✦ CHAPTER SIX
The Chamber of Atonement
The Citadel had many names whispered in fear.
But only one place had a name spoken only in silence:
The Chamber of Atonement.
Reapers called it the Unmaking Room.
Eryndor was dragged by two armored Reapers through narrow stone corridors that spiraled downward — deeper than dormitories, deeper than training halls, deeper than any place a soul should ever go.
Torches dimmed the farther they descended, until only the glow from the guards' armor lit the path.
Seris had managed to free themselves from Kaelith's hold and sprinted after them, but a door of black steel slammed shut between them.
"ERYNDOR!" Seris's voice echoed, muffled by the barrier. "I'm coming— just hold on!"
He wanted to believe them.
He couldn't.
The guards shoved him into a circular chamber.
The door sealed with a hiss.
The room was empty — no tools, no chains, no windows — only a raised obsidian platform in the center.
"What is this?" Eryndor whispered.
No one answered.
Unable to resist, he reached out and brushed his hand across the platform.
It was warm.
Warm like flesh.
The air shifted — and Kaelith stepped through the wall as if it were a curtain of smoke.
Eryndor stumbled back. "H-how—?"
"Walls mean nothing to me here."
Kaelith looked unchanged — calm, elegant, terrifying. But something was different.
His scythe was gone.
In its place, he held chains — thin, silver, glittering with cruel beauty.
Eryndor backed against the far wall. "I didn't help that soul. I didn't release it. I—"
"You listened to it."
Kaelith's voice cut like ice.
The chains slithered through his hands, alive.
"That is enough treason to end you."
Eryndor's pulse slammed in his ears. "You don't understand— it found me! It spoke to me first!"
Kaelith closed the distance between them.
"I do understand."
His hand brushed Eryndor's marked palm.
The sigil seared with pain.
"You think you were chosen… because of destiny."
Kaelith leaned close, voice soft enough only Eryndor could hear.
"You were chosen because you are breakable."
He wrapped the silver chains around Eryndor's wrists.
They were cold at first.
Then they burned.
Eryndor gasped, knees buckling. The chains tightened, not around flesh — but around his soul.
"You do not get to speak with what is chained," Kaelith whispered. "Those souls are not meant to exist."
Pain surged, sharp and electric, stealing his breath.
Eryndor choked. "Why? What are they?"
Kaelith's expression shifted — for the first time — into something like fear.
"They are the ones we failed to kill."
Eryndor froze.
Failed to kill?
Kaelith straightened, voice cold.
"We bind the souls that refuse death."
The chains glowed, wrapping tighter.
Eryndor grit his teeth against the burning. "I don't care what they are— I didn't ask for this power."
Kaelith studied him.
"No one asks to become a monster."
He lifted his hand to tighten the chains—
—and every soul lantern in the Citadel went out.
Darkness slammed into the chamber.
The chains on Eryndor's wrists flared with blinding heat— then snapped.
Eryndor collapsed to the floor.
From the corner of the chamber, something moved — a ripple of shadow, a distortion in reality.
Kaelith turned sharply.
"No… impossible."
The chained soul stepped out of the darkness.
But now it had a shape.
A man, tall and lean, wearing shackles that glowed with runes. His hair fell like liquid silver, his eyes were pale fire.
He spoke a single word:
"Kaelith."
The High Reaper went still.
"…You."
Eryndor stared between them, confused and terrified. "You know each other?"
The chained soul smiled slowly — a terrible, knowing smile.
"He took everything from me."
Kaelith's composure cracked.
"Do not speak."
Eryndor pushed himself to his knees. "Who are you?"
The chained soul looked at him — really looked — as though nothing else in eternity mattered.
"My name is Theron."
The chambers walls shook. Kaelith's face drained of color.
Eryndor whispered, "Theron… what are you?"
Theron leaned down, shackles rattling, eyes burning with a quiet, impossible fury.
"I was the first Reaper."
Eryndor felt the world tilt.
Kaelith's scythe materialized in his hand, summoned by rage alone.
"Enough."
But Theron lifted a chained arm, and the weapon dissolved into dust.
"Your reign ends tonight," Theron said.
Kaelith's voice dropped to a whisper.
"You cannot break your chains."
Theron smiled.
"I do not need to break my chains…
if the Harbinger breaks them for me."
Eryndor's breath caught.
Harbinger.
The word echoed through his bones.
Kaelith spun toward Eryndor, realization and dread flashing across his face.
"No."
Theron placed a warm hand over Eryndor's marked palm.
The sigil blazed white.
"Yes."