Part VIII – The Lion's Law
Morning came gray and hollow. The storm had passed, but the streets still shimmered with puddles that reflected broken banners. Every door bore the same mark in white chalk: a lion's head surrounded by a circle.
It meant inspection. It meant fear.
Commander Delun rode through the lower quarter at dawn, his armor unpolished, his cloak soaked through. Behind him marched two columns of soldiers, boots pounding in rhythm. For every three doors, one was opened and emptied.
"By order of the Lionroar Guild and the Westernlight command," the herald called, "all households are subject to search and registry. Harboring deserters or guild thieves is punishable by hanging."
A woman stepped forward, shouting something about her son. The butt of a spear silenced her.
Delun didn't flinch. He watched with the stillness of stone as she was dragged away. His voice, when it came, was soft. "Make sure the rest see."
–––
From the tower above the square, Valen watched the scene unfold. His armor gleamed still, though he hadn't slept in two days. The city below looked more like a wound than a home — red tile roofs, blackened smoke scars, the pale ghosts of people moving beneath them.
"You've gone quiet," said a voice behind him.
Valen turned. Chaste stood in the doorway, wrapped in a threadbare cloak. Her eyes were clear, too clear.
"Does he know you're here?" Valen asked.
"He knows," she said. "He wants me to see what he's building."
Valen's jaw tightened. "And what is he building?"
Chaste looked past him, to the square below. "A kingdom that breathes through fear. The Lion's Law. The first stone in a wall that won't stop at Westernlight's borders."
He studied her. "You sound certain."
"I am." She looked at him then, eyes full of something that wasn't pity. "But the wall will crack from within before it ever meets an enemy."
Valen turned away, unable to hold her gaze.
"Do you see something?" he asked.
"Many things," she said softly. "A child with a scar like a serpent's scale. A river of ash. A lion eating its own tail."
He exhaled, weary. "Then gods help us."
Chaste smiled faintly. "Gods sleep, Ser Valen. Only monsters stay awake."
–––
In the guild quarter, the Rasclaw banners had been lowered halfway — a gesture of mourning or mockery, depending on who asked. Inside their den, the air smelled of smoke and spice.
Ras lounged on a velvet couch, a goblet in one hand, a knife in the other. His tail flicked lazily behind him. Nile leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"The commander's choking the streets," Nile said. "Our runners can't move without being stopped. He's bleeding our trade dry."
Ras took a long drink. "Then we adapt. If the Lion wants blood, we sell him claws."
"You'd work for him?"
"Not work," Ras said, smiling sharp. "Play. We give him what he needs until he needs us more than we need him."
He set down the goblet and leaned forward. "But keep our eyes on the seer. That girl speaks storms. Anyone who dreams of kings burning might dream of lions dying too."
–––
That night, the curfew bell rang through the city. The streets emptied. Only patrols moved — their torches like floating eyes in the mist.
In an abandoned warehouse by the river, Luk and Anna huddled beside a dying lantern. The door had been barred from inside, but every creak made Luk's heart jump.
He'd scavenged bread that morning — hard, stale, but food. Anna chewed slowly, her eyes half-closed.
"Do you think it's over?" she asked.
"What?"
"The fighting. The goblins. The fire."
Luk hesitated. The city outside was silent except for the occasional scream carried by the wind.
"Yeah," he said finally. "It's over."
Anna nodded, but her eyes didn't soften. She'd learned too much too fast.
Luk leaned against the wall, staring at the dark ceiling. He didn't notice when the lantern's flame dimmed, only when the air grew colder.
Somewhere in that darkness, a whisper moved — faint, familiar, too soft to be real.
"Luk."
He froze. The sound came again, not from outside, but from inside his skull.
"The fire remembers."
He pressed his palms against his ears. "Stop."
Anna stirred. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Go to sleep."
But he couldn't. Because beneath the whisper came something else — a pulse, deep and slow, echoing through the stone beneath him.
It felt like the mountain's breath.
–––
By morning, the city had new laws.
Every able-bodied man was drafted into patrol. All guild property was seized "for security." Merchants' guilds burned their ledgers rather than hand them over. Lostgrace assassins began vanishing one by one — some said Delun was purging them, others whispered he'd made a bargain with their leader.
Chaste didn't appear at the temple again. Some said she'd fled. Others said she'd been taken to the palace. Valen tried to ask, but Delun's eyes stopped him before the words left his mouth.
The commander stood at the balcony of the keep that evening, watching torches march through the city below like veins of fire.
"The Lion's Law," he said quietly to no one. "Let them fear it before they understand it."
Behind him, thunder rumbled far away — the kind that didn't belong to weather.