Ortis Mellou floated above Blackhaven, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, watching the dawn creep across broken rooftops. Below, hunters moved through smoke. Fires smoldered. Bodies lay in rows, covered by whatever cloth could be spared.
He felt the weight of it all pressing against his awareness.
The signature he'd sensed upon arrival—that cold, precise presence puppeteering the attack from beyond—had vanished the moment he layered his own authority over the city. Smart. Cowardly, but smart. Another Praetorian, operating through links of these...whatever the hell these things were, unwilling to test herself against him directly.
He could respect that.
Didn't make him dislike her less.
The spires still swelled below. Eighteen towers of fused flesh and masonry, bloating toward detonation. Her parting gift.
Ortis exhaled slowly.
'The problem with being how I'm going to do it without worsening the situation.'
On the Ladder of Ascension, each Stage multiplied ones existence. An Acolyte, one time stronger than a Mundane person. A Votary, ten times an Acolyte. A Saint, a hundred times stronger than a Votary. A Praetorian, thousand times that.
And a Paragon?
A Paragon was ten thousand times stronger than a Saint. A demigod wearing human skin, holding himself together through sheer discipline.
Normally, he compressed. Sucked his energy inward until he could stand beside ordinary people without crushing them with proximity, like he was doing now. But his existence value made extension harder. Every action required calibration. Too much force, and he'd level the city himself. And it was always difficult to use too little, because even that could have consequences.
'Tch, it's a pain when you suffer from success.'
He reached inward.
Not toward his Flow—toward his soul.
Like SK had been, he was a 'Hierophant'. Aside being able to see souls and to fracture and reshape one's own soul, as the First and Second Resonants, The Third allowed one to communicate with and control lesser disincarnate spirits. The Fourth allowed one to channel spiritual energy directly to either sever, bless, consecrete or santify spiritual energy. The Fith resonant...well that was unknown because no one was ever present when it was used or lived to tell the tale.
He broke off a fragment.
Just a shard. Tiny. Insignificant.
He shaped it into an arrow.
Then he released his Fourth Resonant.
The arrow vanished.
Eighteen spires convulsed simultaneously.
Their connection to life—to the corrupted energy animating them—simply ceased. Not cut. Not blocked. Forgotten, as if they had never been alive at all.
They withered.
Flesh crumbled to dust. Stone rained down in harmless pebbles. The spires dissolved like morning frost under sunlight.
Below, Elara's Zone flickered.
Held together by her will alone, sustained through blood and exhaustion—it had nothing left. The pressure released. The Zone collapsed inward and vanished.
Ortis felt his sister's presence gutter like a candle in wind.
'Aight, next...'
He appeared in Beth's shop in a flash of black.
The woman startled, clutching a bundle to her chest. The man beside her lunged forward.
"Who the hell are you-"
He froze as Ortis raised a lazy hand.
"Easy," Ortis murmured. "I'm not here to cause trouble."
Beth recognised him and her eyes narrowed despite her exhaustion.
"Then what are you here for,Lord Mellou?"
Ortis smiled—slow, lazy, utterly unbothered.
He stepped forward and gently, almost tenderly, lifted the bundle from her arms.
Beth's protest died in her throat as he looked down at the infant.
Tiny. Perfect. One eye catching the dawn light with a soft lunar gleam.
"Beautiful," he observed. "I'll summon you shortly."
He vanished.
Beth stared at the empty space where he had stood.
"...What, did that bastard just kidnap my child?"
She rushed to get to her feet but clutched her stomach and Wilcris came to her aid.
"Easy," He said.
"Something tells me our baby is going to be safe."
Ortis appeared in Elara's chamber.
The room smelled of blood and herbs and exhaustion. His sister lay in the bed, pale as the sheets beneath her, a similar bundle resting in her arms.
She looked up.
Her eyes—so like his own—widened faintly.
"Ortis."
He smiled his lazy smile. "Little sister."
"I'm a bit disappointed it's not my husband."
Ortis clicked his tongue. "Then Alaric should have been a better husband and not left his pregnant wife alone to do god knows what."
The door burst open.
Alaric staggered through, armor scorched, hair wild, chest heaving. He crossed the room in three strides and dropped to his knees beside Elara, hands reaching for her face, her shoulders, her hands—as if confirming she was real.
"I'm here," he breathed. "I'm here now."
Ortis watched from the foot of the bed, one eyebrow raised.
"Speak of the devil."
Alaric's head snapped toward him. "The council—they wouldn't let me leave. No member of the Privy Council may depart the capital until consensus is reached on—"
"Yes yes until a concensus is reached on the matter being deliberated upon. I know. I was on the coincil remember? Excuses." Ortis's voice remained lazy, but something beneath it sharpened.
"If I'd known you were this incompetent, I'd never have allowed you to marry my sister."
Alaric's jaw tightened. "Where is Elias? Is he safe?"
"He's fine," Elara whispered.
Ortis tilted his head. "You don't even know where your son is, do you?"
"I just arrived."
"Of course." Ortis examined his nails. "None of this would have happened if you hadn't left to begin with."
Elara's hand found Alaric's. "Ortis. Don't fight with my husband."
Alaric straightened, meeting Ortis's gaze. "Why are you here, anyway?"
Ortis shrugged lazily. "My daughter sent me a letter. She indicated that my dearest sister was pregnant again. Like seriously, you already have one, why try for another? And for god knows how many times."Elara blushed visibly while Alaric just glared.
"Anyway," Ortis continued, "I couldn't up and leave immediately— business, and restrictions and what not. You understand"
He glanced at Alaric.
"But I decided I'd at least be present for the birth."
The door opened again.
Aina entered, helping servants carrying baskets of supplies—linens, herbs, tonics for afterbirth. She moved with her usual precision, until her gaze landed on the figure at the foot of the bed.
She froze.
"Father?"
Ortis's smile widened. "Hello, little star."
Aina recovered quickly, though surprise still flickered in her eyes.
"What are you doing here?"
"You wrote me a letter didn't you? Well thats why I'm here. Ok, thats partially why I'm here."
He glanced down at the sleeping infant in his arms.
"There's been a ripple in the world and its bound to cause a tidal wave."
"Ripple in the world?" Aina repeated, confused.
Elara frowned, noticing the bundle her rother was carrying. "Whose baby is that?"
"Ah." Ortis held up the bundle. "Her mother also just delivered. She was a bit surprised when I borrowed her daughter, but I'm sure she'll understand later on."
Alaric's eyes widened. "You took someone's baby?"
"Borrowed. There's a difference."
"Return it."
Ortis ignored him completely.
"Incidentally, I'll have to borrow your newborn as well."
He stepped toward Elara's bedside and reached for the bundle in her arms.
Alaric moved.
His sword slid from its sheath and pressed against Ortis's throat.
"Don't," Alaric said quietly, "touch my child."
Ortis paused. Looked down at the blade. Then up at Alaric's face.
"The child you weren't even present for," he observed lazily.
"Watch your tone, Ortis Mellou?"
"Or what? Alaric Dukker."
The room changed.
Husband and Brother, locked in silent challenge.
Elara moved.
She didn't rise—couldn't rise. But her authority lashed out, a command to stop written into the fabric of the room itself.
She coughed.
Blood spattered the sheets. Crystallized Flow glittered in it like crushed gems. Alaric's sword clattered to the floor and he dropped beside her, hands finding hers, face pale with terror.
"Stop," he begged. "Please—you'll become Hollow. Elara, stop."
Ortis watched for a long moment, then he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
" I wouldn't have crossed half a come here just to attend a birth even if I wanted to."
He looked down at the two infants.
"I came because of these two."
Elara's eyes, glazed with pain, sharpened slightly. "What do you mean?"
Ortis's lazy smile returned.
"Your daughter," he said, nodding toward the bundle in Elara's arms, "and this one." He lifted Beth's child slightly. "They both have something special."
He met his sister's gaze.
"Arcane Eyes. Specifically those of Dawn and Dusk."
The word hung in the air like a verdict.
Alaric's breath caught.
"That's—that's not possible. The Arcane eyes of Radiance haven't been seen in—"
"Centuries," Ortis agreed. "And now two, on the same night, in the same city." He shook his head slowly. "The world is shifting, little sister. And these two..." He looked at the sleeping infants with something almost like reverence. "They're going to be a huge part of it."
Outside, the sun continued its rise over a broken city.
END OF VOLUME ONE: DAWN