the hollow left by loss.
Determination.
Defiance.
Cael's thoughts drifted to Seren—her courage, her smile, the way she had looked at the world with fierce hope even as it tried to crush her.
He had promised himself he would find her—that he would uncover the truth buried beneath the city's lies.
But the promise was a double-edged sword, cutting as deeply as the memories it kept alive.
He swallowed the ache, the doubt, the rage, and stepped forward.
The heavy gates of the Sanctum groaned as they swung open, revealing a vast courtyard bathed in cold light and long shadows.
No guards met him at the threshold.
The city had many secrets—but it trusted no one.
Cael's breath caught in his throat as he crossed the courtyard.
Every step echoed with the weight of history and silence, the air thick with the residue of Eidcraft and broken oaths.
He was alone.
And yet, he was not afraid.
Not yet.
Because tonight, the past would bleed through the cracks.
And Cael Ardent, a boy stripped of everything, would face the darkness within the Vault of Echoes.
The Sanctum loomed ahead, its dark spires clawing at the storm-heavy sky like the fingers of some ancient, restless beast.
Its windows glowed with a pale, unnatural light—the only sign of life in a city that had long since forgotten how to hope.
Cael's steps slowed as he reached the edge of the street that opened to the massive gates of the Sanctum.
He felt the weight of the city's gaze settle on him—not with curiosity, but with cold suspicion, the way a predator watches something it has already marked for death.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his Relicblade.
The blade was more than a weapon—it was a fragment of history, a shard of defiance against the city's erasure.
And yet, it was also a reminder of everything Cael had lost.
He pulled his hood lower, hiding the tired fire in his violet eyes—eyes that had seen more pain than most would bear in a lifetime.
Inside, he wrestled with a storm far fiercer than the one overhead.
Memories clawed at him—sharp and raw—the laugh of a sister long gone, the weight of helplessness, the bitterness of a past that refused to stay buried.
"I'm nothing," he whispered to the rain.
A boy with no home, no family, no place in a city that devoured its own children.
Yet here he was—standing at the gates of the very place that had taken everything from him.
Fear flickered beneath the surface, cold and dark, but it did not stop him.
Because beneath the fear was something stronger—something that had taken root in the hollow left by loss.
Determination.
Defiance.
Cael's thoughts drifted to Seren—her courage, her smile, the way she had looked at the world with fierce hope even as it tried to crush her.
He had promised himself he would find her—that he would uncover the truth buried beneath the city's lies.
But the promise was a double-edged sword, cutting as deeply as the memories it kept alive.
He swallowed the ache, the doubt, the rage, and stepped forward.
The heavy gates of the Sanctum groaned as they swung open, revealing a vast courtyard bathed in cold light and long shadows.
No guards met him at the threshold.
The city had many secrets—but it trusted no one.
Cael's breath caught in his throat as he crossed the courtyard.
Every step echoed with the weight of history and silence, the air thick with the residue of Eidcraft and broken oaths.
He was alone.
And yet, he was not afraid.
Not yet.
Because tonight, the past would bleed through the cracks.
And Cael Ardent, a boy stripped of everything, would face the darkness within the Vault of Echoes.